Eurue- The Forgotten World

by Elaina J Davidson

  Acknowledging that, Alusin suggested, “Then make the commitment.”

  Tristan’s eyes silvered. “Will you come with me?”

  Finally. “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes. I wish for Tian to know you as he did Elianas. He, of all of us, knew Elianas best.”

  Alusin smiled. “Then I will go with you.”

  “When this is done.”

  Smiling, nodding, Alusin moved away before he did something exceedingly stupid, such as pressing the man against the nearest wall to see if his eyes dilated. Vulnerable Tristan pushed all his buttons.

  “This Aleru Orb has me thinking.”

  Grimacing on hearing those words, the Kemir moved to the range. He needed tea. His hands shook as he lifted the kettle from its hook. “Will you stoke the fire?” he asked as he headed to the faucet.

  Doing so, Tristan continued. “We now have the general timing of Gabryl’s creation. The Aleru were the sword-smiths and no doubt had skill for other weapons also, but that line had been absorbed before Nemisin’s reign.”

  Alusin settle the kettle in place. The fire popped merrily. “Why is it important?”

  “We’re talking a time of rampant sorcery, experimental devices, unstable results. Yet, this Orb functioned …”

  “It failed,” Alusin interrupted. “You haven’t read all of it. They made more, using the gifted orb, and successfully collected the daetal, yes, but the orbs also swiftly reached saturation. If not for the oath deal, no one would now be alive on Eurue.”

  “Did the actual Aleru Orb fail? Was it not the replicas that proved lesser than?”

  “Ha, you have a point. I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows the answer to that.”

  Tristan threaded one hand through his hair. “The Medaillon will know.”

  Oh. This was the true crux. “It might,” Alusin murmured.

  Tristan stared into the fire and then glared at him. “You’re not helping.”

  Snorting, he rebutted with, “And you take no advice when it comes to that thing.”

  Blinking, Tristan twisted his head to the side. “It scares me.”

  By all gods, finally. At fucking last the man’s walls were coming down. “Given what it is, I don’t blame you,” Alusin murmured without expression. “Do you wish for me to lend support when you delve?”

  “Will you?”

  Hiding his overtly trembling hands behind his back, the Kemir nodded. “Of course.”

  “Now?”

  “If that is your wish, but I suggest privacy.”

  Tristan swung for the exit. “Upstairs.” He vanished into the gloom of the cold corridor.

  With his heart jerking as if someone played with magnets somewhere, Alusin removed the almost boiling kettle, set it carefully down, and then nearly ran from the kitchen.

  “BOLT THE DOOR.”

  Alusin dropped the brace in place and closed in.

  Tristan watched him near, well aware of the man’s agitated state. “Have you ever made love to a woman here?”

  The Kemir came to a dead stop.

  “Massive four poster, luxurious covers, privacy.” Tristan waved a hand. “The lord’s seduction chamber?”

  “Seriously? You aim to distract yourself with inane bullshit?” Alusin snapped.

  “Have you?”

  “No, I have not touched a woman here. I told you I hate this place.” Striding to the bed, Alusin perched on the end. “Gods, probably couldn’t get it up. It reminds me of dungeons and torture chambers.”

  The distraction had been for the Kemir. Tristan noticed his inner tremble had dissipated as anger took over. Excellent. He needed the man contrary right now.

  “Are there dungeons here?”

  “Skyler, what the fuck?”

  He burst out laughing. Alusin was about to hit him, he understood. “Just setting the mood. I want to go in hot not cold.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I am about to lie there and will ask you to hold the Maghdim. If we are too logical about it, well, I may chicken out.”

  Alusin inhaled. “You prefer my blood boiling for this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He did not know how to answer that. Perhaps there was no answer. This was instinct. “You are a seer. A seer sees. I need you to feel, not evaluate.”

  Alusin spread his hands. “I see you want to do this with the contrariness Torrullin was known for. Fine, I’m in. Come on, join me on the bed.”

