The Follower Portuguese Edition

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The Potter Spanish Edition

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A warning and a prophecy

 The Echolone Mine

Light and Darkness

 

Chapter 10: AVAELYN: The Enshrouded World

 

Our children are sacrosanct.

 Avaelyn the world returns to Reaume, that great collection of spaces tangible and intangible, after a thousand-year absence, but no one knows the home of Torrullin Valla and Elianas Danae again swerves in its designated place.

 Avaelyn is enshrouded.

By magic.

By time.

By manipulation.

 How to rip aside the shroud?

On Akhavar, meanwhile, Enlyl Valla lifts from the mud in the badlands an ancient artefact, a sword created to protect children. The plight of Reaume’s children is dire, after all, and volunteers from many worlds gather to do something about it.

Will the sword help?

When the shivers of premonition tell that the young are taken to keep Avaelyn enshrouded, the Vallas take the fight to the monsters responsible for such horror. They will not rest until every child is safe.

 However it comes to pass, Avaelyn will be unveiled.

 

CHAPTER 10

 How do you turn your back on need? Unless you’re callous, you can’t. How, then, do you deal with need? By giving what you are able to part with, and a little extra.

~ David, Mayor of Galilan ~

 

Sorison

City of Dara

Daybreak

HAVING delivered the team from Valaris to the hotel at the landing site, promising to find accommodation elsewhere - already the building was at capacity, and folk were beginning to mutter - Pandora, following her nose, went in search of the Electan … right, girl, you’re looking for Cyrillus and the mysterious Enlyl has nothing to do with your search.

The time differences played havoc with her sense of self. It was night on Valaris, and here the watery sun greeted a new day. She needed to get some sleep soon to align herself to Sorison time. When she noticed the activity at the embassy building - musty beds leaving and fresh furniture arriving - she knew she would find the Electan there. Tristan Skyler Valla’s fair hair was a beacon in the diffuse light, and where he was, there would be Cyrillus. She would also run into Enlyl. Something about him set her senses to tingling. Preferring her own company, she certainly wasn’t in the market for a relationship, and yet, in the first moments of meeting him, he ensnared her. Had she envisioned him between her thighs? Oh, instantly. But it was more than animal attraction. He had the look of someone seeking purpose and having found it, discovered it scared him. Did she not know that feeling too well? A siren song, thus.

“Deep in thought?” a male’s voice sounded behind her, and she swiftly turned, one hand already curling around the hilt of a dagger nestled against her back.

“Ah, Emperor,” she murmured. “Good morning.”

“You may release your weapon,” Teighlar said in amusement.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Habit.” She then cocked her head. “Few notice that.”

“That you reach for a weapon? Few will. Either they are too trusting or too slow.” He offered her a feral grin. “Can’t fool me, though.”

Laughing, she shifted to hook her arm through his for the walk to the building opposite. “So, what are we up to this morning?”

When he told her about overseeing the Sorison operation along with Gabryl, Enlyl and another yet to be nominated, her heart skipped oddly. It meant she would spend much time with Enlyl Valla.

“I accept,” she said. “And I know who to nominate also. Swann Sneddon from Trin. Having lost her daughter, not only is she highly motivated, but she has empathy. Add to that the fact that she’s the under-secretary to Trin’s deputy Prime Minister, and that woman knows how to organise people.”

“As you do?”

“People? Not so much. Logistics is more my game.”

The Emperor halted then. “You are a bounty hunter, Pandora.”

Lifting her tawny eyes to meet his gaze, she murmured, “What makes you say that?”

“I have been alive a long time, and I read people well. It is in the way you move, the way you watch others …”

“Perhaps I’m an ex-soldier.”

The man had the temerity to laugh. “Never. You are not built to take orders.”

And wasn’t that the absolute truth. “I hunt those who deserve the justice coming their way. This doesn’t make me a criminal.”

“What of those who don’t deserve justice?”

She shrugged. “I suggest to the one offering the contract to rather hire an assassin. I am not in the business of killing.”

“Does the Electan know?”

Pandora sniffed. “No.”

Resuming their amble across the square, Teighlar said, “I have no issue with what you do. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I suggested you for oversight. Gabryl is good at reading between the lines, Enlyl has something to prove, and you say this woman from Trin knows how to people. What is missing?”

The man from Grinwallin was clever. A step, two, three went by before Pandora responded. “The team needs a warrior.”

“Not just a warrior. Gabryl and Enlyl both know how to fight, after all. We need someone with insight, check before you lob a head off insight, from someone who knows how to hunt.”

“You need me to curtail …”

“… the hotheads in the teams. They will hear you because you know what you’re talking about.”

“Surely Gabryl knows?”

Teighlar sighed. “I don’t know.”

Ah. The father did not know the son too well, for they had not yet been placed in a situation requiring action of this nature. She squeezed his arm. “I accept the duty.”

