A new Timekeeper steps forth.
What does the device look like? Who created it? Where is it hiding?
Weaving through all the chaos is the mighty Valla family, fractured and almost beyond repair. It is time to find unity once more. It is time to stand together or fall forever. It is time to be noble, even when such nobility requires sacrifice.
Time itself demands redress.
Join Torrullin and Elianas, support Tianoman and Tristan, and sympathise with Teroux, in this, the conclusion to the epic LORE series.
CHAPTER 10
Beware symbols, for what was once created in benevolence has
a way of becoming something vile when in the possession of others not as
discerning. Symbology is a means to read history, but it cannot always tell the
truth.
~ Scroll of Wisdom ~
Balconaru
ALIK’S HORSE NEARLY TRAMPLED Teighlar. She shouted, he cursed, the horse shied, and Lowen leaned in and pulled at the reins. Order returned.
“Well,” Lowen said, “you are a
surprise, my Lord Emperor.”
He scowled at her and focused on
Alik. “Are you fine?”
“It was Tannil; he drew us into
here. I am fine, thanks, if petrified.”
Teighlar glanced around and saw the
city, the smoke rising lazily into the air. They were at the foot of an incline
and the city lay directly ahead. “Where is this? It smells of death.”
“It was Balconaru, according to
Tannil.”
Two indentations erupted onto
Teighlar’s smooth brow. “Way on the edge of the Ganimidian Galaxy? Why? And is
Tannil still here?”
“He’s gone,” Lowen said. “How did
you find us?”
“The box. Focused on Alik. Why did
he bring you here?”
“To show us what he can do, to
taunt, and to tell us what he now possesses.” Lowen stared at him. “And there
is massive nuance in that city, Teighlar.”
“Oh?” He wandered over to Alik and
her mount, motioned for her to scoot forward and vaulted into the saddle behind
her. Taking the reins from her numbed fingers, he nudged the animal over to
draw abreast with the Xenian. “What do you know of this place?”
“An ancient settlement dating back
to beginning times, apparently settled late in Dancing Suns. According to
records - of which there isn’t a whole scroll, I put it together from pieces -
a few folk crashed here. We must assume it was a ship, but then it was also
further back than technology …”
“Lowen.”
“I am merely telling you I don’t
know exactly how they got here; it’s mixed up.”
“Fine. Where is the nuance?”
“Who they were. I found only one
mention and it has huge resonance.”
“Fine,” he said again. “Who?”
“Danaan.”
He sawed at the horse’s mouth. “What?”
Lowen stared at him and nodded with
expression. “So, you do know. That is
why Alik is here also - to inform you after.”
Alik grabbed the reins from her
father and leaned in to pacify the skittish animal, whispering in her ear until
she had quietened.
“The Valleur exterminated the
Danaan,” Teighlar said.
“A handful clearly survived to
escape that region of space, and came here. They did not call themselves
Danaan, though; that heritage I got from a source other than histories of this
world. They called themselves Gani, probably based on the galaxy name, or the
galaxy was named after them, who knows? This is a small world and, although
benign, few live here. There are only two cities: this one, and another on a
more southern continent. That one is a human settlement.”
“Danaan were human,” Teighlar said.
“They were not.”
He stared at her.
Lowen grinned. “Me and my memory,
sorry. I sometimes find I know things without recalling where I found … anyway.
Sabian, as our Master Historian, told me of the Danaan. They look human, speak
human, live and love human, but DNA has proven they are more than human. They
have the ability to withstand space, the vacuum, and they have the insulation
in their cells to withstand every extreme temperature. No human can do that.
And, Teighlar, despite what you may or may not think of loops returning and all
that, humankind came only later, long after the Valleur began expanding into
greater space. The Danaan then and the Gani murdered here were not human.”
Teighlar was silent a long time, and
then, in a quiet tone, he said, “It explains even more how time was my friend
and how I managed to survive on virtually nothing.”
Lowen simply nodded, but Alik craned
around to look at him. “Dad?”
He smiled down at her. “How I love
it when you say that.”
She dug an elbow into his ribs.
“Answer.”
