“Quicksilver is in a state of constant transition too,” Alusin added.
“There is no parallel in the realms of sorcery. I have given this much thought,” Gabryl said, his cold blue gaze shifting between his two guests.
“Gods, I wish the Siric were still …” Cutting himself short, Tristan straightened. “The Siric are no more, but what they knew will be in the Dome’s archives.”
“Before retrieving clues in the Dome, we need to aid the six in the barn,” Alusin said. “Night will pass soon.”
“They are still alive?” Gabryl questioned. “Those co-ordinates were given you in order for you to potentially help them first, for I could not. Excellent; I am glad they live. We will need willing hands to stem this evil. My home is their home. They must be hungry.”
His apparent compassion did not ring true, but now was not the time to uncover lies. “I shall rescue them from their desperation immediately.” Sending Tristan a look to signify caution, Alusin vacated the study.
“Do you have supplies?” Tristan asked. “I suspect you do not yourself need to eat.”
“Clever. I do, however, have supplies. My staff needed to stay healthy.”
“What happened to them?”
“Unfortunately they must have fled when it started. I returned many days after the initial panic and found my home abandoned.”
“Why do you think these creatures chose Petunya, and Frond in particular? Annihilating the resident population is about more than eating, after all. Something summoned them.”
Gabryl leaned forward, creating a steeple with his interlaced fingers. “That would be the real question, wouldn’t it?”
Elsewhere
SWALLOWING PAINFULLY, wishing with every fibre of her being for fresh water while deliberately ignoring the filled vessel on her bedside cabinet - in this present she played the victim, after all - she mused over the complicated events now set in motion.
Alusin Algheri had proven somewhat reticent. This would force his truth from him. She counted on that.
Chapter 4
What have you eaten now, child?
False faces, mother.
The Dome
BEFORE RETRIEVING the six in the barn, Alusin transported to the Dome.
The crystal edifice floated in the vacuum, usually in a stationary position in an empty region, where it was far from the orbits of manufactured spacefaring craft, although it was able to travel when it was needed as either a presence to reinforce Kaval directives or the energy it was constructed from aided sorcery.
This was the gathering place of the Kaval. Here they entered via sacred ogives - magical doorways - to receive their duties. As guardians of the weaker races and often as law keepers when greed or crime overwhelmed, the Kaval as an entity was an eye in the sky. They were Peacekeepers with no affiliation to any world or governing body.
The Dome was also home, for the Kaval members were singular, the last of their immortal kind, and no longer knew personal places to find welcome and rest.
Alusin’s ogive chimed as he entered, but he barely heard the sound anymore. Striding to the Gatherers’ Circle - a white marble circle in the centre of the great space, with a console in the middle blinking four lights, one for Recognition, Knowledge, Sorcery and Communion each - feeling haste quicken not only his footsteps, he found Belun, Centuar, at the helm as ever.
“Belun, I have only minutes. Firstly, after I go, find out whatever you can about mercury, or quicksilver, including sorcerical parallels. Tristan reckons check the Siric records for the latter.”
The huge flamboyant man, decked out in silver and gold hues, including his hair and eyes - the Centuar wore his humanoid guise in the Dome for ease of movement, as well as the use of his speaking voice - eyeballed him. “Consider it done. What else?”
“Gabryl. Who or what is Gabryl. Spelled G A B R Y L.”
“He’s the contact on Petunya?”
“Yes, a suspicious character. Dangerous. Also, what is a creature of mist with eight appendages that consumes people and animals whole? Immune to both sorcery and elements, but susceptible to quicksilver.”
Belun’s shining orbs rounded. “That’s what’s out there? How many? How many have died? You need the entire team!”
“It’s bad, but not yet,” Alusin muttered. “A low profile is better until we know how to stop them. I must go. When we know it’s safe enough, I’ll transfer exact co-ordinates.”
Turning on his heel, Alusin strode to the ogives through the perimeter columns, which ever sparked. Living stone, after all.
One chimed moments later.
“So much for ‘thank you, Belun’.”
Cursing under his breath, the Centuar got to work. After a few colourful words, he smiled; he did enjoy a challenge.
Petunya
Frond
The Barn
ALUSIN APPEARED in the barn in the midst of the small knot of survivors, noting that their fire had burned to mere embers. They were not just running out of food, but fuel also. Already the cold displaced the warmth of earlier.
“Gather your gear, only what you can carry on your backs,” he said. “I can take three at a time.”
“Is it safe?” Jala asked.
“The chateau is secure.”
She eyed him. “That’s not an answer.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Like you, I don’t quite trust this Gabryl, but it is warm there, and the house is protected. There is food and space enough for all to be comfortable.”
The six studied him until Jala jerked a nod. “Dez, Lunas and Dash, you three go first. Get your stuff.” Everyone jumped into action, but Jala motioned Alusin to one side. “I must tell you this now, in case we cannot speak of it at the chateau.”
Alusin nodded. “Tell your friends to watch their words there as well. What is it?”
“Well, you’ve seen him now. He’s cold. A killer. Right?”
“He doesn’t inspire warm feelings.”
