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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