  Well, that pissed him off. If Alusin wanted to play that game … but then he laughed at himself. Was this not precisely what he aimed at? Hot not cold? Divesting himself of his tunic, only to shiver in the cold, he clambered onto the bed, lay on his back and toed his boots off. His sword he kept in place.

  The windows rattled. The storm was all about cold, but its ferocity aided his state of mind.

  The Maghdim Medaillon was warm upon his chest, as ever. Peering over his nose at it, he realised it appeared different against his healed skin. Until now he had seen it against a backdrop of crisscrossing scars. Alusin’s weight settled next to him, but he could not look away from the Medaillon.

  This was the Master Mechanism.

  A Timekeeper’s talisman.

  In it was Vannis Valla’s wisdom and knowledge, and in it was Torrullin’s truth.

  Suddenly he was as afraid of it as before.

  “Not the best idea,” he stated, sitting up.

  Alusin shoved him down, his hand splayed upon his chest, covering the Medaillon. The contact was sufficient to change … everything.

  His head snapped backwards and fire took control of his every thought.

  The place was best described as nondescript.

  Trees and meadow, sky and earth, but there was little sound and no movement. It was pretty, in a sense, but appeared manufactured. It felt akin to stepping into a painting, an unchanging image from someone’s mind.

  “How do I open it?” Sabian asked, rolling a metal orb over.

  “Drop it,” Elianas muttered, staring fixedly at the sphere.

  Sabian dropped it.

  Torrullin stepped away a pace, a mask slipping over his face.

  Petals unfolded from the sphere and there green sparking commenced.

  Sabian leaned over it. “Intriguing. My experience tells me of wisps of white smoke, sometimes colourful flower designs, but a moving sphere is quite rare. One cannot usually see souls; it is more a sense of sight. This one is pretty established.” He looked up. “It is either long held, in which case, innocent or not, it will be most unhappy, or it is newly harvested and therefore still maintains clear presence.”

  Neither man said a word in response.

  Sabian shrugged and kneeled. “I shall now breathe on it.”

  Torrullin cleared his throat. “Breathe? As simple as that?”

  “My ancient breath was not given me via simplicity, Torrullin.”

  “True.” Torrullin swallowed. “Go ahead.”

  Sabian leaned in close. Elianas hunkered to see more clearly, while Torrullin remained unmoving. Sabian blew on the swirling emerald orb. Torrullin became as stone. The kneeling man opened his mouth wide and exhaled forcefully.

  The spinning ceased.

  Sparks snuffed out.

  Elianas braced with hands flat on the ground beside him.

  The circular shape curved outward and then elongated into an impossibly thin thread reaching into the sky. Green sprinkles erupted as if exploding, and then they vanished. The metal device disintegrated, until only dull glitters remained.

  “Direct to Aaru,” Sabian murmured, sitting back.

  Groaning, Tristan opened his eyes. “Did you see that?”

  Alusin nodded, dark blue eyes full of questions. He held the Maghdim in his fist, maintaining contact with Tristan’s skin.

  “White smoke. The daetal are souls.” Tristan covered his face. “This fits with my vision on Petunya of a small silver sphere that twisted in ropes of continuous movement
. Remember how I said actual ghosts wanted the sphere and I needed to keep it from them? Souls, though; not ghosts. By all gods, no wonder your Oskil were vicious. They were bound, freedom removed, choice taken away, and commanded to inhale other souls. And then they were sent to a lightless place and it has been near bloody forever. These will be far worse than soltakin in their vengeance.”

  Alusin did not respond.

  “My god, a witness would call the Kemir darak fallen.” This was not a new thought. He had accused Alusin of it before.

  “A state underscored when we brutally unmade what was twisted into creation,” Alusin said. Releasing the Medaillon, he sat up. “Sabian blew on the metal sphere and it opened. He chose to give it freedom. He unmade with benevolence.”