He smiled down at her. “Thank you.” They halted again - the embassy was before them - and the Emperor lifted her hand to his mouth. “I’m almost envious of Enlyl.”

As heat rose in her cheeks, he kissed her glove and headed right rather than entering the building. She stared at his retreating form. Clever. Very clever.

 

Avaelyn

The Lifesource Cathedral

KARYDOR Danae wandered the chambers within chambers that was the Lifesource Cathedral. From the outside this magical place appeared no larger than a small village, but a stroll inside swiftly belied that. The spaces were eternal, and had everything to do with Q’lin’la magic fused to the Valleur talents employed to raise this spiritual place. And the colours! Lo, every hue imaginable, from pale moonlight to shimmering ebony. Here colour soothed or challenged, and the wanderer, without being aware, walked into chambers suffused with shades according to the needs of the spirit.

By all accounts, Quilla had achieved for this century old site what he had for the Temple on Valaris, his original infusing, that one many thousands of years old now. On Valaris, the Lifesource was also known as the Temple of Reversal, for the magical enclave possessed the unique ability to reverse immortality. To enter there immortal was to leave again mortal. Few visited for that, for it was true that immortals, while often bemoaning long life, did not inherently seek an ending. Here, though, all were welcome, and thus Karydor, immortal, could wander at will.

Agitation overcame him this morning on waking. Not feeling the need to burden another with his state of unrest, he chose to visit the Cathedral, and as ever it had worked. In a chamber suffused with pale blue glows through which saffron stars sparked, he rediscovered his usual equanimity, and also understood what had been subconsciously bothering him. Torrullin. His son. The man was in his thoughts more than usual, and that meant something brewed in the man’s mind. Perhaps the same something his dreams were plaguing him with night after night? Watching a yellow star explode against the opposite curve of this spacious chamber, Karydor smiled. While he did not need an excuse to visit his son, not after the events on Lykandir, still, now he had one, and would use it upon leaving here.

A few more chambers, though, would not go amiss. Feeling far better, he walked on, entering a space filled with magenta and silver streaks. Instantly he inhaled, beset upon, almost freaked out by the pressure in the chamber, and wondered why his spirit led him to this unsettling space … until he saw Torrullin hunkered against the wall, his head lowered to his chest, his dangling fingers appearing bone white. It scared him. For a moment he thought his son dead, by the gods … but no, not Torrullin. Impossible for Torrullin. He did, once he had established control over his breathing, understand why he had entered. His son needed him.

Hunkering before the man, Karydor took hold of his son’s chin and forced the man’s head upward. Silver eyes stared at him, through him, around him, seeing everything and nothing. Shuddering, he called, “Torrullin, can you hear me?”

At first there was no reaction, and then a slow tear rolled from the corner of Torrullin’s left eye. It tracked over the man’s cheek, reached his jawline, and then Torrullin rapidly blinked. He stared at his father and a hand lifted to swipe at the droplet.

Releasing him, Karydor murmured, “What is it?”

“She tells them about the Sleeper … she has hope now …” Grunting, Torrullin surged to his feet, holding his head. “They have placed me on an eternal pedestal, father. I cannot save everyone.”

Yes, leaving Reaume had been the best idea for this man. Torrullin found the ‘him’ in himself without every expectation surrounding him. And now? Now Reaume called to him. He would answer, for he was who he was, but what would it do to the internal peace he had fought so hard for? “Then save her,” Karydor murmured. “The one you sensed just now.”

Torrullin nodded and his chest inflated and deflated. “Wise words. I can save her, yes.” His lips drew back in the semblance of a smile. “Did you know I once dreamed of a girl across the spaces from where I was? I tried hard to save her. I still feel guilty that another did so. ‘Mitrill, my name is Mitrill,’ she whispered in my dreams, and I ended up keeping her separated from family when I did find her …”

“I know the story of Mitrill, Torrullin, the woman who married your son Tris, the girl who was also Varelie Valla. You did save her, many times, and you know that. Tymall would have killed her had he known about her. You saved her. You will save this girl also.”

Closing his eyes, Torrullin nodded. When he reopened, his eyes were their natural grey, matching his own. “’I am Airelle,’ she tells me. You’re right. I will find Airelle.”

“In the ground,” Karydor said, “where tunnels host a multitude of cells.” He grunted at the look his son bestowed on him. “I’m dreaming, too.”

“Well, that is a piece of a gigantic puzzle,” Torrullin muttered. “Tunnels. No wonder there’s no trace. Come, we have much to discuss …” Bemused, Karydor followed his son into the next chamber, that one awash in sunlight’s benevolence, and as both breathed easier, they started talking.

 

The dwelling on the cliffs

“WHERE did you go?” Elianas asked as Torrullin entered their kitchen with Karydor in his wake.

“Lifesource,” he muttered in response.

“Hello, Karydor,” the dark man said.

