Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  “Something nasty is a-foot, Vanar.”

  She nodded. “Shall I talk to her or do you want to?”

  “You do it.”

  She moved towards the stairs and stopped with her foot on the first step. “Yiddin, has the watch over Tianoman been set?”

  “Yes. Gods, I wish the waiting was over, so we know where we stand with that one.”

  “Do you think there is a chance the Throne will choose him?”

  Yiddin shrugged. “It chose Torrullin, didn’t it? There is no telling what that seat will do.”

  Beacon

  FUMA AND AMUNTI PRESENTED themselves at the consulate of Valaris on Beacon.

  It was a small building set amid rows of identical buildings, the consulates and embassies of different worlds. Beacon was a giant city-world and the fact that these buildings were a mere three storeys high were a continuing wonder to Beaconites, as was the curiosity of the landscaped grounds they were situated in. Beacon had harked to others’ preference for wider spaces and view, but tenants of these particular buildings paid premium rent.

  Kris Westlake did not add much over coffee, but gave them the name of the one he heard the rumour from.

  Fuma and Amunti were on Beacon to look at the population register to find Marvin Forlang, an importer of vegetables from worlds other than Beacon Farm. Consulates and embassies had access to that register, a transparency treaty. Beacon was seldom transparent.

  The register, when the Consul granted them access, gave an address in the warehouse district of southeast Beacon. The man had no criminal record, paid taxes and import duties regularly and seemed a model citizen.

  Good; it was easier to talk to someone with nothing to hide.

  THE DISTRICT WAS CROWDED, noisy and frenetically busy.

  It took four hours to find the right warehouse and then a further two for Marvin Forlang. Unfortunately the man could tell them nothing. He heard it ‘somewhere’.

  As they left the warehouse of Marvin Imported Vegetables, Amunti stumbled over a sleeping form huddled before bales of cotton stacked outside the neighbouring business.

  The man looked up blearily and mumbled something about everyone wanting to be a king suddenly. He was clearly in his cups, but the remark spoke directly to the rumouring.

  A drink or two later, and the drunk ran at the mouth.

  Yes, folk talked about the golden boys who wanted to be kings and, yes, he heard of a mighty army that would crush resistance to the new kingdoms. Oh, where had he heard it …? Well, he had to think on that one a bit …

  Another drink, and he suddenly remembered.

  Ah, yes, April told him … she brought him food, you know, great gal, and she heard it from Pretty Polly, who worked for Benjamin Torres over at the Metal Yard … now Torres was man to be afraid of, a finger in every steaming pot …

  EVERYONE KNEW THE Metal Yard and everyone knew Benjamin Torres.

  The yard dealt in scrap, not only the metal kind, for scrap included information. Benjamin Torres was a swarthy man, heavyset and yet light on his feet, with a marked, swaggering walk. A big king of a small domain.

  He would not talk to them, and thus they forced him to, and left him blubbering abuse when they absconded.

  Benjamin Torres had something interesting hiding in his deviant, criminal mind.

  It seemed they needed to get to Lax. As with Chaim, Fuma and Amunti required Jimini’s particular talents for infiltration.

  “Jimini is with Chaim on Xen,” Belun barked when they put in an appearance in the Dome.

  To Xen III they went and fell in with the plans underway.

  Drinic Homeworld

  ERIN GAVE AMDEL THE full story of her son’s responsibilities to the Kaval and heard in turn how the rabble of Drinic rose against the immortals, priests and known supporters.

  Amdel suffered much, but the fact that her son ‘died’ eventually led to her being left to her own devices. The purging was not over, although incidences of violence were fewer as time wore on and priorities shifted focus. She could not fathom why it began in the first instance, but shrugged philosophically and moved on to the reason Erin came to see her.

  “You look for time portals, my dear? What makes you think I would know?”

  “I merely hope you can help, Amdel.”

  “Well, I say we need tea and biscuits before we go on. Come, let us sit in the kitchen, it is sunnier there.” She rose and went off.

