The Sleeper is Awake
Two thousand
years have passed since the epic explosion in what is now called the Black
Valley. Torrullin is in the invisible realms and the Darak Or is with him, and
the universe enjoys a time of unprecedented peace.
A new threat
rises on the cursed horizon.
It is time
for the Sleeper Sword to awaken.
Ready to
return to Valaris, Torrullin cannot exit the otherworld without aid. Samuel is his
kinsman, his fate forged to the greatest sorcerer the cosmos has ever known. He
swears to hold his hand out to Torrullin, to aid him home.
The old
players gather for a renewal of the fateful games. This time the duel between a
father and son will wound many, including Valla kin. Torrullin needs to build a
relationship with his grandson Tannil, save Fay from hell, rescue Saska from
captivity, and find the means to end Tymall. Their contest will reverberate
through the spaces.
In an
endless adventure of urgency and drama, the on-going saga of Torrullin’s role
as saviour is as a sharp as the sword he reclaims and as blunt as his acerbic
tongue. Wherever he goes someone will be hurt. To love him is to be ruined, to
hate him is to be ruined.
Perhaps true
catharsis lies in the realm of dreams.
Chapter 1
Even after
all has changed, time has a way of bringing forth the familiar. One day you
look around you and remark, “Nothing has changed.”
~ Book of Sages
Valaris
Western Isles
Valla Island
“AND WHAT DOES this say, Aunt Fay?” The boy pointed at writing
under a depiction of a sceptre.
Fay turned
the book to see what caught his attention. “That, Teroux, is Minara’s Sceptre.
He travelled much and desired it as proof of his status.”
“He was
Vallorin?”
“Indeed, but
not for long. The poor man caught a virus on an offworld visit and the Valleur
healers did not know how to cure him.”
“That is
sad,” the earnest boy whispered.
“It was a
long time ago, and we found the virus after. Nobody was sick from it again. We
now have an enchantment to arrest alien infections until a cure can be traced
or manufactured.”
He nodded
sagely. “We did that after the Plague of Torrke.”
“Yes, after
that terrible time.”
“Why did he
need proof of status? He was Vallorin.”
“Apparently,
inquisitive one, he was unsure most of the time. His sceptre gave him authority
inside.”
Teroux
puckered his lips. His father was Vallorin, and he was not unsure inside. He
drew breath to ask another question, but then his father entered, and all
thoughts fled. He ran into those waiting arms.
“You were
gone so long!”
Tannil
squeezed him. “I missed you, too.” He kissed his son on the forehead before
lowering him. “Find Kismet and see what I brought back for you.”
Squealing,
Teroux charged out.
“You were indeed
some time, brother. Problem?”
Tannil
crossed the room to embrace Fay, and sat at the table. Drawing the book closer,
he answered, “Nothing serious. We seem to have it cleared away.” He smiled at
the image. “I take it Teroux asked about this?”
“Oh, yes.”
Fay glanced at the books on the table. “He loves the Oracles.”
Her brother
grimaced. “He studies them harder than I ever did.”
“You wanted
to speak to me?” she asked, distracting him before the gloom of his heritage
overcame him anew.
“Yes, Fay.”
“I will not
like it, obviously.” She placed her pen on the table, put the letter she
attempted to write amid Teroux’s questions face down over it, and folded her
hands in her lap. “Tell me.”
He glanced
sideways at her. “I have an offer for your hand.”
“Tannil, no.
I shall marry where my heart lies.”
“You do not
even know …”
“It does not
matter, brother. I know I am not in love; thus I am not to wed.”
“Fine. I
told him that. Luckily he was not offended.”
“Who?” she
asked, curious despite her determination.
Tannil
grinned. “Teighlar.”
“Are you
completely insane? He is immortal!”
“You are to
live a long time.”
“Unable to
bear children, unless I have a liaison on the side.”
“Goddess,
Fay!”
“Oh, quiet,
I would like to be a mother and marrying an immortal will never allow that.”
She rose and stood before the window to gaze into the ocean.
This side of
the Palace hung out over the depths and white gulls swooped into view, diving
from on high into the embrace of the water, erupting, almost without exception,
with a fat fish. The sound of the ocean was muted, it was that far below, but
the gulls were noisy.
She twitched
the sash closed, dampening their never-ending screeches. “Why would the Emperor
want to marry me?”
“He thought
it would serve to bind the Senlu and Valleur closer.” Tannil, Vallorin of the
Valleur, grinned again. “That is what he says, but I think he is rather taken
with you.”
She snorted.
“He has only seen me once.”
“No man
forgets you, dear sister.”
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
Fay, short
for Fayette, was golden glory akin to most Valleur, yet even among an
attractive people she stood out. Her name meant Great Beauty, for she
was that, and no man was immune. Suitors delivered marriage proposals daily and
she denied them with a kind word or letter; she was busy with such a
communication when her brother arrived.
Returning to
the table, she stood behind Tannil to ruffle his hair. “You do not need to
worry about me, my lord.”
He snorted
and swatted her hand away. “Teroux will be an old man before you present him
with a cousin.”
“But I
shall, one day.” She sat. “Admittedly, the Senlu Emperor is a sexy man.”