“Hoy, Elianas. We ran into each other there, and Torrullin has filled me in.”

A dark eyebrow hiked upward. “And you’re raring to go?”

Laughing, Karydor sat at the table. “Coffee first, I think, and then I need track Echo down. Not so raring, then.”

Grinning, Elianas brought an urn to the table, set it down and waved at Karydor to help himself. All the while Torrullin watched him, and when those dark eyes flicked his way, he inclined his head. He was right. Elianas saw the need, but he was not so enamoured of returning to Reaume in the manner that had now presented itself. The Lake of Swords was a place of death and remained that even when vanished into the ether of legend. Also, and did he not know this about the man, he was less than comfortable hitching his journey to the coattails of another.

“Short-lived, Elianas,” he murmured.

“Say what?” An unblinking stare came his way.

“Once rid of portal, you will be free again.”

Pressing his lips together, Elianas nodded, but Torrullin noted how his shoulders relaxed. In the last hundred years, Elianas had discovered he was able to think for himself, that he no longer bent his every decision to include what he, Torrullin, might think of it. Ever it has been thus, from his perspective, but Elianas now believed it as well, and it made all the difference for the man. Freedom, internal freedom, was important to him now.

“What sent you to the Lifesource? I thought you wished to avoid Quilla until after the fact.”

Torrullin grunted, “Fortunately the birdman was absent.”

“Torrullin.”

He shrugged. “I heard a voice in my mind, and sought clarity. A girl’s voice, calling to me.”

Elianas blinked. “Like it was with Mitrill?”

“Yes.”

His dark eyes filling with sympathy, Elianas approached to lay his hands on Torrullin’s shoulders. “And? Did you find clarity?”

He smiled from his inner being. “I did. My father told me exactly what I needed to hear.”

“Which is?”

“I can save her, Elianas. We can save her. And we don’t need to be there for everyone.”

Fingers dug into the muscle of his upper arms, and Elianas murmured, “Now you get it. One at a time, together, or we drive ourselves crazy.” Releasing, he returned to the table. “Drink your coffee. We need bolstering for this chant.”

“One other thing,” Torrullin said as he hauled a chair out, and sat next to Karydor. “I’m not pandering to personalities this time. I will not put a mask on to appease the sensibilities of others, whether family, friends or strangers.”

Taking a seat opposite, Elianas winked. “Good.”

“Really?”

“Torrullin, you gave different parts of yourself to different people in the past, and called it easier for them, which meant it was everything but easy for you. Guess what happens when you get ticked off? You lash out, and did, creating chaos for those who thought they knew you when they could not, seeing only the part you allowed them to see. So, good. Be yourself. Easier for you, and maybe they will finally get to know who you are.”

“Will you apply that to yourself?”

Filling a mug, Elianas smiled. “Oh, indeed.”

Karydor held his mug out for a refill, and said, “I agree, and I will do the same. Had enough of trying to fit in, I have. If someone doesn’t like me, to hell with him or her.”

Torrullin spluttered into laughter. “Beware Reaume!”

Clinking mugs, they grinned at each other.

 

Sorison - City of Dara

THE DINING and sitting rooms on the ground floor of the hotel filled cheek to jowl when Tianoman Valla put the word out that they had decisions to make before their endeavour properly got underway.

Just over a hundred worlds had sent teams to Sorison, and another hundred teams were en route, which meant soon their number would be in the region of two thousand, and the hotel would never house everyone. Also, when on occasion they needed to gather, this place was too small to fit all in. Mercifully, in Tianoman’s view, Pandora offered to find solutions, such as opening other hotels and embassies, and securing a large space for gathering. She mentioned seeing a warehouse, and would investigate viability. Excellent; he would leave logistics up to her. Right now, they needed to discuss leadership, and thus he stepped forward and started speaking. Half an hour later, all were in agreement, and Swann Sneddon joined the oversight team, a middle-aged woman with shoulder length chestnut curls and pale blue eyes. Slim and tiny as she was, it was also immediately evident that she took no prisoners when it came to doing her job. Excellent, Tianoman mused again; the teams were in good hands. Swann would move into the embassy with them, the oversight base as Pandora called it.

Tianoman was about to end the gathering, when Enlyl stepped in. “Our thanks to my father for calling us here this morning, but now we have work to do. Who has experience with the supply chain? Is there a tech wizard here? Are any of you soldiers?”

Stepping aside, Tianoman smiled as his son sent out question after question to determine who could do what. Right, in good hands. Gesturing to Teighlar and Tristan, he indicated they leave.

“Seems we are not needed,” Teighlar laughed as they stepped outside into the bracing air.

“I find I’m relieved,” Tianoman chortled.

“Likewise,” Tristan added, and sent his gaze over the concourse, noting someone had created order in the chaos of yesterday’s parking. The hangers on the far side were open, some with ships already inside, others clearly meant as repair facilities, and he nodded. They were not needed, not for the operational side of an investigation; their strengths lay in what they could do when confronting the enemy. “I say we go to Akhavar for breakfast.”

