Trismosin smiled. “Have you heard the claim the rightful king of this blood is a reincarnate?”
Again Alessandro lost his colour. He had heard; it had never been proved.
“I see you have. The rebirth of our ancient Diluvan ruler skips a few generations, but now and again he resurfaces. My father was such an august rebirth and thus were the ancient tales of Orb made new again on Senluar. You see, there was always a High King, until the triple birth, but that division did not negate the position. Every few generations the High King would come, and in this way our history was not to be lost. Orb suffered too many inundations; this was a sure way of passing the knowledge down beyond flood after flood. Now we can sit here and argue the finer points and our perceptions of truth until we are both purple in the face, and it will alter nothing.”
“You seek to usurp me with these fantasies!”
“I am not after power. I seek a home for my people. If you demand an oath of me I shall give it, but the Senlu are not to be enslaved.”
Alessandro stared at the man who was his nemesis. “And let us assume you speak the truth about this royal reincarnation …”
“Then in a few generations one may come who is not as understanding as I am. He would demand his share or he will take it all. If you want to call anyone a usurper, it would be you and those of your line.”
Alessandro rose. He motioned to Dessar. “We return to Grinwallin. We prepare to go to war with these Senlu. They are not Luvan. They are usurpers who seek to supplant our society.”
Dessar nodded and smiled.
Alessandro bent to Trismosin. “The walls of Grinwallin will be your undoing, traitor.”
Trismosin gazed up. “It need not be like this.”
“Second thoughts?”
“My father told me Orb fell to the rising waters and then he told me a golden race came sweeping in from the heavens to annihilate survivors. I tell you I have seen those golden men return into our orbit. I have seen the extinction of your Luvan society, cousin, and I have seen Grinwallin lie in ruin, the stones silent until a man clambers from an abyss. We could prevent all that, you and I, if we listen to one another.”
Alessandro shook as if in a fever. “It cannot be.”
“You know whereof I speak, I see that. Let us work together.”
“No! You are the one who brings doom!”
“I am not him; that one comes later. But this day, if you turn your back now, you set us on that path, all of us.”
Alessandro stiffened. “You have five minutes to get off this hill with your sons.” He walked away.
Trismosin closed his eyes and then sighed and rose. “Galen, Ganima, Delfreda, let us leave these unbelievers.”
A moment later the four Senlu walked away with heads held high.
The road to the abyss was paved with Alessandro’s greed.
TRISMOSIN DID NOT START the war; the war was brought to him and the Senlu were forced to defend.
They fought well, hardened by long years on rough and hard Senluar, and pushed Alessandro’s soldiers back. The day came when Trismosin and his men, his sons and most of the women stood before Grinwallin’s walls.
The Senlu had to fight or they faced enslavement. The Luvans had to fight for they believed they faced extinction.
For thirty years Senlu and Luvan fought. On the great plain, running skirmishes on Tunin, besieging Grinwallin, forced back by concerted onslaught, on and on it went, round and around, and never did one Senlu set foot in the city.
Grinwallin could not be breeched and it seemed she could not be starved either.
Alessandro died and his son did not attempt to seek truce. The war went on. Trismosin died on the battlefield and his sons fought harder.
Then the fates decided.
Disease swept over Tunin and men, women and children weakened by long decades of fighting began to die of something other than the sword and bow. It spared neither Senlu nor Luvan.
Galen, old and bitter, surrendered in order to succour the last of his people.
Alexander, son of Alessandro, on his deathbed, struck down by the disease, accepted the ceasing of hostilities on the condition the Senlu were never to claim Luvan ancestry.
Galen agreed and passed the legacy to his son before falling onto his sword.
Thus it was the Senlu became slaves to the Luvans and the true royal lineage again went into hiding as in the time of the Brotherhood.
Fortunately Alessandro had not revealed that part of the conversation with Trismosin on the hillside; the true High King was safe. For a time.
THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO Luvans became enamoured of the process of rebirth.
It was a mystery and it was a subject for philosophers, priests and magicians, a metaphysical study of ifs and maybes; the how and why were beyond grasp. At first.
Concerted study and extraordinary effort reaped reward. First failures were learning incidences and skewed successes were curves of experience. Reincarnation evolved from metaphysical questions into concrete science and science evolved into religion.
Luvans mastered the process of rebirth.
It was also an art. The art lay in choosing the time of death to coincide with a new birth, in such a way as to inhabit a new vessel before a roaming soul could fill it. That was a creative process, a risk, never a science. It meant the success rate in returns were limited, for biology was instinct and did not often coincide with choice. At first.
Art gave way to exact science. Death and birth were simultaneously induced after a time to facilitate the required empty vessel. Life, as in newborn miracles, became as nothing. There was no longer respect, no marvelling; life was a means to an end … or a new beginning. Longevity by default, scientific default.
How could a civilisation countenance barbarism? Luvans were civilised, yet the complete disrespect of a natural order could be called nothing short of barbarism. This insult to the deities of nature could only bring ill … and thus it was.
The harbingers of downfall came to Tunin first, in the form of stillborn babies.
Stillborn by the hundred in the first year, in the thousand by the second, and from Tunin it spread to Kantar, Atrin and Limir. Those few priests who loudly declaimed reincarnation arose to new fiery rhetoric, pointing accusing fingers at the doers of evil, but were ignored.
A period of great unrest followed as Luvans committed suicide in groups, hoping to grab a surviving babe to return for another cycle. Later newborns were kept artificially alive and later still were removed from the womb before due time. A civilised nation reverted to true barbarism and it was intensified by murder and, the greatest horror, baby factories.
In this the Senlu took no part. As slaves they were not initiated into the rebirth religion and as a people they saw evil befalling a once proud nation. By degree the Senlu began to take control of Luvan society - this Trismosin saw also - and before long years passed they ran the governing and social systems, everything from the armies to dispersal of sewerage.
The days came when a mere few thousand adult Luvans remained alive and healthy, most of those on Tunin, and of those most were in Grinwallin. Limir was abandoned. Kantar’s deserts encroached into once lively centres and buried them, and the equatorial jungles strangled all signs of civilisation. Atrin’s grazing plains were left untamed and the cattle there reverted to the herds of ancient times.
Another day came and this one saw Dante, King of the Senlu, walk into Grinwallin unchallenged. He hurt no one and accused none of evil. A proud man with a generous heart, he walked into the Great Hall of Grinwallin with a thousand armed Senlu at his back and proclaimed himself High King of Luvanor.
It was the year 24 242 and Grinwallin had a new ruler, the first emperor of a new nation.
The Senlu had come home.
IT WAS AN AUSPICIOUS year.
In augury, in prophecy, in dreams and in the mathematics of number. In the sum of the numbers lay the magical property of fourteen.
Signs, omens an
d sorcery underscored the rightness of a new order, and thus it was.
Emperor Dante absorbed the remaining Luvans into Senlu society, barring two families. The last usurper king, his wife and two sons, and his brother, wife and four daughters, were put to death, thereby expunging a future threat to the Senlu. It was mercifully done and nobody raised voice in accusation. Dante was the reincarnate of the High King of Orb and in him lay the long history of a see-saw civilisation.
Dante went on to rule with a benign hand, issuing only two decrees … nay, three. One, the Brotherhood was forever disbanded, and they were so few then, protest was minimal and soon forgotten; two, the outlawing of magical study - this was seen as a wise decision, for Dante did not trample on dreamers or omen-seekers. Magic was unnecessary, but images were as needed by the Senlu as they were by the earlier Luvans, and to outlaw that would lead to civil strife. Dante was not a stupid man. And three, there would be no reincarnations. The natural order would be the ruling focus of Senlu society. On these three things he was adamant, but in all else he was a generous ruler and soon revered.