  Fisting a hand into the man’s long hair, Tristan forced Alusin to look at him. “Torrullin told me how he held Declan the Siric’s soul in his hands and sacrificed the Dome in order to bring him back. Guess what he did, Alusin? He breathed on Declan’s insubstantial matter. We have been looking at this wrong. The immortal Kemir are the quicksilver. Mercury has nothing to do with any of it. Collectively, you are the weapon. The day the daetal were forced into the core was the day your blood received that power. Sorcerical backlash. Sabian received it via his genetics. His ancient breath was not …”

  “… given him via simplicity,” Alusin sighed, and lowered his head until his forehead rested on Tristan’s shoulder.

  Tristan stroked the man’s hair. “You too can unmake with benevolence.”

  Alusin lifted his head. “How does one negate rage with benevolence?”

  “You believe, Alusin. You walk in the Light.”

  Leaning in, Alusin claimed his mouth. Lifting his head, he murmured, “Give me yours.”

  “Take it.”

  “Your eyes are silvering.”

  “I am aware. I feel it when it happens,” Tristan murmured, not looking away.

  “Your quicksilver, Tristan.”

  “That, Alusin, was exactly the right thing to say.” He hauled the man’s mouth to his. It would go no further than a kiss, but the Kemir needed to know intention was present.

  Somewhere and Elsewhere

  SHE SMILED, AND swiftly masked her sight.

  The Maghdim Medaillon. Until now she had not given it thought, and therefore her gaoler would not have either.

  That talisman might just save her.

  Abruptly, terribly unexpectedly, death retreated from her thoughts, from her plans. As before, she once more sought her freedom.

  Chapter 23

  Five, four, three, two, one

  FIRE

  One, two, three, four, five

  ICE

  ~ Skipping Game ~

  Eurue

  The Kiln

  GABRYL GAZED UPON the scorched plain. No sound or movement broke the monotony of absolute lifelessness.

  There were once mountains here, and trees, undergrowth. There was water, and life of all kinds, from feathered to scaled. Now there was only emptiness.

  In the aftermath they named this place the Kiln, for great heat led to great death here, but it was a cold region in the present. He did not feel cold, but the atmosphere of icy barrenness caused him to shiver.

  In younger times, vessels were scarce, and thus miasma sparks accepted the manipulation in play here, hoping perhaps it would lead eventually to a tangible existence. How they were abused, until hope became rage. They became instead tentacled creatures, folding and ever shifting, but also trapped. It was ‘form’ without escape.

  His maker, perhaps with greater insight than the others, chose to instruct him and thus made him more in the process. He therefore became his maker and they paid for the affront to the spaces. He gifted the Oskil hope, albeit of the darkest nature. He promised them freedom … and he failed.

  Gabryl hunkered to touch the brittle earth.

  It shattered.

  Cracks twisted across the landscape, and the plain exploded as glittering dust.

  He failed then, yes, but he would keep his word.

  “Close now, my children,” he murmured. “The way is cleared for you. One more step, and you will arise.”

  The Fortress

  “IT HAPPENED AT the Kiln,” Alusin said.

  Galarth had just pointed out the regions where they suspected the daetal would return from, but Alusin denied him.

  “These two,” and he jabbed at a map, “are the result of the civil wars that ended up with a ship hightailing it to Kinsail. The smaller antimatter signatures reveal smaller battles. Kiln is where we need concentrate on. That was dead long before the wars. A place of stones.”

  Fuma, of the Deorc, pursed his lips. “Explain to us how antimatter resulted from quicksilver. This does not make sense to us, for mercury has not that property.”

  “Yeah, and there isn’t enough of the stuff in the universe to make even a small weapon, were it to do so,” Amunti murmured.

  Glancing at Tristan, who nodded, Alusin straightened. “The Aleru Orb was about time, essentially.”

  “Suddenly you know?” Assint interrupted. “This morning you were unaware of connections.”

  Tristan spoke up. “The Maghdim revealed nuances. Alusin, go on.”

  The Kemir paced. “The orbs fashioned here in haste were effective, but not perfect. Yes, they absorbed daetal, but they also filled swiftly. Had someone the wherewithal to toss the orbs into empty space, there the daetal would have been released without harm to anyone, but no one knew that then. Instead the orbs were driven into the depths of this earth, and there were they bound.”