A rap at the
open door sounded and both looked to see their mother enter, and from behind an
excited Teroux barrelled past. The boy jumped at his father, placing kisses all
over his face. His grandmother looked on fondly.
“You like,
Teroux?” his father ventured, laughing.
Teroux
nodded, setting a-wobble golden ringlets, and sidled off his father’s lap.
Breathless, he tugged Fay’s hand. “Come see, Aunt Fay! A pony!”
Fay allowed
herself to be manipulated. The two vanished into the corridor.
“MOTHER.” TANNIL KISSED his
mother’s smooth, perfumed cheek.
“Tannil, a
pony?” Mitrill queried. “Where, son, shall we find the space?”
He laughed.
“Kismet will work something out, and Teroux should be astride a horse already.”
The latter was said with the constraints of an island existence in mind.
“Take him to
Luvanor, as you were at that age.”
He grimaced.
“I will miss him.”
“You spend
much time there already. Teroux will probably see his father more.”
He knew she
was right, but Valaris was their home. Then, spending time on Luvanor would
broaden Teroux’s horizons, as it did for him. No islands there to confine him,
continents of space, incredible diversity and an ancient history. The Valleur
had been in these Western Isles too short a time for that kind of antiquity.
“I will
think more on it.”
“You should
consider moving everyone. As our space declines, families split apart - half
here, half on Luvanor.”
He was
surprised. She always advocated they remain on Valaris.
“I know what
I said in the past. We have grown; soon we cannot sustain ourselves here.
Ferrying supplies from Luvanor is impractical.” She approached the table. With
deliberation she closed the open volumes of the Oracles. “I, and a few of the
court, could remain here.”
Tannil had
not expected to broach this subject upon his return, but he was not one to
leave things unsaid either. “What does Caltian say?”
Mitrill
looked up. “I have not spoken to my husband.”
He stared
out of the window at the blue sky. Gulls flitted by with comforting regularity.
“How long have you pondered this?”
“A while.”
She sat, hands twisting in her lap. “Tannil, we must discuss this, and do so
formally with the Elders. I am not advocating mass exile …”
“… but I
should transfer my court to Luvanor.”
“It would be
a practical choice.”
“I am loath
to leave here. Three Valla men gave their lives for Valaris. My father died for
the Enchanter, and why? Because the Enchanter loved this world.”
Mitrill
shook her head. “Your father loved his father, Tannil, and their deaths were
more than a sacrifice to a world. Both of them would prefer the Valleur live
without hardship and tension, and if that is on Luvanor they would be the first
to make it happen.”
Tannil rose.
“Yet we exiled to these islands; you contradict yourself.” He ran a hand over a
hefty tome. “You are right, space has become an issue. We shall have your
formal discussion and I shall advocate the majority of our people move.
Teighlar and I discussed this yesterday.” He looked up. “My court remains here.
I shall divide my time between two worlds as I do now. I heard my grandfather
speak to me, and I shall hark to his words until I am no longer Vallorin.”
His mother blinked.
“You have never spoken of this.”
“You are
Mitrill, one of the final few to speak with the Enchanter, and I was there. He
recognised me and spoke to me. He asked that you take care of me and look out
for his exiled people. He asked something else of me. I aim to remain on
Valaris.”
Mitrill
paled. “Will you tell me?”
Tannil
enfolded his mother in his arms. Trebac glowed, for she was a trueblood Valla.
“You loved him more than you let on, but I cannot tell you this.”
Usually
self-possessed, mention of the Enchanter could send her into a dither of
uncertainty.
“I will
respect that,” she said, and stepped back. “You are a good son and you know me
better than I suspect. I loved him, but not quite the way you think. I did not
know him, for he kept me apart from himself and his sons, for my protection. It
is the idea of him, the memory, the ideal he has become. Caltian knew him and
spent time with him through all manner of strife, yet even my husband will
admit to loving the ideal more today.”
“Why can you
not say his name?”
She was
silent for a moment. “He becomes too real, as if he is in the room with you,
inhabiting your space. If I say his name, it is yesterday and he kneels before
me, talking to my unborn son, recognising you in my womb. If I say his name, I
feel again his lips on mine. Tannil, I enjoyed your father, but that one
farewell kiss haunts me.”
She said
more than intended, but Tannil already knew.
Mitrill
left. Tannil watched her go. Many told him he took after his mother, had the
same cleverness, and thus he felt he understood her. Although unborn at the
time she spoke of, he was there and possessed clear memory of the event.
MITRILL DESCENDED to the Throne-room below. Unseeing, she crossed
the vast space, blind to the simple, clean beauty of the white floor and walls.
Then she halted and faced the ornate wooden chair opposite the massive doors. Her
face twisted, seeing another seat, one of memory, and a single tear escaped.
“Torrullin,”
she whispered.
THE VALLEUR RECALLED life to
Torrke, but were unable to summon the Valleur Throne. The golden seat resisted
all attempts. The resident magic of the valley had not returned either. After
five hundred years of trying, stealthily as human hatred of Valleur
intensified, they surrendered to the inevitable. The Throne and the valley’s
ancient magic belonged to Torrullin. Only the Enchanter could recall them.
Thus they
waited and watched the skies.
Two thousand
years had passed.
THE SLEEPER SWORD