“Right behind you, mate,” Teighlar grinned, and laughing, Tianoman led the way, vanishing from that cold world within the blink of an eye.

 

Akhavar - The Royal Suite

AISLINN was waiting when they entered. “Timare is missing.”

His wife would never dissemble, especially not when it came to her loved ones. A hollow pit opened inside Tianoman as he asked, “Tell me.” Behind him, Tristan and Teighlar said not a word.

Striding forward, her golden hair swinging, Aislinn stated, “Zane tells me he went to the Lake of Swords.”

Fuck. Not this. “When?”

“Minutes ago. Zane went after him, followed his signature, and he found footprints leading into that bloody pit of mud, and nothing more.”

Aislinn, Tianoman realised, was about to scream her rage. Zane and Timare were her beloved grandsons, and woe to anyone who messed with them. “Calm, Ais, we’ll go there now. It’s only been minutes. Where is Zane?”

“Still there, to wait, he says, in the event Tim needs help coming back.”

The goddamned place was a portal also, yes. Swallowing, Tianoman kissed his wife’s cheek and then summarily vanished. He did not have to ask; the two men with him would follow.

 

Avaelyn

Western orchards

ANASTIR, busy with the guard roster for the mud pit, facing the three Valleur with him, jerked when something squelched behind him. The hairs on his arms spiked, and he shouted, “Artorin, something’s coming through!”

His fellow Elder watched from the other side of the pit, and when he turned, Anastir saw the man hunkering there with a look of terror on his face. Between them, the mud boiled and spat, making otherworldly sounds.

“Torrullin!” Anastir yelled next, his gaze fixated now on the roiling mire. The Valleur with him arrayed along the edge, swords already drawn.

Thank the gods, Torrullin appeared within two seconds, and did not have to ask why he was summoned. His attention immediately went to the pit, and his hand settled upon the hilt of his blade. “Come!” Torrullin roared … and, by the gods, a man suddenly stepped up and out with not a spatter upon him. “Who are you?” Torrullin demanded.

The man inhaled, a Golden by any Valleur’s measure, gazing convulsively around him. “Where am I?”

Abruptly, to Anastir’s everlasting astonishment, Torrullin released his hold on his weapon and, frowning, stepped forward. “You are Valla,” he stated.

“Is this Avaelyn?” the man blurted. “Are you Torrullin? You look just like Tristan.”

Reaching in, Torrullin hauled the man closer by the arm. “I am Torrullin, and this is Avaelyn. Are you Tian’s son?”

“Lunik is my father.” Rolling his shoulders, the man altered his stance to grip Torrullin’s in a forearm-to-forearm clasp. Where their fingers brushed as they reached in, blue flames briefly spat. Kinfire. “I am Timare. Most call me Tim. Well met, my Lord Elixir.”

Waving at the guards to stand down, Anastir retreated somewhat. Artorin, closing in from the opposite edge, joined him. The two Elders looked at each other. The Vallas certainly knew how to astonish, did they not?

“So, my grandson is a grandfather. Man, I’m old,” Torrullin laughed. “Welcome, Tim, to Avaelyn. You have utterly surprised me.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Timare explained. “I stepped too close to the mud, and the next moment everything went haywire. Zane will go mad.”

“As we assumed, then. This is a portal between Avaelyn and Akhavar. Who is Zane?”

“My brother. We were meant to meet at the mud pit.”

“Valla curiosity,” Torrullin grunted in amusement. “Come; we have much to …” Before he could finish that thought, Timare gargled, elongated. and vanished. A sucking sound accompanied his sudden disappearance. “No!” Torrullin hollered.

Artorin, a hand splayed upon his breast, huffed his utter astonishment. “The pit took him elsewhere.”

For eternal moments Torrullin stared into the cloying wetness, and then his mouth set in a grim line. “Double the watch on this place. Who knows what else will use this as a means to reaching Avaelyn?”

Anastir grunted agreement, and Torrullin left, leaving the Elder with the sense that his ruler was coldly furious.

 

Akhavar

Lake of Swords

ZANE paced madly, coming to a dead halt when he saw his grandfather. “We said we’d meet here, but when I arrived no more than a few minutes behind him, Tim had vanished. He went in there, I just know it.”

Tianoman gripped his grandson’s shoulders. “This isn’t your fault. We will deal with it, understand?” Zane nodded without speaking. Letting go, Tianoman shifted to Tristan. “Can you place Kaval watch here? You know the Valleur will be foolhardy, so I prefer not asking them to guard this.”

“Consider it done. I’ll contact Belun now.”

Teighlar, meanwhile squatted near the edge of the mud’s reach. “It’s a portal,” he murmured. “It has the same feel as the crucible in Grinwallin. Does this one exit in multiple locations or is it a way between two fixed places?” He sniffed. “The latter, I’d say.”

