Eurue- The Forgotten World

by Elaina J Davidson

  “You think too much,” Alusin muttered. “Your thoughts are bloody loud too.”

  Laughing, Tristan rebutted with, “Elianas used to accuse Torrullin of the same.”

  “We are not them.”

  Tristan’s face wiped clear of all expression. “I am well aware of that.”

  He obliquely studied the man keeping pace with him. White hair; long and straight. Alusin wore it tied in a loose knot at his neck, bound with bleached leather, claiming his hair got in the way in a sword fight. Vanity, of course, did not allow him to cut it shorter. Tendrils escaped to flutter about his face. Blue eyes, a darker shade than was usual, and exceptionally pale skin. Alusin did not tan even under the harshest sun. In that condition, he was much like the Siric of yesteryear. Excellent bone structure, a straight nose, proper chin, lips neither too thin nor too fleshy. He was tall, like to the Valleur. It was a truth that he was attractive and possessed nobility of features. Alusin absolutely reminded him of Elianas, but Elianas was dark of colouring, while Alusin was all light.

  Only an immortal heard the summons to Dome duty, and Alusin heard it after Erin died, leaving a post vacant in the Kaval. As an immortal, the last of his kind, he had been alone a long time before that summons, and therefore no one needed to pay the ultimate price in order for him, as sole survivor, to take his place on the team. He was a sorcerer and a seer, highly skilled in weapons and fighting. Having passed the Recognition test in the Dome, Alusin, as lumin kindred, fought with the Kaval in the present only for the light.

  This man was a brother-in-arms, a true friend, and also his Eternal Companion.

  A century after Torrullin vanished with Elianas into another realm, Tristan still could not face that particular fact.

  Growling, he spat, “Concentrate on this mission.”

  Alusin sent him a look, and did not say a word.

  Together, yet apart also, they headed for the place of meet.

  Somewhere

  MOSQUITOES DANCED ON the surface of the water in the pail she had hidden in the shadows of her prison, but there were sufficient stilled sections to view events beyond her confines.

  Releasing a breath, she shuffled back to the narrow window slit.

  It has begun. At last.

  Chapter 2

  Pursue your shadow to know how it rests in the night

  ~ The Unknowable Treatise ~

  Petunya

  Late Afternoon

  AT THE CONFLUENCE of two rivers, a barn held the watch on the countryside. From a distance the edifice appeared ramshackle, about to crumble into obscurity, but closer inspection revealed a fortification. Steel rods threaded the faded board with its peeling remains of red paint and the door was of thick metal daubed to appear derelict.

  A grille set at eye level in the door proved watchers waited inside, and narrow slits at measured intervals in the walls exposed the potential presence of bowmen.

  Glancing at each other, both wary, Tristan and Alusin approached. This was the place of meet. Neither called out; an oppressive sensation curbed all sound.

  Inhaling, Tristan knocked.

  “State your business,” a gruff voice demanded from within.

  Thank the gods - the common tongue. “Kaval. You asked for us.”

  The door hinged open, groaning as if it possessed weight. It did. The door and walls were thicker than even the fortified outer appearance revealed.

  A tall, thin man with large ears and scarred coffee-coloured skin stood braced with an arrow nocked. “Who are you?”

  “Tristan Valla.”

  The man blinked, lowering his bow slightly. “You are Valleur?”

  “I am. Who are you?”

  The man ignored that. “Who is he?” He lifted his chin significantly in Alusin’s direction.

  “Alusin Algheri,” Alusin answered for himself. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Peace,” Tristan snapped, glaring at him.

  “What are you? You’re not Valleur,” the bowman stated.

  “Neither are you,” Alusin growled.

  The arrow jerked up to point. “I’m …

  He got no further, for a screech shivered through the surrounds, a high-pitched sound that raised hairs on every sliver of exposed skin. Tristan and Alusin swivelled, hands on hilts, to frantically search the area behind them.

  “The hunt has started,” the bowman gasped. “They must’ve marked you. Get inside now!”