  The kitchen was brighter and smelled wonderful. Erin grinned her pleasure as she entered, and was waved to a table under a window where the view was of roses, daffodils, carnations, primroses, petunias, snow balls, lilies and all manner of flowers. A riotous paradise of colour. And the scents were heavenly. Bees buzzed from flower to flower and butterflies danced, flirting with tiny red ladybirds.

  “Oh, it’s glorious,” Erin breathed.

  Amdel smiled as she approached with a huge pot of tea and a tin of home baked biscuits. “My little world.” She set her burdens down and then brought over mugs, sugar, milk and teaspoons. “Help yourself, Erin.”

  Erin did so. The tea was divine and the biscuits absolute temptation.

  Amdel drank her tea delicately and did not speak again until she emptied her mug. With a sigh of pleasure she set it down. “Now I am restored. Why time portals specifically?”

  “Someone is lost to the past, Amdel, and it’s a barrier we can’t simply pull away.”

  “An accident?”

  “Oh, I hope so.”

  “Are you not a sage yourself? I sense the depths in you.”

  “I see nothing, I’m afraid.”

  Amdel pushed the biscuit tin closer. “Have another. You are looking at this the wrong way. Complicating things.”

  “Meaning?” Erin’s mouth was full.

  “What is a portal? It is a door between two places, one that can either be opened or shut. That goes for a door in this house or a door between times, so do not over-complicate it.”

  “Which door and where? How will I know it when I see it? And how can it not be complicated when folk die to see a door, or reincarnate, or use magic, trance or symbols of power?”

  “And a door is still a door. Simple. You have seen the Rift? A mere door, if large and irregular. You say someone is lost; retrace those steps and walk in those shoes to the point where there are no footprints to follow.”

  “That may be far harder than you would expect.”

  “Perhaps, but the door will be there and the fact that it passes through to another time is immaterial. You will know it and feel it. Of course, it is getting back which could prove difficult, and whether it leads to the same time as your lost friend is open to interpretation, yet it will be the portal you seek.”

  Erin nodded. “I’m asking the wrong questions. I shouldn’t be asking what a time portal is or where to find it, I should be asking how I am to determine the time beyond, how to alter that time if necessary, and how do I find this present again from the other side. Right?”

  Amdel smiled.

  “How?”

  “I have heard of technological drones able to send images …”

  “And what if it’s just sand on the other side? Images of sand will reveal nothing, not even place.”

  “Then you need a Walker of Realms, my dear.”

  Erin gave a wry smile. “Elixir.”

  “The mighty Torrullin, indeed. Take him to the doorway and leave the rest up to him.” Amdel took Erin’s hand and squeezed it. “You follow the events that led to this disappearance, that is all you can do.”

  Erin sighed. “I’ve wasted your time.”

  “No, you returned my son to me and it is a great gift. Tell him his mother loves him and tell him all is well and I am safe. Tell him I understand why he did as he did, and I thank him.” Another hand squeeze and then Amdel rose. She found a tea towel and wrapped a fair share of the biscuits into it. “Give him this. They were always his favourites.”

  “It will be a pleasure.” E
rin took the parcel, leaned over to peck Amdel on the cheek, and left.

  Valaris

  QUILLA ROSE STIFFLY FROM his meditative pose and stretched.

  He went to wash his face and then prepared something nourishing to eat. Thereafter, he returned to his meditation.

  There were, he discovered, many singing stones in the universe, each with a different tale to tell. The trick was to find the right tale, the one that slotted neatly into the mystery at hand … hopefully.

  Quilla settled and concentrated anew.

  Lintusillem

  HIS BLADDER WAS FIT to burst with too much tea.

  Jonas stumbled from his brother’s cottage and managed to get his breeches open before he wet himself. As a mighty arc steamed in the cold air, his mind was a confused tumble of information.

  Igneous rock, sedimentary rock, metamorphic something or other, stratified rock, granite into gneiss, shale into slate and reversing, stratigraphy and epochs, eras and cosmic years …

  Gods, when had Minos learnt this stuff and how did he know what was what?