“Avaelyn,” Tianoman sighed.

As Teighlar looked up at him, he looked down, and Tristan immediately blurted, “Don’t you dare, either of you. What we suspect may not be what we actually find. We are not Walkers.”

“Neither is Timare,” Tianoman whispered.

“But Torrullin is,” Tristan said. “When he cops this, he will use it, and he can find Tim if he went elsewhere. We do not step in there, hear?”

“Lunik,” Tianoman breathed, fixing his gaze over Tristan’s shoulder. “Son, wait …” Lunik was already striding for the pit, and his father stepped into his path. “Tristan is right, Lunik! To go haring in there is looking for trouble. What if you land up somewhere else? What if you end up trapped in limbo?”

“Out of my way,” Lunik growled, only to be tackled from behind.

Tristan had him in a headlock. “Torrullin can find him, Lunik. Think! For fuck’s sake, why are we Vallas so bloody headstrong? Just think, will you?”

Ceasing his struggle, Lunik muttered, “Fine. But I want to know what’s going on. All the rumours going around led to Tim doing something he wasn’t prepared for, and Zane might have vanished also had he and his brother been together. Enough.”

“We will tell you everything, I promise,” his father murmured, “and Zane and Ash.”

Belun arrived then, along with Assint and Mahler. The three Centuar noted the tension but did not say a word. They took up positions around the mire, and Belun said, “We have this, Tris. Fuma, Amunti and Chaim will spell us in four hours.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s go.” Tianoman murmured, nodding his appreciation towards the Centuar. Holding Zane, he vanished.

Tristan, still with Lunik in his grip, left as well, leaving the Emperor to look Belun’s way. “He’s coming, Centuar,” he murmured. “He will arrive here.”

Belun’s now silver eyes glowed. “Well then, to hell with being relieved of watch. I’m staying right where I am.”

AVAELYN

Masters of Multitasking

 

Ancient Oracles

 

14 massive, leather bound volumes, collectively known as the Ancient Oracles, these books have travelled the ages with the Valleur. Started by Nemisin, the tradition of recording events and enchantments continued for a long while, until war and tribulation forced focus elsewhere. In the current era, the Valleur young are taught from the Oracles but other than a brief recording event (Mantra Valla inserts Valaris' sacred sites in the back of the final book) and one new volume (Torrullin's doing), the volumes have changed little. They continue to be regarded at the Valleur treasure.

First mention is in Lore 1 - The Infinity Mantle.

The child raised on folklore

 

Allagrugous & Aviothic

 

Tris & Ty (twin brothers)

 At this stage the boys are almost three, and three is the age when Valleur remember the greetings spoken to them in the womb, the recognition. Because one of these boys goes unrecognised, well, hell will ensue due to that oversight. Here they are the light in everyone's lives …

I do feel this sometimes

 

Elianas & Vannis

 

Cosmopoietic & Empyrean

 

Lore Worlds 2

 

Chapter 10: LYKANDIR: The Measured World

 

Motionless seas. A two-faces clock. Lykan sees all. 

The Dark Ages reigns on a world separated from Time, where men prefer war and women are lesser. Writing is outlawed and city gates close against the night, for the legend of the Wer is frighteningly real.

King Androdin sends his son Cadmus north to meet with his northern rival, Drakan of Caladin, and with him is Aris Delmann, leader of the army. Their journey takes an unexpected turn when they discover not only an enclave of women, but also powerful men from another world, among them Torrullin Valla and Elianas Danae. 

Meanwhile, in the south, traitors have summoned an army from a distant land, and soon the first city falls to their might. 

When the mages begin their own game of manipulation, using the two-faces clock, Lykandir becomes explosive. It needs but a spark and all hope will be lost. 

How dare they? Now is the time to stand together, is it not? Lykandir is about to suffer an overdue shake around and no one will escape it. 

Lykan sees all.

CHAPTER 10

 

For love of a friend, one walks into danger.

~ Ancient Oracles ~

 

Avaelyn

The Singing Chapel

THREE days after the wasp attack, Torrullin summoned his team to the Singing Chapel on the grounds of the Healer’s Facility. Built as a sacred site, the stone building communed with nature and accepted all worship, whether of the Mother or a tree, flower, or a star in the heavens. It did not matter; what mattered was serenity, and here there was a tranquillity to soothe the soul when a loved one lay on a bed in the hospital a few feet removed. The day he and Elianas consecrated the site, over a century ago, bright-winged birds flew into the giant tree the chapel reposed under and commenced a song of ethereal beauty. Thus, the Singing Chapel. Even now, a multitude of harmonies played out on the branches overhead.

Shep Lore, the architect and instigator for what he called the hospital, but Valleur thought of as the Healers, as well as being its administrator, and the foremost healer on Avaelyn, would not attend. Too many required his care at this point. None had yet recovered from the wasp sting. Sabian had denied the summons also, claiming he was engaged in determining both cause and solution to the foul result of the stinging.