At the time of Dante’s death Tunin was again the paradise she was for Tunian, first king, and at the time of his grandson’s death Kantar and Atrin were resettled.
Year 63 400
EMPEROR TEIGHLAR STOOD heaving before the arches of the Great hall, watching his sons kill indiscriminately.
Behind him were the last four thousand Senlu and extinction of the goodness in men’s souls lay at hand.
Filled with horror, he witnessed the terror behind him and knew he could not allow it.
Resolve grew in him.
When his sons and their murdering comrades burst through the sealed arches he was ready. He would kill his own also, but the royal line of kings would end this day with the evil that were his sons.
His lips flattened and he issued the song that was sibilant death and did not cease until all life in Grinwallin ceased also.
Only he lived. Only he paid.
Outside the gates of Grinwallin the Senlu tribes continued to war. But, eventually, the good in men’s souls he sacrificed to before the arches of Grinwallin rose to the fore. Luvanor was cursed, they said, eternally cursed. It was time to leave. Leave they did, in a handful of spacecraft, and Luvanor, world of promise, lay abandoned.
In the ruins of Grinwallin one walked still; the ghostly entity that was Teighlar, and he would wait ninety million years to see his glorious Senlu reborn.
In that time he witnessed Luvanor renew after thousands of years of decimating wars - he saw a world become again plentiful and beautiful. He saw the coming of the Siric and watched them leave again. He saw the coming of the Nine and the Taliesman of the Dragon. He saw them hide from the golden race foreseen by many kings and priests before him, the golden who murdered the last of the Diluvans … and he saw they were good, and wondered over that past crime. He saw them leave, ever the nomads, and witnessed the Nine and their descendants come out of hiding, protecting the Taliesman. He saw the coming of the humans, but they did not linger, long enough only to inject new blood into the new race of Golden, they of the Nine.
He saw them grow in strength and then saw their enemies come also. The Mysor, race of arachnids, and after them Murs Siric, evil personified. He saw war enjoined, skirmish after skirmish, and revelled in the prowess of the Golden. A good people; they did not deserve the reputation one foul deed bestowed upon them. No nation could claim an unblemished record. He wondered anew if Luvanor was indeed cursed. War seemed to follow her through time.
Teighlar saw other things also. Visions, dreams, prophesy. He found some of what Grinwallin hid and knew also there was much he would never discover. He saw the past; he saw the future and repressed much before madness could take him. He saw visitors enter ruined Grinwallin and stand amazed, and felt their confusion. Who built this?
Some he haunted away, sensing evil intent; others he left to peaceably wander.
By the time Torrullin came to Grinwallin, the long years of solitary wandering had taken their toll. He looked into the Enchanter’s grey eyes and saw a kindred spirit, but knew not how true that was, for he had forgotten much and repressed more. All he knew, with certainty, was the time had come for his Senlu to arise again, for Torrullin heralded the beautiful man of pure heart and soul who was the Warrior Priest, the one who would read the runes on a grey-blue wall and set them free.
Tristamil, Torrullin’s beloved son. Tristamil set them free and Torrullin, bless him, prevented another terrible war.
Grinwallin arose anew, as fair as ever, and it was good.
Chapter 26
Borderland imagery; the state of semi-awareness between waking and sleeping
Lucid dreams; dreams within dreams
Oracle; person or persons claiming to possess the means to see the future
~ Titania Dictionary
EVERLASTING, EVER-BURNING lamps were carried by the Ancients.
Ah, yes, but the lamps were the fires of knowledge, not real flame. Knowledge shed light, truth brought enlightenment. Thus it was and is and must be. That is the truth of truth, and woe to the one seeking to deny it.
Grinwallin, City of Eternity, city of light and truth, city of mystery, city of contrasts and city of strife, death and pestilence. Every time someone sought to deny the fires of truth, Grinwallin brought ruin, balancing the souls of men, striving to instil the lessons of the Ancients.
