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 10
They will love you. I swear it.
~ The manipulators in politics
Tymall’s
Fort
THE
PLACE WAS almost deserted and, while she
preferred it, she knew it would soon be time to leave also. There was no future
here. Not for her. And not for the babe. Fay rubbed her stomach. It was flat, unchanged,
but inside everything was different. Her child. Tymall’s child.
She wandered over the dry landscape
aimlessly, listlessly picking out landmarks with tired eyes; purple mountains
in the distance, the cairn of rocks, an ancient monument to something now
forgotten. Lost, like this world. Like herself.
With Torrullin’s help, she
deliberately put herself into Tymall’s clutches. Partly it was to find and
rescue Saska, and also Margus, but mostly it was to prevent Tymall unleashing
his fury on the Vallas. She forced Torrullin to help her, and when he came for
Saska and Margus, she forced him to leave her where she was. With his son. What
she had not bargained for was this attraction. It led to sleeping with him,
with kinfire in bed along with them, and that led to this growing babe.
She stopped, her calves aching, the
exertion of distance. She looked behind her. The fort, unholy place, was
rendered minute by how far she came, hills rising over it in grey-blue
splendour. Nearer was her darkling guard, only one now that Tymall decided to
trust her. Her lips drew back in a grimace, and she gazed ahead. Where would
she go anyway, carrying this child?
When she first came to this
forgotten world there were tens of thousands of darklings, and now they were
gone, unleashing terror. Why did Torrullin not return to wipe them out? She
hated the thought of what they did on Valaris as she wandered her solitary road
here. She understood Torrullin put her first in his thoughts in not returning
for her, Fay, the traitor - and she did feel like a traitor, despite her claims
- but was her safety worth the hell now visited upon their homeworld? Torrullin
thought more of her than she did of herself.
Sighing, she shuffled to a nearby
boulder and lowered to its heat, not caring that she smudged dirt into the
costly gown. She hated everything Tymall gave her; here, take this, you will
feel better, forget what I do to your family. He had not told her of deaths,
and she wondered if he would. Perhaps someone had already passed on and she was
none the wiser. It was another reason to leave soon; she needed to know. At
least he could not use her Valla blood against those she loved. That was a
comfort, and she tried many occasions to sway him from his set path. Gods, she
hoped he heard her.
Then she shuddered. Tymall would
come looking if she left. Worse, she would want him to find her. She was bound
to him, and it was not a facet of magic, it was a thing of her heart, her soul,
her body. She needed him. And he needed her. After that first time, frightening
for both of them, they could not stay away from each other. They were addicted
to the intensity kinfire brought to every touch.
Torrullin, you should have come and
wiped the slate clean, including this miserable excuse of a life.
Now there were the fruits of their
coming together. A child. It was a boy, and what lay ahead for him? How would
it change her? Tymall? Their relationship? Dare she tell him? Dare she not?
Then Tymall was there, kneeling
before her in the dust, taking her hands and moving his thumbs over her palms,
igniting trebac. She raised troubled eyes, leaned forward and found his lips.
Her hands came up, drawing him close, closer, until, with a chuckle, he drew
back, the hunger in him matching hers.
“Fay, why are you out here? It is
hot.” His voice was low to exclude the guard. “I return to find you in the
desert? What is the matter?”
“I was bored and cold in the walls …
Ty, gods, send him away …”
“Here?” he asked, but was unsmiling,
reaching for her, drawing her atop him on the hard, hot earth. “Go!”
They found the quickest way to
become one, the pleasure sharp, liquid, intense. And after, “You are pregnant.”
His beautiful face stilled. His lids closed over clear grey eyes before he
whispered, “A son.”
Fay choked on a sob. “Yes. Your
son.”
His eyes opened. “I did not expect
this. Ever. A son. Mine.”
TYMALL
ROSE AND walked away, straightening his clothes. He understood what
drove her out into the empty silences. A child changed everything.
He gave the command on Valaris to
attack, watched it start, and saw his presence there was superfluous. His
father’s reputation was in shreds and fear ruled Valarians. Now it was time for
them - easily swayed, traitors to their own integrity - to start dying from
more than lack of food. The Valleur were fighting back, as expected, but he had
not expected the Enchanter to stay away. He returned here to achieve reasoning
on that issue and to see Fay, touch Fay. This news he had not thought to find
waiting.
FAY
FOUND HER boulder perch again, sat watching
him, sensing in him a struggle. As it was for her, and she had crumbled before
him, holding nothing back. Would he crumble before his unborn son?
He returned and kneeled again in the
dust. This time he did not touch her. “Tell me you will bring him to term. Tell
me, swear to me, you will not harm our son no matter what happens between us.”
As if she could ever think that. She
swallowed and stared into his eyes. “No matter what, this child will breathe
air and feel the sun on his skin. I swear to you I shall never harm him … by
god, Ty! I couldn’t harm him.”
Tymall smiled. “I know, Fay.” He
touched her cheek with one forefinger. “I needed to hear you say it. I wanted
to see the love for him in your eyes. He must be loved.” He dropped his hand,
rose, and drew her up. His face worked with an inner struggle.
“What is it?” she asked, wanting to
touch him, but he shied away.
