Alexei shook his head and moved the stones. The image converted to nothing. He looked up.
“My Lady, I doubted you earlier, but cannot feel that way now. There is danger coming to Grinwallin, to all Luvans, but the timing is obscure. We must read every sign and portent from this day forward, listen to every premonition, decipher every dream, or we shall die.”
Challis stared at him. “Then let us begin.” She rose and held her hand out to him. “Together.”
Alexei retrieved the stones and took her hand. He had found his power. “My Lady, one issue comes to mind.”
She watched him like a raptor.
“In losing, the Luvans could yet win.”
“Reincarnation?”
“Yes, my Lady.”
She smiled. “Then let us begin that also.”
IT WAS SAID WHEN Queen Challis died she bequeathed a state of insecurity to Luvanor.
For twenty years she harked to every telling, every sign, every dream, and thus renewed by example the ancient and traditional ways, and yet she did so without explaining her apparent madness.
Luvans were not stupid. Something was coming and thus every man, woman and child began to study the heavens, the bones and stones, and every night-time visitation held great meaning.
It was good to be alert, but Luvanor caught itself in a trap. In spending so much time with omens they neglected those things that were real. In neglecting reality they undermined their culture. And when reincarnation became religion they undermined themselves.
The stage was set for downfall and when, thirty years later, the son of Challis and Alexei took to the throne, collapse was imminent.
The Old Brotherhood waited with bated breath.
Year 2002
ALEXIS WAS TWENTY-EIGHT when Challis died and he had never been as relieved.
His father Alexei ruled as regent for one year before he passed on, although it was rumoured his death was a form of suicide. Alexei became enamoured of reincarnation and could no longer await the natural progression of time. Whether or not he returned remained unknown.
Alexis was thirty when he faced his first great challenge and it came in the form of Dante, his cousin, the same nephew sent away in ignorance, until the Old Brotherhood took matters into their hands.
Dante was thirty-six and Dante was angry. The Brotherhood used that and promised to restore him to the royal inheritance if he decreed the Brotherhood as one Order. He agreed. He brought an army to Grinwallin’s gates, an army of fighting priests, and bloody war was enacted upon the great plain. It was not the army foreseen by Challis, but it was close, given the blood spilled.
Alexis was eventually defeated in single combat and Dante declared King. His first act was to decree the schism in the Order of Brothers a thing of the past.
This time the Brotherhood chose the path of least resistance. They opted to adhere to the lineage, choosing instead to work from the wings, spreading their influence with subtle ways. The schism, however, was still in place; it went into the shadows of a man’s psyche, and thus Dante, and every ruler after him, was misled and misinformed by contrary words.
Grinwallin held her secrets and added a fair few to the list and the five oval stones were lost. It was another secret Grinwallin would keep for a long time.
The secret remedies grew ever more obscured and rebirth became the new fashion.
The Brotherhood held onto the reins of power.
Chapter 24
Scrying; technique, of which there are many, to produce images of the future
Omens; a happening that precedes the vent by way of symbolism
~ Titania Dictionary
WITH HINDSIGHT, YEAR 4218 was the year the dreaming began in earnest.
It transpired that words were cheap. Only images would suffice. It matters not who began the process of transferring dream landscapes and features onto canvas, but once begun it was unstoppable.
First was the painting of an abyss, a deep void in which an enemy awaited in the dark. Some said it meant happiness to the dreamer; others were less certain.
A field of dandelions came next, under an ominous sky. It portended the gathering of shadows.
Then there was the rendition of Grinwallin’s walls. It suggested exclusiveness and angered the brotherhood. They immediately questioned the usefulness of said walls and were almost thrown from the city; they countered with a painting of another wall, one of blue-grey stone covered in runes. It, they claimed, heralded a true Priest. They were scoffed at.
A painting of Tunian was presented soon after and it cause havoc among the royals. The eldest son claimed every king was not only descendent from Tunian, but descended also from the High King of the Diluvans. True, yes, but the son also claimed each male in rulership had been and would be reincarnate of the first king of the Diluvans. Another war nearly erupted, and the son’s father chose to deny the claim, though he was secretly pleased with his son.
There were paintings of other races, future claimants to Luvanor, and these set nerves on edge. The process of rebirth intensified. All loving and living at that time sought a way to survive the calamity or to see it come to pass sometime in the future. Survival and curiosity were not far removed from each other.
A painting of a golden race heralded the mighty chamber inside Grinwallin, an art gallery with severe undertones. Both royals and priests realised they saw far into the future. Not only did the paintings serve as warnings, but they were a record of what was to come. They needed to be preserved and chronology would emerge from variety.
A fortress - sickness and hate.
The Luvan alphabet. The royals expounded on it being a symbol of a nest of vipers and pointed fingers at the Brotherhood.
A blacksmith at work. An anvil struck. It meant trouble.
A painting of a faceless Emperor brought terrible disquiet.
A lynx, an animal brought to Luvanor, meant secret hatred.
A volcano was interpreted to mean someone powerful would oppress Grinwallin.