Teighlar shrugged. “The genesis of
our race. Me, Alexander Diluvan, abandoned on an empty world.” Her eyes were
round. “I shall tell you all of it when we get back home, I promise.” Teighlar
moved his attention to Lowen. “Something Tannil now possesses, you said?”
“The Maghdim Medaillon.”
He frowned immediately. “Tannil has
it? That is unlikely.”
“We saw it.”
He shook his head. “It cannot be
real. Torrullin would bloody turn the universe on its head if Tannil stole it
from him, and there have been no such disturbances.”
Lowen sighed and in there was marked
relief. “Then Tannil is using a replica in much the same way as Tymall once
used a duplicate of the Dragon Taliesman.”
“I would say so, yes.”
“I am very relieved to hear it.”
“A replica can cause all kinds of
shit,” Teighlar muttered.
“Less, however, than the real device
in wrong hands.”
“True. Right, how do we get from
this place?”
Alik gestured ahead. “We go through.
The exit is on the other side.”
Teighlar glanced at Lowen for
confirmation, who nodded back at him. Teighlar swore under his breath, staring
into the smoke rising into the air. “It will not be pleasant.”
Neither woman replied.
Avaelyn
ELIANAS WENT TO AVAELYN. Kneeling in mud before the debris of his home, he understood a piece of his soul had been destroyed also. Unmoving, he simply looked. And remembered.
Walking across the bridge for the
first time as a storm threatened, his father Tingast at his side. Torrullin,
Lord Sorcerer, tempting the fates. Magic and companionship. Love and battles.
His attempt to preserve Avaelyn through the millennia while he and Torrullin
were apart, releasing a part of himself to keep the dwelling whole through
time. His name, Elianas Danae, upon the deed. A place of healing, most recently
for Torrullin as Rayne.
Scrolls gone. Books gone. Familiar
objects and spaces, gone. Only memory
remained. Memory was insufficient. His face set as if into stone. It was time to
do something about it.
“I know you are there,” he said.
A squelching tread through mud
sounded behind him, to come to a halt beside him. “Grandfather.”
“Tannil.” Elianas did not look up.
“Say my true name and free us both
of that particular connection.”
“Not yet. What I intend next
requires our connection.”
Tannil abruptly kneeled in the
sludge, reached out, and gripped Elianas’ chin, forcing that expressionless
face towards him. “What do you intend?”
Shadows of uncertainty moved in the
tawny gaze he stared into. Elianas carefully did not react to it. “That is my
home, Tannil. I want it back.”
A smile blossomed. All was well in
Tannil’s world again. He released his hold and said, “You can try, of course.”
“I suggest you leave.”
Tannil swore, loud and long, before
saying, “When you two, whether together or apart, become this certain and
focused, I am truly anxious. What do you intend?” The uncertainty was back
behind golden lashes.
“Death.”
Tannil stared at him. “Alhazen’s
death?”
Elianas simply stared at him.
“You cannot! It screws with everything!”
The dark man offered a cold smile.
“Perhaps. The timing, however, is fortuitous.”
“What does that mean?” Tannil
screeched.
“Tannil, I wish I had known my son
Skynis and I certainly wish with all my heart I had known my grandson Tannil at
the time of your living. Nothing I do or say is able to return either of us to
that kind of bliss, and nothing in this universe or another is able to repair
the damage. I need to move onward from guilt.”
“Say my true name and guilt is done
with.”
“No. It is time for you to leave.”
“I refuse.”
“Stay, then. Know your reign as
Timekeeper will end in the next few moments.”
Tannil surged to his feet. “I am
able to force compliance.”
His dark eyes unfathomable, Elianas
gazed up. “You cannot. Alhazen cannot be manipulated by anyone.”
“Your death will fell him!”
“For a time, yes.”
“Why?” Tannil burst out.
“There are so many reasons I do not
know where to commence an articulate explanation, and not one reason I utter
aloud would make sense to you. You are, after all, an outsider, Tannil.
Torrullin will understand eventually. I care about only that; I care not what
you think or believe. You have ten seconds, grandson. Ten … nine … eight …”
Tannil vanished.