  “Jonas, are there volcanoes on Sanctuary and Luvanor?” Minos called out.

  After tucking back in, Jonas went indoors. “I believe so.”

  “I need you to get me lava rocks, brother, from both worlds.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you not been listening?”

  “I have tried.”

  “Look, this is a stratigraphic column, like a yardstick used to date geological events.” Minos waved the drawing around. “See here …” and he jabbed at a dark layer near the bottom, “… this looks like obsidian, which means it’s igneous rock …”

  “Whatever.”

  “Cooled and hardened magma, idiot. To compare, I need lava rock and then I’ll know which world. See?”

  “Lava is on the surface, Minos, and recent. How do you compare anything?”

  His brother threw his hands in the air. “To explain that would take too much out of your deadline. Go get me samples.”

  Jonas sighed. “On my way.”

  Grinwallin

  IT WAS A HUGE cavern, perfectly square, flawlessly smooth walls ceiling to floor, and every space on each expanse was taken up with paintings.

  Some were small, others large and imposing, and each was a thing of magic.

  Torrullin sank to his knees in the centre of the cavern, his eyes moving. “My god, I see now why you hid this.”

  “Frightening, isn’t it?” Teighlar murmured, trying not to look.

  “Yes … and inspiring. Such a wealth of information.” Torrullin rose and moved to an image in a frame. “Sweet gods, Lowen painted one like this on Cèlaver. It is the cage before the Hounding.” He swung to Teighlar. “The dream that took me to the Syllvan, remember?”

  Teighlar nodded.

  “Here? How is it possible?” Another rendition caught his eye. He stared at it and then pointed. “The Pillars of Fire on Valaris.”

  Teighlar swallowed. “Goddess, really?”

  Torrullin stared, moved, stared and then something drew him like a magnet. “Is this you?”

  “Read the inscription,” came an uneven reply.

  “’Tunian, first and last king of Luvanor.’”

  “Tunin was named after him.”

  “Tunian and Teighlar. Both mean New Path, am I right? First and last. Are you Tunian reincarnate?”

  Teighlar gave a harsh laugh. “Does it matter?”

  “It matters.”

  “I do not know.”

  “But you do know you are Luvan, don’t you?” Stillness inside, as Torrullin finally grasped that.

  Teighlar closed his eyes. “Yes.”

  “The royal line of the Luvans - it includes you. Gods. Grinwallin was created by your blood, it endures by your blood. How did I overlook that?”

  Teighlar took a breath. “The singing stones today can be heard only by Ancients, Torrullin. How have you overlooked that you, too, are one of those? You, me and Quilla. The only three left now.”

  Torrullin stared at him. “Do you know what you are saying?”

  “I do, but do you hear me, old friend? Oh, and Agnimus - fourth Ancient. I nearly forgot him, and suspect you will find him somewhere in these paintings also. You will certainly find Quilla and perhaps even yourself.”

  “No.”

  Teighlar gave a wry smile. “Now you begin to see why I kept this from you. You are in denial. As I may be also. Am I Tunian? I am petrified to know that to be true.”

  They stared at each other and then both turned to the paintings.

  A new and painful unveiling commenced.

  Chapter 14

  One cannot wander old paths without finding them altered.

  ~ Book of Sages

  Valaris

  Valla Island

  CABALLA ALIGHTED ON the winter lawn before the Palace.

  She shivered in the biting air and could not control it. She was acclimatised now to heat and had not dressed for this weather.

  It was after midday and seemed closer to evening, the heavens were that gloomy. She sniffed the air. Month of Blizzird, cold, snowfall due soon, and she was no longer accustomed to it.

  She missed it with an ache that was a void.

  The weather, the people, her people, this world, she missed it all, and she missed Torrullin.

  Tristan came out to meet her and her heart nearly froze in position eternally. By god, Torrullin’s face. The traitorous organ jumped and hurtled into motion. No, it was Tristan, but, by god, how alike could two men be? She had seen it in Samuel - a dead ringer for Tristamil, that one - but this was spooky.