Torrullin hoped he would find something, for those felled had been immune to his healer’s talent, and that had never happened before. This ‘illness’ was either so new or so ancient, there was no cure, one not even his remarkable abilities could delve for. Like to Titan’s Disease in the past, which had at least responded to his touch, this was a thing of sorcery, there was no longer doubt on that score. Had it been biological, every man, woman and child would now be leaving the hospital healed after being under his hands. Shep and Sabian would need to be caught up on the other world situation, but in the present, they were where they were most needed.

Elianas relaxed in long-legged calm in one of the window seats, his gaze turned outward. He seemed removed from the present. His long, dark hair lifted in the breeze - the doors were open on both sides - and his fingers lay spread on his thighs. For this, he had donned black - britches, boots - other than his tunic, a flowing white silk. He appeared, Torrullin mused, much like the pirates in old stories. All he needed was a cutlass.

“Where is your sword, Elianas?”

The man did not move, other than to say, “At home.”

He, Torrullin, had not strapped his on either. He could not remember the last time he had cause to wear it. In those first years after separation from Reaume, yes, for the potential for strife still existed then, but thereafter only to swipe at midges when he and Elianas raced along wild paths on their horses. Soon the day arrived when neither man bothered to reach for their blades. Both kept them oiled and sharp, however,

“Are you thinking we should keep our swords close again?” Elianas asked, his gaze still turned outward.

“Maybe.”

Dark hair swung as Elianas moved his head to rake him with an unreadable gaze. “You chose full black for this gathering. Making a statement or expecting trouble?”

The black had been his trademark apparel, as it had been for Elianas, but with time he had set aside what he regarded as both armour and war gear, and had chosen loose-fitting natural hues. In winter, certainly, he sometimes donned the black, but that had to do with staying warm, not much else. “Both,” Torrullin murmured.

“Why make a statement? We are not expecting strangers, Torrullin.”

“Says the man who almost did the same. Tell me why you chose that shirt.”

Elianas’ head swung back to the outward view. “Too hot for a woven tunic.”

“That’s your reason?”

“What else can it be?”

The itch of frustration over Elianas’ attitude revealed to him that they were in contrary mode both. In the past this led to extreme confrontation between them; were they headed in that direction again?

“Elianas, I don’t want to fight.”

“Too bad. Maybe I do.”

Now what the fuck did that mean? About to stride in to haul the man from the seat, Torrullin was forced to pause, for he heard Teroux’s voice on approach, talking to someone as he walked. “Saved by the bell,” he muttered.

A smile curved onto an amber cheek, but Elianas did not look his way.

Teroux, golden hair flowing over his shoulders, his tawny eyes bright, entered all smiles, his arms held wide. Grinning, Torrullin walked into the embrace, and both slapped each other’s backs before drawing apart. “Good to see you, Teroux. You look well. The ocean air definitely suits you.”

“Man, my new ship is fantastic! You and Elianas have to come for a sail … where is Elianas? Oh, there you are!” Grinning, Teroux moved in Elianas’ direction, who swung his legs to the floor and stood. The two clasped arms in ritual greeting.

“We’d love to sail,” Elianas smiled.

“Just say when,” Teroux grinned.

In the time before, Elianas and Teroux had issues and barely tolerated each other. They were not best friends today, but after a century of sun, sea, and his own company, Teroux had grown up and no longer sought to hold on to the past. His greeting and smile, therefore, was sincere, and Elianas responded to it, although only Torrullin understood the dark man still had reservations. He would probably never entirely trust Teroux.

“Who were you talking to?” Torrullin asked.

“Quilla. Now where has he got to?” Teroux moved to a bench and sat, crossing his legs.

“Here, here,” Quilla of the Q’lin’la chirped as he entered. A tiny being with feathered crown and wings, the birdman was Torrullin’s most trusted friend. His cherubic cheeks bulged as he smiled greeting, “Such lovely harmonies, had me entranced. Torrullin, I have missed you. And you, Elianas. Teroux at least has been to the Lifesource; I hope you two will pay a visit soon.”

The Lifesource Cathedral was the sacred site on Avaelyn. Erected between two mighty peaks with a gigantic waterfall to one side, it gave homage to the lifegiving waters of their world, and in return offered healing of the mind to all who entered the ethereal chambers within chambers. Many visited simply to listen to the magic of the music surrounding them as they wandered through. Although a Valleur site, it was also Quilla’s home, and was the only access to the Q’in’la moonlit homeworld.

“Soon,” Elianas echoed. “Hello, Quilla. It is good to see you.”

Tiny hands clasped together. “Likewise. We are too scattered in the present.”

“Peace does that,” Torrullin grinned.