By degree, although ostensibly in opposition, priest and royal began to work together as they had not since settlement. The paintings and their inherent warnings forged bonds. It was apparent the enemy to bay at the gates came from elsewhere; they needed work together to find solutions.
Still the dreamers painted.
Water flooding Grinwallin set precautions in place.
A whirlwind stumped every viewer. Later someone suggested it meant reports of danger, a danger too swift to counter.
Luvan adders set teeth on edge.
Animals’ dying sent shivers down spines.
Crops burning instituted measures of storage.
A bird in a house heralded the death of two royal sons.
Birds flying overhead heralded the timeous birth of an heir.
Both priest and royal ceased bickering and solicited images from everywhere.
A painting of treasure meant betrayal and it was not long in coming. Two paintings were set a-fire by a jealous priest, one who could not paint a straight line on a wall, and he could have laid all to waste had not his treason - for treason it was then to destroy an image - been discovered. He was put to death and the images were warded against destruction, even the progress of time.
A rough river symbolised a powerful person. Again that warning surfaced and it added impetus to a network of spies. Reports came in frequently, some clearly meant to cripple a rival, others with depth, and none were proven true. Spying and the resultant reports continued.
Grinwallin in ruin. The reigning king succumbed to a heart attack on seeing it and his son was sworn in as successor.
A city illuminated. Grinwallin lit as if by fiery heavens. The new king stood horrified before the painting. It was a certain sign of war.
A chapel meant a trap.
A series of worlds marched onto the walls.
A series of buildings joined then, none of them native to Luvanor.
A blue sword crossed a green sword.
>
A fire-breathing dragon.
A serpent in the ocean.
A drawbridge meant an unexpected journey. Many Brothers muttered it meant the social degradation of Luvans. Luvanor, they claimed, was fertile ground for an invading force.
The king painted himself swimming in a clear pond and was rather proud of his work, until a priest pointed out it meant peril. The king was so aghast he raced back to his chambers to assure himself of his young family’s safety and discovered an assassin bent over his toddler son. He strangled the man in a rage and thus lost the opportunity to uncover hidden truths.
Challis’ army of vertical, glinting spears appeared on the walls, as did blood and decay in Grinwallin. Fires all over Luvanor. Bodies littered the Great Hall. Ghosts featured in many, as did faces in duplicate. The latter two, it was decided, pointed out the dangers of rebirth. Nobody harked to that warning.
A world inundated meant only Orb.
Orb invaded by the same golden race as in other paintings sent shivers of horror through Grinwallin’s halls. Had the Diluvans succumbed to water or war … or was it yet to come to pass?
And, ten years after it began, the dreaming stopped. No more images came. Thus began the long, protracted period of study and research.
Certain things did come to light, but not enough to prevent the future foreseen in bright colour on walls.
Chapter 25
Auguries; a form of divination based on ritualistic behaviour, a chance outcome
Waking imagery; visions
~ Titania Dictionary
ON THE EVE OF the eighth millennium much of what was foreseen since the day Khunrath heard the stones sing came to pass.
A new race sailed into Lunar Bay south of Tunin and panic ensued.
In haste King Alessandro boarded his personal bio-craft and waited just long enough for the priest Imtech and his political advisor Mokoko to board before lifting off. Twelve similar craft lifted into the air after him; the military bigwigs were aboard those.
The thirteen craft hovered over Lunar Bay and what they saw was pure nightmare.
There were twenty thousand - not twenty or a thousand - twenty thousand sailing ships on the water. Granted, some were small and could probably carry no more than ten, but it was an astronomical number. It was a massive force; even at ten per ship, it meant two hundred thousand souls.
Alessandro pulled his craft in a wide sweep and landed on a hill four miles away. In minutes he was surrounded by the others and minutes after that they were outside, staring over the mass of people.
“There are women and children among them,” Imtech said.
“Your point?” Mokoko growled.
“A war party would not bring women and children.”
“Unless it seeks to give exactly that impression,” General Dessar murmured.
“How many?” Alessandro demanded.
“Somewhere between three and six hundred thousand.”
“Too many. Grinwallin is our only option. Gabriel said armies could expend on those walls.”
“If we have sufficient stores,” Imtech remarked.
Alessandro turned to the priest. “Return to the city and raise the alarm. Prepare for a long siege.”
“Your Majesty, we should talk to them.”
“And we shall, but I am not wasting a month’s added stores in first smelling the dogs. Go.”
Imtech bowed and gestured at one of the pilots from the other crafts. Moments later they were airborne.
“Dessar, who and where would you say the leader is?”
The old general had been trying to establish that through narrowed eyes. He pointed. “The red tent with the taller pennant.”
Alessandro nodded; he drew the same conclusion. “Nassim, go down there under flag of truce and find someone of authority to speak to us here. Take a craft to the edge of the encampment.”
Nassim was the youngest general, therefore expendable. He did not like it, but did as bid and the others watched as he landed and then walked in under a raised white flag.