His answer nearly broke her heart.
“Will he be his father’s son? An outcast child? Full of hatred and revenge and
evil? Does he inherit my sins? Will I love him if he is not? Will I even love
him? Can I? Do I know how?”
“Your father loved you.”
“Being what I am, you mean?” His
voice was self-mocking. “Yes, I was loved and look what I am. Love changed
nothing …” He cut it off, sighed, and said, “My father loves me still, Fay.”
She denied that. “No, he seeks to …”
“… kill me? Do you not wonder why he
hasn’t? I may be his equal in power, but he has other personalities to create
advantage. He does not use them. Why is that?”
She paled. “That was what he meant
when he said you have power over him.”
Tymall laughed, a twisted sound. “Yes.
I know he loves me and cannot kill me. Fay, can I be that kind of father to my
son? Unconditional in my love?”
“Do you love your father, Tymall?”
she asked, her voice quiet and steady.
Torrullin was unique. She finally
realised that. She was wrong about the Enchanter, and it took this evil, broken
man before her to prove it.
He looked at her quizzically,
sensing the change. “Does it matter?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know either,” he said,
coming to take her hand.
Together they began the long walk
back to the castle.
“I loved him once, growing up. He
was an extraordinary father; my brother and I were fortunate. No favouritism,
healthy competition, and he allowed no one to denigrate us, always protected
us, but without being over-protective, allowing us independence. Perhaps, had
it not been for the Darak Or’s indwelling, I could have overcome the accident
that left me unrecognised in the womb. Later, I hated him. He beat me as no man
should beat his son. I murdered his father, I understand, yet cannot forgive.
Then there was Tris, Tris this, Tris that, while I faded into the background.
He let me die, even when it meant his beloved Tris’ death also. Gods, I hated
him for that.” Tymall stopped. “The last time I saw him before I killed myself,
he had the cheek to hold me, to tell me he loved me, and he knew, he knew,
I was going beyond his reach. It had been foretold.”
“And that hate bore you through your
own invisible realm. But now? Can you justify holding onto it?”
His eyes were expressionless. “I
will not cease until I have either achieved what I set out to do or am defeated
in the effort. I hate him for other things now. The invisible realm that made
me this, knowing now he let my brother go because Tris would land up in the realm
of eternal bliss and thus be safe. I hate him for being greater than what he
was before, for turning the Darak Or to his side, for having an extended Valla
family I will never be part of, for what he did to you …”
He did nothing to her, Fay realised.
Anything negative she ascribed to the Enchanter was of her doing, and she went
from the flames into a bonfire with his son.
“… so I hate him. And I love him.”
He strode away from her. Leaving her
with the smallest glimmer into the twisted psyche of a man so far off the road
he could not find his way back. Yet, and this really scared her, he was still
at war with himself. Somewhere was a tiny part untouched by evil and it was the
part that loved his father. Torrullin was Tymall’s sole gateway to salvation, which,
in turn, could well be Torrullin’s own atoning. Goddess help them both, and
her, and the child to come.
TYMALL
WAS IN the immense dining chamber when she made it in tired and
footsore. He stared into a tankard, not drinking, and raised his eyes to her as
she entered. “You must not exert yourself so, not now.”
“I am pregnant, not handicapped,”
she responded, sitting in a corner seat removed from him. She drew an empty mug
closer and reached for the wine.
“No,” he said, snatching it away.
“You need to watch what you imbibe.”
“’Imbibe’. You are not serious.”
“About my choice of word, or the
wine?”
“Both,” she sighed. Touchy. “Ty, I
am sorry. Perhaps I pushed too hard earlier.”
His lips twitched. “You bring out
the best in me, did you know? Anyone else would hit the floor dead for daring
to question me about my father, but you make me think about it and admit
factors I was unaware of. Unfortunately, I do not enjoy where it takes me, for
I cannot afford the luxury of indecision.”
“You doubt?”
“No.”
“Then you have lost nothing in
admission. Ty, I’m really thirsty.”
He laughed. “Any cravings?”
She smiled. “Not yet. Are you happy
about the baby?”
His hand stilled in the act of
watering her wine and then he passed it to her, curling his fingers around hers
as she took the mug from him.
“If I am honest, this alters my
plans. How, I cannot fathom, but it has to. Any normal situation would change -
this too. I need to think it through.”
“You are not answering me.”
“I don’t know how I feel. Happy?
Should there be joy? These emotions have no place; how do I compute them, know
them, when I am dead inside?”
She pulled her hand from his,
gripped her mug and raised it to her lips. She drank, saying nothing.
“Honesty, remember?”
Fay slammed her drink down. “Right.
Well, I do not care what you say, feel, or cannot feel; this baby will be
welcomed into the universe and take his place. I will see to it with or without
you. Do you hear me? And if you cannot love him, fine - I can. All I ask is the
freedom to do so if … if it gets bad for him, here, anywhere where you are.”
“Good. Already you love him; he has
a chance. You have my word I will release you if he is in danger from me.” He
looked away. “Thank you for caring about our son.”
“Ty …”
“Do not ask me to stop now.” He
rose. “I will be in the tower for a time, thinking.” He leaned over, kissed her
cheek and left.
THE DREAMER STONES