Bright blue orbs speared him. “Meaning peace is about to be disrupted, given we are gathering? Oh, I hope not.”

“I agree,” Teroux said. “Those wasps? Is that what this is about?”

“They appear to be a symptom of a larger problem. I will explain when Tarlinn joins us,” Torrullin responded.

“Will he join us?”

Torrullin shrugged at his grandson. There was no way of knowing, was there?

Quilla meanwhile moved to stand before Elianas, his feathered head thrown back to look up at the man. “You are disturbed.”

“The news is not the best.”

“No, Elianas,” Quilla murmured, and reached up to lay a tiny hand over the dark man’s heart. “I mean in here.”

Placing a hand over the tiny one, thereby engulfing it, Elianas said, “Perhaps I will come to the Lifesource, for clarity.”

“Good.” Swinging away, the birdman next came to rest before Torrullin. “The black, my friend?”

Peripherally tracking Elianas’ suddenly uncoordinated movements, Torrullin muttered, “You need to take this seriously.”

“That bad.”

“Potentially, yes.”

“Oh dear,” Quilla sighed, and moved to perch beside Teroux.

As Elianas returned to the window seat, sitting with his legs hanging over the edge to face the interior, a new shadow darkened the entrance.

Tarlinn had arrived.

 

HE PAUSED in the doorway to study those already present.

Torrullin Valla. The man of many titles. Elixir. Walker of Realms. Shadow Wings. Lorinin. Ancient. Eternal Companion. Timekeeper. And Vallorin, the one that counted most for him, Tarlinn. The Valleur who was both Valla and Danae, a true immortal. That list of titles was what led to Torrullin choosing to bow out from Reaume, and who could blame him?

Elianas Danae. Torrullin’s equal in power, his list of titles as impressive. Alhazen. Shadow Wings. Ancient. Eternal Companion. Timekeeper. The Danae. The Vallorin without a throne. How he wished Elianas had taken that seat. A Danae with Valla blood also, truly immortal.

He knew these two men from the inside out. He was and ever would remain the sentient part of the Valleur Throne, but having chosen to accompany The Valla and The Danae into their portal existence, he now walked on two legs like to any other. The Throne itself, back in Reaume, was autonomous, and yet, if he wished to, he could simply return to inhabit the seat as he had for eons upon eons, through cycle after cycle. He no longer wished to, but his choice did not detract from his powers at all. As in the past, when Torrullin, first and forever Vallorin of the Valleur in his opinion, sat on his Throne, and knowledge flowed between them, thus it was now. Elianas had hidden as essence within the golden seat for a lengthy period, believing himself alone, waiting, and Tarlinn the sentience had left him to that belief, for it was how the man coped with the long wait. Indeed, yes, he knew these men from the inside out.

A century had gone by as a man. Often, he needed to vanish to cope with that, for a century when compared to the eternity elapsed? It played with his mind. Sometimes he questioned his choice academically, and at other times he screamed his elation at the spaces … and did not need witnesses for that.

Tarlinn’s attention shifted to the only other Valla on Avaelyn - Teroux. The young man - no longer that young at over a century - had finally lived up to his potential. Teroux Valla had a rough time growing up. As a man who preferred men, he hid his secret, and it bowed his soul. He wed the lovely Rose and betrayed her for Elianas, which that man utterly denied him. Time had moved on and there was peace between them, and Teroux had blossomed to become his own man, while Elianas remained contained when in his presence.

And Quilla of the Q’lin’la. A true friend to Torrullin, his only confidante. How blessed Avaelyn was that this tiny birdman had chosen to turn his back on Reaume. He said it was because his time had expired there, but Tarlinn knew the real reason was his love for Torrullin.

Glorious men, and here he was, unremarkable, average … generic. A face overlooked in a crowd. Features soon forgotten, his choice. And yet his power, while different, was on par with both Torrullin and Elianas. They were waiting for him to speak. “Greetings,” was all he said, and moved forward to clasp arms with all except Quilla, who grinned impishly his way.

“Six years this time, Tarlinn,” Torrullin pointed out. “What were you up to? No one saw you.”

“Here, there. High, low. This is an ancient world and keeps secrets. I wanted to know.”

“And what did you discover?”

“I now know how Avaelyn will return to Reaume.”

Utter silence greeted that statement, and Tarlinn watched the reactions with curiosity. Torrullin inhaled, and closed his eyes, and that, he understood, was all about relief. Thus, Torrullin already knew they would return, and he realised the way had been found. Elianas remained expressionless, other than incrementally shifting his gaze to evaluate Torrullin’s reaction. Thus, the Danae knew as well, and now wondered how soon Torrullin would agitate for that return. Quilla’s mouth rounded and Teroux paled to ghostly white.

“Return? I don’t want to go back,” Teroux whispered.

“Tactless, Tarlinn,” Torrullin snarled.

“No, my brother. This is knowledge we may need soon. If we cannot prevent the seas boiling away, escape from this realm will be the only answer.”