  The fear and desperation in the man’s voice allowed for no second-guessing. Tristan shoved Alusin in, and then helped the man, who tossed his bow aside, haul the heavy door shut. Two sturdy braces dropped into place swiftly thereafter.

  Bowstrings twanged around the perimeter of the barn’s dim interior. Indistinct forms pulled at longbows.

  “There’s at least ten!” someone shouted.

  “Four more on the rise,” another muttered.

  “Three converge from the trees,” a woman stated from the back of the building. “Seems our guests require a bit more clout than usual.”

  “They’ll have picked up on magical residue also,” the large-eared man sighed. “You’re sorcerers, right?”

  Alusin inclined his head, his sword half-drawn. “What are they?”

  “That’s why you’re here,” the woman called out. “We don’t know and we don’t know how to stop them either.”

  “Us, the six here,” Large Ears said, gesturing, “We’re the last. Everyone else is gone. Consumed.”

  Multiple screeches sounded. The barn was surrounded.

  AS NIGHT FELL, all sound vanished from the world known as Petunya. Not a cricket, not a nightjar, or even the clever silence of a bat pierced the deadness outside.

  According to the woman, who introduced herself as simply Jala, the miasmas did not hunt at night, but all life had fled or had been eaten.

  “We should be safe enough until dawn,” she added. “They begin again at first light.”

  “Might be safe to move at night, but no one here quite trusts that,” a younger man, Lunas, muttered.

  Alusin, listening and watching from a bench in the shadows beyond the central fire pit, abruptly missed Akhavar’s heat and simplicity. Before Akhavar’s restoration to fertility and then as the Valleur homeworld, he was a regular visitor, because the silence and the heat there drew him in. It was a good place to meditate. After Akhavar was resettled, he continued to visit, keeping well away from Valleur sight. Until the day he witnessed Tristan Skyler Valla battle another Valleur at the mythical Lake of Swords.

  Everything changed that day.

  Tristan only infrequently went to Akhavar now; he, Alusin, tended to avoid the Valleur entirely.

  This world of Petunya was cold and complicated. Fervently he wished they had ignored this ‘request’. What, in the names of all gods and goddesses, was happening here? Petunya was a giant farm, for pity’s sake.

  He watched Tristan, the man silhouetted in flickering firelight. Tristan too wore scars on his face, as did the six inside the barn, including the woman. Theirs were cultural, however; Tristan wore his as a necessity.

  At the Lake that day, Halon’s blade had carved deep scars into his cheeks and, before that, his duel with the Timekeeper Rivalen had gifted him crisscrossing marks on his face, chest, arms and hands, which he had refused healing for. For Tristan it was about recognition, firstly; his scars told a tale that set him apart from his illustrious grandfather - Torrullin - his twin if not for the time between their births. And it was also about remembrance; Tristan sought to hold on to the memory of his beloved Caballa, the Valleur seer who had held his heart.

  Sighing, Alusin lowered his gaze to the dirty floor. Hopefully, one day Tristan would allow him to heal those scars. The man kept him at arm’s length, despite their shared visions of each other, and what their combined destiny entailed. He knew well that Tristan trusted him - how many scrapes had they not already suffered together while engaged upon Kaval duties - and yet he refused to admit there was more than bro
therhood between them.

  Tristan and Alusin were meant to be as Torrullin and Elianas, and Ixion and Adagin before them; Dual Timekeepers, Eternal Companions. In this present he hoped for Tristan to find himself before destiny overtook them and swallowed them whole.

  He never did see Torrullin and Elianas in the same space, but he heard the tales, and he had met both. To this day he suspected Tristan summoned them separately to the Dome in order to meet him, Alusin, for each to give an opinion of him.

  Smiling, his gaze now to the rafters overhead, Alusin recalled those meetings.

  The Dome of the Kaval

  A Century Ago

  TRISTAN AND ELIANAS discussed a situation on Valaris before the huge screen in the Dome, until he cleared his throat to draw their attention.

  Both men turned. “Elianas, meet Alusin,” Tristan said.

  He extended his arm to the dark-haired man and Elianas reluctantly stepped into the clasp.

  “Well met, Alusin.”