  Chaim leaned forward. “The daetal are souls. Soltakin by another name.”

  Alusin shook his head briefly. “Worse than soltakin. Yes, now it is clear they were souls; then it was living miasma. The juvenile races, in their ignorance, discovered darak because they entrapped souls. Curiosity killed the light.”

  “Too philosophical, Algheri,” Tristan murmured, seeking to distract him from that train of thought.

  Tutting, Alusin nodded. “Indeed. The Aleru Orb. It was not destroyed. It transformed and remains with us to this day. We, the immortal Kemir, are the Aleru Orb. We became that when the Kiln exploded into existence. It gifted us the power to unmake.”

  Belun, glancing at the serenity on his leader’s face, said, “I think you need to expound a bit.”

  Flashing a grin, the Kemir said, “I intend to. Quicksilver is not mercury, or it wasn’t then. Gabryl used quicksilver, actual mercury, at the Manor because he understood the daetal believed it the same substance. Their belief duped them, as it duped us. He employed the power of suggestion against us. I have to hand it to him; he is clever.”

  “It hurt to touch, and yet it was his suggestion we fought against, not the actual material,” Tristan added.

  “Diabolical,” Mahler muttered.

  “To get back to the Aleru device. Time. You know better than I do that the Valleur are masters of time, and we must therefore count the Aleru among them.” Alusin halted. “Before all this started, Kemir lived average lifespans. After, our years extended somewhat. My brother and I chose immortality, yes, but fact is, we are only fourth generation Algheri, if you count Filkemir as the first. Given that, I put to you that the Aleru Orb gifted us time.”

  Silence greeted that statement, until Jonas muttered, “Well, that explains why you are in line for the title Timekeeper.”

  Amunti snorted, and then giggled. “Does too!”

  The atmosphere eased, and Tristan marked how Alusin’s hand unclenched behind his back.

  Grinning, Alusin commenced his pacing regime once again. “Can time be created or destroyed? Or made and unmade?”

  Thoughtful, Chaim gave reply. “No, but our perception of it can be.”

  “Exactly!” A pale finger punched at the air. “It’s everywhere, it moves, it stagnates, it’s swift, it’s dark, it’s bright. It can be liquid and it can be hard.”

  “It’s quicksilver,” Chaim mur
mured.

  Alusin bowed. “And there it is.”

  “Transitional, ancient breath,” Galarth said. “Therefore the Kemir are the quicksilver. You are the weapon today.”

  “Particularly Alusin,” Tristan out in. “Last of his line, the one to potentially be the final Keeper, to become the oath.” He grinned. “He broke it instead.”

  The Kaval stared at the white-haired man, and then Belun said, “Seems to me this was coming anyway. Even if Alusin was the perfect Keeper, a day will have arrived when he relinquished the title, and it would have broken then.”

  “Indeed,” Tristan murmured.

  “So it’s lucky it happened now,” the Centuar went on. “Because he has the Kaval. He is not alone.”

  Alusin closed suspiciously bright eyes and again bowed. “Thank you.”

  Tristan laughed. “Told you, Algheri. So trust us, hear?”

  Wiping his nose, Alusin straightened. “Bugger off, Skyler.”

  Laughter rippled through the library, and then the Kaval began strategizing the foray into the Kiln.

  Kemirin

  HE COULD NOT concentrate. Every thought simply fragmented into a million others, and it was counterproductive. He felt as if something had shattered his wards …

  Savier hurtled up, shouting for his chief counsellor. When the man entered, he commanded him to take over governance until further notice. Leaving the man gaping, still searching for words, Savier vanished from there.

  The Fortress

  ARRIVING A HEARTBEAT later at his brother’s front door, Savier pounded for entrance. Wind tore at him, whipping his hair about, stinging flails that soon caused him to curse.

  In this din no one would hear him.

  Thus, cursing the northern weather, Savier transported into the one place still clear in memory - the library.

  His sudden appearance startled the twelve men in discussion there, but he ignored all for the fire and its warmth.