Elianas laughed aloud, satisfaction
clear in his every expression. Then he sobered. Perhaps he should consider
more. There would be ramifications. To Hades with that. It was time to act
decisively.
Balconaru
THE GATES WERE OF iron and hung askew as if ripped by giants from their great hinges. The walls were of boulders, many feet thick, and were as dust in the wind. The cobbled ways were awash in blood and urine and faeces … and body parts. Of people, of animals. Trees burned as rush torches. Ash shot upward and drifted slowly down. It was a netherworld.
Teighlar clambered off Alik’s horse
and approached a man laying half in and half out of a doorway.
“Don’t,” Alik said, choking it out.
“I have to.”
“He needs to see what they look
like,” Lowen murmured. Her face was set and expressionless and she tried with
everything she had not to look too hard or too long at anything. She was not
always successful.
The man was whole, although blood
covered most of him. He wore leather breeches and high boots, a linen shirt
festooned with symbols, red on black. A timepiece adorned his wrist, an earring
in one lobe. A small tattoo sat high upon his left cheek. He was pale of skin,
as all Senlu in Grinwallin were. His hair was reddish, as most Senlu possessed.
The timepiece was modern. The boots were factory made. Clearly technology
existed here. The tattoo was a word, upon closer inspection. It read, Luvan. Teighlar hissed through his teeth
and rapidly made his way to the next body, a woman crumpled at the edge of the
building. He rolled her over. Pale. Auburn hair. Leather waistcoat, high boots,
fringed and colourful skirt. A tattoo. Also upon her cheek. It read, Danaan.
Hissing again, Teighlar ran to
another body, this one on the opposite side of the cobbled street. A man,
dressed as the other. His tattoo read, Alexander.
Teighlar straightened. By all gods. By Eurue.
A young child lay in the canals
running parallel with every street. A Senlu, if not for where she was. She,
too, wore a tattoo upon her cheek. It appeared as if the mark was made close to
birth. Hers read, Diluvan. Teighlar
stared down. He moved to a woman severed by the chains of a swing in a play
park. Gritting his teeth to bear the weight of what she must have suffered as
death sought her, he lifted red hair from her forehead to read her mark. Senlu.
He sank to his knees. They had not
forgotten their genesis. Moreover, they had kept apace of what happened to
their kind, even if that kind began with him, a half-Danaan and a half-Valleur.
Perhaps in his longevity they saw a future in which to celebrate who they were.
Perhaps one day soon, with Grinwallin finally at peace, they would have paid a
visit and forged the connection that would see them rejoined with their blood.
Perhaps then the universe would have known the Danaan history.
Clip-clop.
He swivelled. Alik and Lowen were
nearby, waiting for him.
Teighlar nearly wept then. How did
he place this in a box never to be examined? Or should he crow it out to the
universe and reveal the real truth? What would it gain him, and what would it
do to his Senlu of today? Tell the universe a Valleur had again murdered their
kind? Every truce and friendship would sunder. Luvanor as a whole would war on
tiny Grinwallin tucked in its easterly region. The Senlu would lose.
Grinwallin, however, might act in defence and that could herald another kind of
war.
He stared at Lowen. “They wear
history upon their cheeks. Perhaps they are tribe names here or some such
nuance, but it is nonetheless history.”
“I do not understand.”
He touched his left cheek. “A mark,
here, upon each. So far, I have read Danaan, Luvan, Diluvan, Alexander and
Senlu.”
“All gods,” she breathed.
“Exactly.”
“What do you do with that?”
He covered his face. “I do not
know!”
“Let us get away first,” Alik
whispered.
His hands swung down, and he nodded.
“Yes. Let’s.”
Mariner
Island
IT WAS ODD THAT Elianas stayed away. Torrullin went to the front door of the cottage and stared over the garden to the lake beyond. Birdsong, and not much else, other than the faint sound of waves breaking upon the cliff. No sign of the dark man.
Yet the universe had about it a
sense of terrible expectation. Something somewhere was about to change, and the
results would reverberate throughout the spaces and echo through all time.
It worried him.
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