  “Likewise.”

  They studied each other intently.

  Elianas released their clasp. “Where are you from originally?”

  “My world was called Eurue.”

  Tristan frowned, but he did not interrupt. His gaze moved continually between him and Elianas.

  Elianas murmured, “Then you are very old.”

  Alusin nodded. “Your lack of surprise is informative.”

  “I knew the Kemir before they were annihilated,” Elianas shrugged. “That world has had many names. Eurue was one of the first.” He glanced at Tristan. “There are connections everywhere. Eurue, as the god concept, is ancient. Admittedly, these connections only now make sense.”

  “You are very old if you knew the Kemir,” Alusin said.

  Elianas faced him again. “Your point?”

  “None. It has been a long time since I met someone who knew of the Kemir and it feels odd.”

  “I have the same reaction about the Danae,” Elianas nodded.

  “Time is a bitch,” he muttered.

  Elianas grinned. “No argument.”

  He smiled in response and then waved at the screen. “I shall let you get back to it. Nice meeting you.” Alusin moved away.

  “Likewise,” Elianas murmured, and returned to Tristan and the screen.

  AN HOUR LATER, Torrullin had stridden in.

  “Elianas tells me there are tourists in the Graveyard,” he said as he approached the console.

  With Tristan, Alusin sat at the slab, reading, and lifted his gaze to the likeness of the fair man at his side. Uncanny how identical they were, given the time between their births.

  “Hello to you too,” Belun muttered, at the console. “Jonas, bring up the Graveyard, will you?”

  Swiftly the view of the ancient crypts was there. A few forms weaved through the old stones.

  Torrullin stared at the image as he and Tristan approached. “Ah, Tris. Keep an eye on that. If anyone defaces the crypts, read the Electan the riot act.”

  “Agreed. Torrullin, meet Alusin, our new member.”

  Torrullin moved before he could, extending his arm and closing in. “Belun told me we have a new face. Well met, Alusin.”

  “My Lord Elixir.” He bowed and accepted the clasp.

  “Torrullin will do. You are tall. The only Kemir I ever met was a dwarf.”

  He blinked rapidly and then laughed. “There were a few in the older days, yes.”

  Torrullin grinned. “What is your speciality?”

  “Many call me a soothsayer.”

  “A seer.” Torrullin rubbed at his face. “I’ll be damned. Lowen and Erin move on, and a goddamn seer comes forward.”

  “Torrullin,” Tristan growled.

  “It’s fine, Tris. I am merely astonished by the parallels.”

  Alusin murmured, “I doubt my sight matches yours.”

  Torrullin lifted one shoulder. “I do not look anymore. Your abilities will be the greater, no doubt.”

  “Tell us something you have seen,” Belun suggested to Alusin.

  He shook his head. “It does not work in that way.”

  “It does not, no,” Torrullin said.

  “I have seen that we shall meet once more only,” he said, his gaze unwavering on the grey orbs before him.

  Torrullin’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”

  “I find it odd, considering you are Elixir and the Kaval is your creation. We should bump into each other at least infrequently, but there were only two meets in my visions. This one and another. Very odd.”

  Torrullin folded his arms and remained wordless.

  Tristan hurtled into the breach. “When, Alusin? When is the second meeting?”

  “That is the question, isn’t it? And thus you have answered mine. Everything we know is about to change because Elixir is moving on as well.”

  “In five days, yes,” Torrullin said. “I assume this second meeting is not in the next five days.”

  He bowed again. “It is sometime later.”

  “When?” Tristan whispered.

  “I shall answer when you are ready to hear me.”

  It became markedly silent then.

  Tristan had paled to an unhealthy shade.

  Torrullin grinned. He bounced once on the balls of his feet and then he laughed aloud. “Oh, excellent! Keep it up, Alusin. That kind of contrariness will get under his skin.”

  Alusin inclined his head, but he did not smile, for he watched Tristan.

  The Kaval leader was expressionless. “I hope you know how hard I am able to slap someone.”

  Torrullin laughed again and gripped Tristan’s arm to drag him to the view screen. “I almost wish I could stay to see you two go into battle,” he chortled.

