Friday, November 18, 2022

Chapter 1: The Dreamer Stones

 


The stones of a dreamer are a soul labyrinth.

 

As the Warlock Tymall steps up his murderous campaign against the Vallas, Torrullin vanishes into a realm created by dreams and need. Paramount is his search for the means to end his son’s reign of terror, and the answer no longer lies in reality. He will suffer the labyrinth of his soul and negotiate the marker stones of his past.

Torrullin must release his demons. To stand at the edge of the abyss, he must retrieve his innocence. He will not stand alone. Guiding him into and through another realm is Lowen Dalrish, the child-woman Torrullin saw as the nemesis of his future.

Another arises, the Warlock’s secret ally, a creature nursing vengeance since ancient days. After Margus breaks oath, this creature’s manipulation is set free, and a new army invades.

The animated spirit, according to legend, is the potion of forever, and his name is Elixir, embodied in one strong enough to see, hear, taste, smell and touch everything everywhere in order to mete out justice. If Torrullin survives the dream realm, does it mean he is strong enough to accept this duty? His world, his people and his loved ones require his strength, as he needs it to face the might of what lies beneath ancient Grinwallin.

After all that went before, Torrullin will face the power of stones raised when time began, before he may bow from the arena. Torrullin prepares, after all, to meet the dark man of his visions.

The time for meeting is now close.


Chapter 1

 

If it is not created with hands, friend, it is not real.

~ Universal untruth

  

Cèlaver

 

AN OMINOUS SHUDDER shook the great cavern of magic inside the planet Cèlaver. This was the world within, a biosphere of trees and water and light Torrullin gifted a long-deceased king. Seasons came and went in the heart of the rock; it was true magic, more profound for being inside a world sterile and uninhabitable on the surface. Animals, birds and insects flourished, speaking to the people of the caves and tunnels of life taken for granted elsewhere.

Initial reactions to the chamber after its creation was wonder, and fear. At first the fear was for the incredible power able to bring forth such wonder, entrenching true cycles of nature, to have it continue independent of the source of power. Later that fear developed into something more - the fear of having it vanish to trap them inside the rock the magic displaced. After a time the fear was selfish. Cèlaver grew to love the magic, needed the magic, and was afraid to lose it.

Two thousand years on, fear was forgotten. Nobody now remembered the cavern of wonders was a thing of magic. Forests were real, as were lakes, rivers, pastures, sun, clouds, rain, snow, and wind, all of it. The cycles continued as a force unto itself. The forests were old, died in some areas and renewed in others as nature intended. Watercourses altered after heavy rainstorms. Birds and animals adapted and evolved as well. New species had come. It was real and required no magic to thrive.

Yet it was magic. A space was created.

The shudder intensified and low keening filled the air.

Countless were paralysed with dread. As one, casual strollers, boating fanatics, fishermen, lovers and picnicking families remembered what they had forgotten. Magic.

In log cabins, in tents and in the elements, holidaymakers froze, hikers stumbled on paths, and remembered. Magic.

Something was wrong. Nobody could move and not a sound was spent. If the magic that created this space was to vanish, there simply was no time to reach the exit. Panic would serve no one.

Another tremor rippled through the space. A child cried somewhere, the frightened sound audible into the furthest reaches.

And, abruptly, panic.

  

THE KING AND his family enjoyed a welcome break from duties, a treat they allowed themselves infrequently, because to enter the cavern was to desire to remain. One stated allotted time at the entrance and if one overstayed, one was prompted to leave. The first king of this magic, Ophuls, instituted the system, having quickly realised the addiction.

Had he not, the entire Cèlaver nation would have moved in, crowding the cavern and killing the wonder. Industry and the like would even today come to a standstill without the system.

His Majesty of the present had three more days available to him, but time had a way of speeding by here and he at first thought they were being prompted to leave, before realising, seeing it in the eyes of his stricken children, the shuddering was widespread, and everyone appeared to hark to the unearthly wailing. By the time panic overcame paralysis, he was ready.

He put a bullhorn to his lips and called for attention. Silence returned and he told them their fear would aid the sundering, and panic would hasten it. He told them to stand fast; to trust in the inherent good of the old enchantment, for doing so would thwart whatever attempted to cause them harm.

Whether it was truth, what he said then in haste, he did not know, for there was no precedent, yet he felt calmer, and relayed his composure on to his people in the certainty of his voice.

Calm prevailed. They stood fast. Rivalries, factions and enmities were forgotten as those within stood together and trusted.

The entire chamber seemed to wobble. It was not the ground as in an earthquake, but the tangible air. Then, a yellow streak of light appeared out of nowhere to race about the vast perimeter, thereafter commencing a crisscross action in the spaces between. A comforting hum overrode the ear-splitting wail, ever stronger and growing, growing, growing …

The Cèlaver watched in wonder and felt renewed. Gradually they joined in with the hum, a harmony of voices, and His Majesty hummed along with them with tears in his eyes.

It felt right. The soul song.

The distortion vanished. The wail receded to a bearable pitch and, heartened, they strengthened the vibration, a full-throated monastic chant that raised gooseflesh on every participant.

It was beautiful, spiritual, uplifting, romantic and mythical.

The wail vanished completely in the overwhelming notes. At first it was drowned out and then it disappeared in truth.

All shuddering stilled and was no more.

The hum continued in homage and thankfulness, and the streak of light slowed and coalesced as a glowing orb in the centre of the mighty chamber. It gradually sank to zigzag its way as if searching, until it halted before His Majesty and hung there.

The king lifted the bullhorn to his mouth and quietly announced the danger had passed. The orb dipped. The humming lessened. The king added Cèlaver now knew how to counteract a future threat, should it come. The humming stopped altogether, and the orb dipped up and down as if it pleased with the king’s insight.

His Majesty lowered the horn and asked in a normal tone, “Is that right? The hum counters?”

The orb dipped again, and then neared. It circled the king’s head once, twice, three times and then hurtled into the magical heavens. Trust in the power of the Light. The words were an unspoken thought transmitted to all.

The orb vanished.

  

ON A STRIPED blanket a fair distance to the left of the king and his family, two heads swivelled.

“It feels as if Torrullin is with us,” the man said after a moment, and had to clear his throat.

She nodded and lay back to stare up at the magical heavens. “Because he is. Any day now he will wander back into our lives. Two millennia are now officially scrapped.”




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