“Fuck,” Elianas groaned.

“What the hell does he mean?” Teroux demanded of Torrullin. “Boiling seas?” No doubt Teroux’s first thought was for his fleet of ships. “What bloody boiling seas?”

Threading both hands through his shoulder length hair, Torrullin said, “You are therefore aware of the situation.”

Tarlinn nodded. “I am.”

“You came to tell us about this dubious escape hatch.”

“I did.”

Torrullin grinned mirthlessly. “Hasn’t that just put a cathron among the falcons?” Inhaling, he faced Quilla and Teroux. “Listen now, here’s what’s happening …”

 

Healer’s Facility

MANY lay in delirium upon beds in the hospital and Shep Lore moved amongst them, hoping to at least make them as comfortable and pain free as was possible. Friends and family of his patients hovered, waiting for the healer to give his prognosis. He had nothing to offer them, and prayed that Sabian would find an answer. Torrullin’s healing attempts had had no waken and heal effect, although it did delay what other healers were saying was inevitability. They lost three men before Torrullin arrived that first day. This was day four, and none had yet recovered naturally.

Of the swarm there had been no further sign, but reports of sightings of small groups had filtered in from every region. No further attacks had yet occurred and for that Shep was beyond thankful.

One man kept drawing his gaze and he was unsure whether the man was human or Valleur; his dark hair spoke of being human while his attitude screamed Valleur. He hovered over a golden-haired Valleur writhing and moaning, whispering to him, no doubt hoping his words of support would aid the poor man. The hovering one reminded Shep so much of Taranis Agripson, the Guardian of yesteryear, that he could not help but glance over repeatedly, certain his eyes were deceiving him. The man was nervous, and that nervousness went beyond what he felt for his friend in delirium. He continually looked to the ward entrance as if expecting someone to enter, a someone he did not particularly wish to see, or was wary of encountering, but because he cared for the ill man, he took the risk. Gut instinct told Shep that, by all gods, this day would bring utter change.

Sabian entered then, and Shep noticed how the watching dark-haired man almost deflated in his relief. Shep and Sabian had over the last century become best friends, often working together, one being practical, the other a researcher. They made things happen, much to Torrullin’s continued amusement.

“Shep?” Sabian queried. “Have a moment?”

The rotund, purple-clad form saw something in Sabian’s expression, for he nodded and followed the man out. Neither noticed that the dark-haired one trailed after them.

The two halted in an alcove and engaged in whispered conversation. “I can now confirm each of those creatures was, in some form, a wasp, but not of the natural order,” Sabian murmured.

“What are you inferring?” Shep demanded. “My patients need me; get to the point.”

“Sorcery, Shep,” Sabian snapped. “What else is there? Someone has infiltrated Avaelyn, someone with bad intentions.”

“Who?”

Sabian threw his hands up. “I don’t know, idiot.”

“What can be done to stop this? I don’t care how or why right now; I need an answer!”

“Hush, will you?” Sabian inhaled and lowered his own voice. “According to the Lore Book, there is only one countering that will work. The heated tip of a special sword must be placed upon the brow of the man stung, and he will then recover.”

Shep nodded vigorously. “Well, good. Where’s the sword?”

Sabian stared at him. “I have no idea, or even if it exists.”

Paling, Shep whispered, “The great words have names. Is it not Trezond or Kilathen?”

“Neither Torrullin nor Elianas’ swords have sway in this, unfortunately. This one is named Iniralin.”

“Never heard of it.”

Sabian swore under his breath, and asked, “No race memory?”

Shep Lore shook his head.

“Then we’re screwed, my friend.”

The dark-haired man moved into their field of view, drawing their attention. Shep frowned at him, but Sabian gasped, and it was such a shocked and enlightened sound, it caused Shep to jerk. “What now?” he demanded of Sabian, ignoring the man who now had a hand on the hilt of his sword. A trembling hand, Shep noticed. The incongruity worried him, but so did Sabian’s shock.

Sabian lifted a shaking hand to point. “Him.”

“What about him? He has a friend in the ward. He reminds me of Taranis but …”

“More correctly, Shep, Taranis looked like this man,” Sabian stated, his voice strengthening. He inhaled, and then bowed low. “Well met, Karydor Danae.”

“Ohhh,” Shep breathed out. Shivers raced over his skin, puckering every inch with goosebumps.

The man closed his eyes, and nodded. “You have me there, Master Historian, and I have the sword known as Iniralin. Named for hope and optimism, and future.”

Sabian blinked.

Grey eyes crinkled with something approaching amusement when they reopened. Torrullin’s eyes. “Yes, I am well aware of what this means. Not only do I appear to carry the blade that will save lives, if you have the right of it, but this day I meet my son.”

“Ohhh,” Shep repeated in a hoarse voice.

Indeed.

 

LYKANDIR