For in Grinwallin lay the hopes of those gone and in her lay the ability to punish. She was a city built of living, singing stone, and thus she was of Time and possessed a soul - a secretive soul. She would give of herself to those whom she believed deserving.
She was of the building blocks of time; she was an Ancient. She was also alone in her uniqueness and therefore her judgments were original. They were neither right nor wrong; they simply were - much like Time, much like all universes and realms.
Grinwallin judged the Brotherhood before even the first stone was delved and found them wanting. She judged Khunrath worthy of hearing her song and revered his efforts on her behalf, and would eternally. She judged Gabriel, first resident king, as a man worthy of the good life could bring and gave unselfishly.
She judged Challis, murdering queen, and felled her line. She judged Dante, he who was returned to the throne by the Brotherhood, as a man of dual nature and left him be, allowing time to judge on her behalf.
Alessandro she judged as weak and brought war to his gates, and she judged Trismosin and brought disease to all.
Dante, first proclaimed Emperor of the Senlu, was gifted long life. His sons and grandsons were judged worthy and each lived full, wonderful lives.
Many successive emperors thereafter were found wanting and thus she gave them strife until they could not distinguish the good from the bad.
In Teighlar she discovered an extraordinary man, but his deed required the depths of punishment. She took from him everything, yet knew his soul was worthy and gifted him a second chance.
She judged the Nine as fools and ignored them. She judged the Siric as transitory and did not offer her wisdom. She judged the humans as fickle and gave them nothing, not even hope. She judged the Golden, old and new, as powerful and in them discovered a glimmer of her own duality. The verdict on the Valleur was still out.
Grinwallin hid many things, those made by hands and those she created herself, and judged their release on the quality of the seeker.
In Tristamil she found pureness and gave him joy, but the joy was tempered by suffering, for pureness required testing. He proved more worthy than most.
In Torrullin she found only questions. Him she could not judge, not yet, but she gave of herself to him. She gifted him Rixile, the alter ego of Elixir, so that all things in his terrible duality would be balanced.
Whether she would judge him depended on whether he would judge her, for in him were the frayed connections of Time … and she was of Time.
The mystery that was Grinwallin was therefo
re vulnerable. Who would judge whom?
Grinwallin. City of Eternity.
Grinwallin. The Final Abyss.
Part III
SACRED AND PROFANE
Chapter 27
Cold, heat, makes no impact on action. Right?
~ Unknown
Valaris
“THIS DAMNABLE COLD IS getting to me,” Tianoman complained as he stared out of an upper window.
“The worst is still to come,” Teroux said. “I’d quit complaining.”
“Hey, someone’s coming.”
Teroux put his book down on a side table and joined his cousin at the window. “Fuma and Amunti.”
They glanced at each other and headed for the door. Tristan was downstairs in the library. They would be taken to Tristan.
By the time the cousins made it to the library, Fuma and Amunti warmed at a blazing fire and Tristan gave orders to a retainer about refreshment.
“Tris?” Tianoman asked. “Has something happened?”
“I don’t know. Come in.”
Fuma straightened. He was dressed in more complete wear and appeared odd covered. “We are not here with dire warnings, my Lords. Elixir asked us to step in as … as …”
He looked to Amunti, who said, “My Lord Elixir desires open eyes on Valaris.”
Fuma shook his head in exasperation. “Gods, Amunti, like that?”
“Open eyes?” Teroux repeated. “Open to what?”
Fuma muttered under his breath. “Perhaps my esteemed colleague should have said ‘open ears’. We are tracking the rumour mill, my Lords. We were sent here and others of the Kaval were deployed elsewhere.”
Amunti nodded. “Yes. No trouble.”
Tristan gave a sour smile. “I am not a child. What is going on?”
Fuma stared at the ground for a while and then looked up. “My Lord, no one is certain yet. We are being careful.”
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 27