  “Fuck off,” Tristan muttered, but a reluctant smile climbed into his eyes.

  Petunya

  The Present

  THAT COVERT SMILE had given him hope; Alusin understood in that moment that Tristan was not unaware of the dynamics, and yet, the longer the separation from Torrullin became, the more Tristan lost his sense of self. His scars were no longer sufficient to gift him identity.

  Truth was, Tristan missed his grandfather, perhaps even more than he missed Caballa.

  Alusin focused when he heard the woman mention ‘devils’.

  “… devils of daylight,” she said in a quiet tone. “It’s unnatural, you know? Night is meant to hold the terrors, but here we are afraid of the light of the sun.” Her dark braids swung as she gave her attention to Tristan beside her. “Do you have any idea what these things are?”

  “Not yet,” Tristan denied. “How did you get a message to the Kaval?”

  “And how did you know to find us on Lax?” Alusin added.

  “Gabryl did that,” Jala stated, staring at the floor.

  Tristan glanced around. “I don’t recall the name from anyone here.”

  Large Ears - Dez - met Tristan’s enquiring look. “He’s not here. He’s up at the chateau place, in charge of this region of Petunya.” The man looked away, shrugging. “A few days ago he came by and said he’d request aid, to expect the Kaval.”

  “Why aren’t you holed up at the chateau then?”

  “It’s three days by foot; we’d never make it. Gabryl was on horseback, riding hard.”

  “Yeah, he stayed the night, couldn’t risk it either,” Lunas said.

  Jala maintained her vigil of the floor, but the five men glanced amongst each other.

  Alusin inhaled as he stood to join the gathering around the pit. “You are wary of this Gabryl.” He sat on a vacant chair opposite Tristan to stare pointedly at Jala. She seemed to have the most authority.

  She felt his scrutiny, for she looked up. “Gabryl is a strange one. Not sure if one can trust him.”

  “Well, he kept his word,” Lunas inserted. “The Kaval came.”

  “Only two,” Dez pointed out.

  “Two of us is plenty,” Tristan grinned.

  “Why do you have trust issues with th
is Gabryl?” Alusin asked.

  “He’s different. Pale, like you,” another muttered.

  Alusin frowned at him. “What’s your name again?”

  “Macki.”

  “Macki, is it the colour of my skin? His skin?”

  All six barricaded in the barn stared at him, but Jala answered. “Skin colour has nothing to do with it, not as in race prejudice. There’s a guild of magicians on Petunya, or there was, may still be on the other continents, and the more powerful they are in the arcane arts, the paler they become. Gabryl must be powerful and one must be wary of a man with power, always.”

  Alusin lifted an eyebrow. Despite his paleness, his eyebrows were dark, as were his lashes. “And here we are, talking. Two men with power sit among you.”

  Dez offered a smirk. “Yeah, but he’s Valleur.” His chin jutted towards Tristan.

  “His golden skin proves not all sorcery leeches colour,” Jala added.

  “Did it not occur to you that it means I am less in the arts then?” Tristan was utterly expressionless.

  Macki slapped his thighs and gave a mocking grin. “Even backward Petunya has heard of Tristan Skyler Valla, Kaval leader, grandson of Torrullin. You have much power, but Valleur remain ever Golden.”

  Still expressionless, Tristan murmured, “But you won’t extend the same belief to Alusin. He is too pale.”

  “Let it go, Tris.”

  A stare impaled Alusin. “I will not.”

  In all their years as soldiers on various battlefields, whether of actual warfare or a stand against nature’s calamities, this was the first time Tristan had been in a position where he needed to defend a member of the Kaval. It was also the first time Alusin had seen him stand up for him.

  His heart thundered into rapid motion.

  He gave a twisted smile. “I am pretty pale.”

  Tristan blinked, and that covert smile climbed into his eyes. It was the first sign of complicity since that day in the Dome with Torrullin beside him, goading him.

  Again, Alusin’s heart acted strangely. Perhaps Petunya, with all its dangers, was the catalyst to breaking down Tristan’s long held defences.