“They came in early dark last night,” Mokoko said. “They are too settled already.”
“Where have they come from?” Dessar asked. “They are not so different, except in dress. Surely we should see craft from space, not on water?”
There was no answer and no one bothered to find one. They waited and eventually saw Nassim return to his craft. Four men tagged after him, one carrying a similar white flag. Good, they knew the standards; it eased matters.
Interminable minutes later Nassim landed nearby. He presented the four men. “Your Majesty, this is Trismosin. He claims he is King also.”
Alessandro warily bowed his head as his counterpart did likewise.
“These two are his sons, Galen and Ganima, and this is his advisor, Delfreda.”
All four men were tall and lean, like to the Luvan gathering, and the three royals were fair. Delfreda was darker.
“Do they speak our language?”
“We do, Your Majesty,” Trismosin replied.
“Stranger and stranger,” Mokoko muttered.
Alessandro introduced his advisor and generals and asked, “Where do you hail from?”
Trismosin pursed his lips and said, “Senluar.”
“I am sorry, did you say Senluar?”
“As in the continent, yes,” Trismosin smiled, showing even, white teeth.
“I do not understand.”
“In the year 1961 a giant earthquake separated Senluar from the rest of Luvanor and we were abandoned to our fate,” Galen said. “Yes, that Senluar.”
“Hush, son,” Trismosin said. “It took us all this time to find the means to return to Luvan society.”
Alessandro gaped. “That is not possible. Nobody survived that event.”
“And what of the trench?” Mokoko demanded.
Ganima stepped forward. “The trench is just that - a deep canyon filled with tons of water. Our ships made the crossing. It was turbulent and we lost some, but here we are.”
“Not everyone died,” Galen snapped.
Trismosin motioned to them. “I am speaking.”
“Yes, father,” both said at once.
“Thank you. Alessandro, can we talk in private?”
His Majesty, King of Luvanor, bristled at the familiarity, but the man, unfortunately, had a host landed on Tunin’s shores. He nodded.
“My Lord, it is most unwise …” Mokoko began, to be cut short.
“Offer our guests something to drink, Mokoko,” Alessandro spat out.
“Forgive me, sire. Yes, sire.”
The two kings walked away, descending the rise to a stand of trees. There they perched on boulders and studied each other.
“We call ourselves the Senlu,” Trismosin began, “but we are Luvan, like you. A six thousand year divide cannot change that.”
“How many are you?”
“Three hundred thousand men, two hundred thousand women, one hundred thousand children … or as near as.”
Alessandro blinked. “How many are left on Senluar?”
Trismosin was silent and then, “None.”
“None? You all came to Tunin?”
“Our sages predicated an imminent eruption of the Fire Ring and thus we deemed it wise to leave. There is no twice tempting of the fates.”
“Why did it take so long?”
“To return? Trees, Alessandro. We had to wait until we had enough trees again. We obviously have not advanced apace of you.” Trismosin pointed at the bio-craft.
“Gods, this is unbelievable.”
“Do you believe me?”
Alessandro stared over the sprawling and growing encampment. “How do I believe you?”
“I look like you, I speak like you. Why should it be hard?”
“You call yourself king. How did that happen?”
“I am King, it is that simple.”
“Luvanor has only one,” Alessandro murmured.
Trismosin fingered his chin
and said, “Once we had three.”
Alessandro reared back. “This is Luvanor, not Orb!”
Trismosin lifted his hand. “I am not here to take anything from you. I merely seek to bring my people to safety.”
“Your people?”
“Indeed. They are my Senlu and I am their King.”
“Then how can you claim to be Luvan?”
“Because I am.”
“If so, you would have to subjugate to me and it includes your people.”
Trismosin drew breath. “I am not subjugating anyone, Alessandro. We are adults, we could find a solution.”
Alessandro spat out, “The coming of a force has been foreseen! And here you are!”
“We do not seek confrontation …”
“Then give your loyalty to me right now. Do so and the Senlu will be absorbed into Luvan society.”
“And if I do not?”
“We are in confrontation. Your people will be little better than slaves.”
Trismosin reared back. “I was warned this might happen, but I had no choice but to take on the risk. If you enslave a Senlu, King, you enslave your own kind. Can you live with that?”
“I cannot have a man claiming to be a king running around unfettered on Tunin.”
Trismosin stared at Alessandro a long while and then appeared to reach a decision. “Orb had three kings once and they worked well together for generation after generation.”
“And then a High King was chosen. I am his descendent. You are an upstart with delusions of grandeur.”
“Ah, Alessandro, by some convoluted way you and I are related, for I am in descent from that High King.”
“No. Everyone died on Senluar.”
“They did not, and among the survivors there was a royal son, the eldest royal son at the time, and his name was Gabriel, named for the king who claimed Grinwallin from the brotherhood. I am the eldest son of an eldest son and so forth. If you want to compare bloodlines, cousin, then I am the rightful King of Luvanor.”
Alessandro had paled and now blood rushed to his face. “You lie!”
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 26