“It’s mighty strange that he alone survived, don’t you think? He was with other Grunway, yet they died? Here we are, ordinary folk, and six of us made it.”
The way she said ‘Grunway’ revealed that for the locals the guild’s name and their talents had blurred into one concept. A Grunway, therefore, was the same as saying ‘sorcerer’ elsewhere.
“It is suspicious,” he murmured.
“I’ve given it some thought. Maybe I’m being fanciful, but I get the feeling that Gabryl summoned these things, that they are here because he wants them here. These entities feed off warm blood, right? Folks say he doesn’t himself eat, so maybe these things eat for him … sorry, saying it out loud makes me realise how stupid it sounds. Forget it.”
As she moved away, shaking her head as if berating her foolishness, he muttered, “I think you’re on the mark.”
Halting, she stared at him. “Then why are we going to the chateau?”
“Good question.” Alusin threaded his hands through his hair, inadvertently yanking it free of the leather tie. He caught the strip before it hit the floor, pocketing it. “He will not sully his internal space with the reality of death. He wears a mask and he cannot afford to set it aside in the place he nests.”
“The centre of the web; the still place. It’s where he feels the shivers from the outer rims. Havoc in the centre will distract him from those shivers.” Jala clamped a hand over her mouth, and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight!”
“Web is most apt. What did you do before all this happened?”
A blush bloomed on her cheeks. “I’m a storyteller. I have an overactive imagination.”
Alusin smiled. “The multiverse thrives on tales.”
“Multiverse?”
He inclined his head.
“It’s real?”
“Very real.”
“We’re ready over here!” Lunas called out.
An expression of regret passed over Jala’s features, and then she moved away. “
I guess I need to pack.”
Nowhere
A STILL PLACE indeed. How apt. In the stillness truth is revealed.
Picking at the scabs on her forearms, she lay in the darkness, attempting to ignore both thirst and hunger. She had now discovered that severe deprivation was able to instil the Sight on command. No longer did she need to hunker over a dirty pail.
She wondered, however, how long her body could maintain its spark of life. They needed to hurry. Playing a victim could lead to becoming an actual victim, after all.
Gabryl needed to create absolute chaos.
The Chateau
HALF AN HOUR later, packs, bows and arrows lay strewn at random in the chateau’s opulent hallway. Agog, the new arrivals studied their surrounds. Their host, according to Tristan, had retired for the night and would greet his guests in the morning.
Tristan led them to the guest wing by turning left at the top of the stairs, and told them to get some rest. Gabryl’s private space was to the right and apparently off-limits.
“Where are you sleeping?” Dez asked.
“Wherever I find a bed,” Tristan grinned. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“And your friend?”
Shaking his head, Tristan ignored the question and went downstairs. Alusin did not sleep much, but he was not about to explain that to a stranger.
He found the man in question opening cabinets in the massive kitchen.
“Tea?” he teased.
“Could kill for a cup.”
“Coffee would suit me,” Tristan laughed. “Did you sidestep to the Dome?”
“Belun is on it, yes.” Hissing delight, Alusin hauled out a glass container filled with tea leaves. “Now, kettle …”
Grinning, Tristan left him to it.
IN THE PRIVACY of his suite, fully dressed, wide-eyed and prone on his four-poster bed, Gabryl listened to the sounds his ‘guests’ made as they settled in for the balance of the night.
A cold smile nearly shattered the mirror hanging above the fireplace. He wondered what they - meaning Tristan and Alusin - would make of his true self … and how long it would be before they uncovered it.
He needed haste - she required it - and yet all needed to transpire step by cautious step.
Chapter 5
In a place of here, of there, of tomorrow, of yesterday, a fountain tinkles its magic, hoping for a listener. It has a message to share; it requires one who can hear.
In that place of here, of there, of tomorrow, of yesterday, the music calls only to the creatures of nature.
Will someone come?
Will someone hear?
~ Lanto – Bards and Tales Champion – Valaris ~
Petunya
Frond
The Chateau
ALUSIN DID FIND and make coffee as well and now the brew kept Tristan from sleep. His mind was in overdrive; his body resonated. Abed, dressed but for boots and sword belt, he wryly acknowledged coffee had little to do with his current state.
Despite the real dangers surrounding their enclave - who would have expected this when the message came - his thoughts wrestled with a different problem.
Simply put; Alusin.
The man’s comment about bringing destiny on now swirled through mind and body … and spirit, if he was entirely honest with himself.
Elianas once put his ear to his, Tristan’s, skin, lowering his head to Tristan’s abdomen to lay it there. Grinning, he recalled how both of them were worried Torrullin might misconstrue the action. His amusement swiftly vanished into the darkness surrounding him. Elianas sought to listen for his, Tristan’s, inner music, for Valleur blood sang and Elianas could hear it. More correctly, he heard Torrullin’s song, for he denied hearing anything from Tristan.
His body resonated now, as if an instrument had struck chords and now the reverberations continued despite the music having ceased. Would Alusin hear music if he pressed an ear to his skin?
Groaning, Tristan rolled over. That thought was an orchestra filled with discordant notes.