  Tristan came to a halt and smiled. “Caballa, I remember you.”

  A hand went to her heart, rested there. “Tristan, you are all grown.”

  The smile broadened. “Hopefully wiser, too. Come, you are cold.” He gave her his arm and she took it.

  “You look exhausted,” she murmured as they walked towards warmth.

  “A hard night.”

  “Did Rose come?”

  A nod.

  “Watch yourself with her.” They entered the spacious throne’s chamber, which was now more gathering place, and Caballa pulled to a stop. “It’s the same. Only the wooden seat is gone.”

  Tristan gazed around, seeing it with her eyes. Empty, he thought, impersonal. “It is unlived in.”

  “You live here, don’t you?”

  “It’s not mine, Caballa.”

  She nodded. “It remains Tannil’s.”

  “As the Keep is Torrullin’s.”

  Another nod. “Where are your cousins?”

  “Suffering Elder judgement. We subverted a site yesterday.”

  Her hand jerked from his arm. “You did what?”

  “It was a diversion to contact you.”

  “Tristan, subversion of a site …”

  “… is considered treason, yes. We know, loudly and clearly from the Elders.”

  “You were not judged?”

  A laugh sounded. “Therefore the hard night passed.”

  She did not laugh. “Who did it? Was it Tianoman?”

  “It was, but do not look for the worst in him because he is Tymall’s son. Tian has a good heart.”

  She let it pass.

  “Caballa, is Saska on Nemisin’s world?”

  “She didn’t want to come and we should give that planet a proper name. Now, where’s Rose? I must deal with her first.”

  “Upstairs, and I’m afraid Vanar and Yiddin got to her last night.”

  “How so?”

  “She won’t say.”

  “Miss drama queen,” Caballa muttered, and headed for the stairs. “Which room?”

  “Green. Yours would be the same as before. I took the liberty of bringing in warm clothes.”

  Caballa smiled over her shoulder. “Thank you. We will talk later. Go get some sleep meanwhile.”

  Tristan watched her go, his gaze unreadable.

  THE EVENING MEAL WAS set
in a small and private chamber upstairs, for three. A fire roared and candlelight dispelled the gloom.

  Rose was lovely in a white gown, her hair demurely tied, and was quiet and withdrawn. Caballa wore a flowing yellow gown, her hair loosely plaited. Tristan considered himself honoured and had also dressed more formally.

  The meal was tasty, the wine good and conversation was light until the final dish was removed and coffee served.

  “Rose tells me Vanar tapped into our conversation yesterday,” Caballa said.

  Tristan nodded. “I thought she might. She is good, that one.”

  “Rose also admits she uncovered the background to the conversation. She knows about the rumours, the visit to Torrullin, even the subversion of the Gates.”

  Tristan’s gaze flickered to Rose. She sat at the table, head bent. “Rose is good, too.” Her head lifted and a quick smile came and went, and then she looked down once more.

  “What we need determine,” Caballa said, “is whether she is now in possession of privileged information.”

  “Common knowledge.”

  Rose sighed and looked up.

  “You are a farspeaker, Tristan, and that makes Rose a threat to you,” Caballa said.

  “Why?”

  “She channelled to you, therefore future communication between you and another is within her reach.”

  “I wouldn’t listen in!” Rose was mortified.

  “I know, sweetie, but you could be used against Tristan.”

  “By whom?” Tristan demanded.

  “Whoever is behind the rumour, whoever has stirred the Kaval into concerted action, whoever nabbed Lowen,” Caballa said. “You were right, you do need me, if only to prevent you walking into a trap.”

  “I have nothing to …”

  “Of course you have. A Three Kingdom rumour, which, by the way, fits in too neatly into a Three Kingdom prophecy. You and your cousins are definitely involved, if not in immediate danger.” She pointed a finger at him. “Do not go off half-baked like yesterday again.”