A brother could be an eternal friend, and brothers-in-arms were as connected. Eternal Companions could thus be about brotherhood, a platonic and lasting relationship, and yet legend and history told a different tale. Eternal Companions were also Timekeepers, and lovers.
Immirin and Eurue.
Ixion and Adagin.
Torrullin and Elianas.
Tarlinn and Neolone, as Timekeepers in the Valleur ranks of this cycle, ancient time, did not attain the state, because one was a golden seat and the other an ethereal dragon, and yet it was also true that they were absolutely connected, akin to lovers, albeit argumentative ones.
Tristan and Alusin; aspirant Timekeepers of the current era, and therefore, by extension, Eternal Companions.
Flipping onto his back again, Tristan covered his face, deepening the blackness. What would Caballa say about this minefield? He laughed mockingly an instant later and relaxed his hands. She would tell him to walk the path of risk, because love mattered.
Love mattered.
He did not know how to love.
ALUSIN PROWLED bookshelves, sleepless.
A woman lived here in the past. It was evident in the sheer number of fiction volumes, for he doubted Gabryl read fiction; this chateau belonged to a woman. While men read fiction as well, the titles on display felt more feminine than male. From romance to otherworld adventures, the reading material spoke of escapism, the kind a lonely woman delved into. In his experience, men, when lonely, went adventuring.
A particular spine caught his attention, and he removed it from its allotted space. Flipping it to the front cover, he noted the title in bold silver - Flexure. Intriguing. The by-line stated, ‘An angular or curved form created via folding’. Curious. He noted the author, but did not recognise him. The central design on the cover swiftly gripped his entire focus, however. On a matt black background, a symbol summoned the reader to open the book.
Firstly, it appeared ethereal, a symbol created from vapour. Secondly, eight circles rotated from a central axis, to become an incomplete sphere. Fascinating. One sensed movement, as if it was ever in motion, simply slowed for the reader to see its parts, to know its sections. As it gathered momentum, it would become a sphere, for swiftness of action would negate the separation. It folded. It became. Flexure. The otherworld kind.
Seeing as he felt no need for rest, Alusin, grinning, headed to the rug before the fire, ignoring the torture devices doubling as chairs. Prone on the warm softness, he opened the book.
JUST SHORT OF an hour later, ashen, he pounded up the stairs and hurtled into Tristan’s chosen bedroom, launching at the bed to shake the man into wakefulness.
He came to a dead stop when Tristan met his searching gaze. Light from the passage revealed what lay in the man’s eyes. Hopelessness. Despair. Instantly, everything that had sent him scurrying upstairs was relegated to unimportant.
“Tris?’
Tristan blinked, sighed, and sat up, folding his legs in front of him. “What is it? You seem frantic.”
He waved the book, but it had no meaning now. Tossing it on the bed, he carefully sat on the edge. “Where were you?”
Huffing a laugh, Tristan said, “No hiding from you, is there? I was with timekeepers past and present.”
Inhaling, Alusin asked, “And?”
Shaking his head in a wry manner, Tristan sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t push me. What brought you?”
Closing his eyes to mask the hurt the brush-off engendered, Alusin reached blindly for the book. When he had it, he threw it at the man.
“Read some of that. Let me know what you think.” Standing, he moved for the door. “We’re headed for a breaking point, you and me,” he muttered without looking back.
The door slammed as he left.
HOLDING THE BOOK, Tristan stared at the door. Then, swiping a shaking hand across his mouth, he looked down. Darkness was now more intense after that short burst of light and, swearing, he
waved a hand over the lamp beside the bed.
Nothing happened.
Cursing foully, he felt around until he found the switch. The fucking thing did not work magically; of course it fucking didn’t, idiot.
A warm glow finally entered the chamber.
Tristan sat with the book, inhaling repeatedly to restore calm. Not serenity, oh no, that was fucking impossible …
… tearing from the room, he strode downstairs.
TOSSING THE TOME at Alusin, who sat on the rug before the flickering flames, he said, “Just tell me. I don’t have the patience right now to bloody read.”
Dark blue eyes filled with amusement lifted to him. “Well, that’s one wall down.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” He paced, sending the white-haired man glares with every turn.
“You haven’t lost your temper for, what? A decade? I’m glad to see you can still feel anger, at the very least.”
Silence answered that. Tristan halted.
Alusin lifted his hands in the universal gesture signifying surrender. “This isn’t the time for our confrontation.”
“But we’re headed for one.” Tristan was dangerously civil.
“Soon, yes.”
“What do you hope to gain from a confrontation?”
“You, Tristan.”
The Valleur instantly clammed up.
Surging to his feet, Alusin approached to smack a hand flat against Tristan’s chest. The Maghdim Medaillon bounced once below his tunic. Tristan never took it off. The day he put it on in the Dome after finding it where Torrullin left it for him, was also the only time he had needed to do so.
“If I need to add new scars to the host your already carry, so be it,” Alusin snarled. “When the time is right, I swear I will not step away. I will hurt you.”
Eurue- The Forgotten World Page 4