Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  Torrullin lifted an eyebrow, prepared to be amused.

  “I am not joking. Always it is this evil or that task. It was family scandal, future concerns, past mistakes and so forth. We never stood still long enough to see around us. Take Beacon, for example. I know you have been there and I know I have been there, although not at the same time, and what were we doing? I was following a clue, swiftly in, swifter out. You were probably about some diplomacy, and what did we see?”

  “A giant city-world?”

  “Right. First impression, only impression.”

  “Your point?”

  “Once Beacon was empty, and then settlers came. Who were they, how long ago did they arrive and what made them so special they took to the skies? What did they revere? What magic of those early years remains? Beacon may be a bad example, but there are other civilisations on other worlds, each with something unique, some ancient spark, and that is magic. We have walked by unseeing. We may have learned something new or strange or entirely profound, funny, insane, and we did not. Books do not tell us everything.” Elianas pointed a finger. “You wanted to go travelling when you came to say goodbye on Mariner Island, Torrullin.”

  “Instead we landed up in paradise together.”

  Elianas’ eyelids flickered, but he said nothing.

  Torrullin was thoughtful. “World to world, travelling archaeologists? I like it.”

  Elianas leaned forward. “We have a new future and our past is now adrift. We live at the same time in the same space. This is our time and place now. We should know the past of the present as others know it. We are no longer about redemption and bloodlines.”

  “You suspect if we research the past not influenced by the Valleur, we may find our personal future is not clouded.”

  “I hate not seeing what is coming. Yes, I hope research is more than interest.”

  “Why, Elianas? Gods, for once we do not have to look over our shoulders every minute, or stress about what comes next.”

  Elianas placed a hand flat on the table. “You think eating and buying a sword roots us? You think touching this old piece of wood here makes us real? We are swerving spaces, Torrullin, and we have no purpose. What will we do? Skirt around this hefty question and intent between us until we drive each other mad?”

  “Ten tension free days meant nothing?”

  “It meant everything, but now we must move on or it will mean nothing soon. And it wasn’t tension free.”

  A smile acknowledged that. “I guess not.”

  “Why not start with Beacon?”

  Torrullin pulled a face. “I hate Beacon.”

  “More reason. If we find something there, where is the limit? We may even discover new respect for Beaconites.”

  “I doubt it, but I get your point.”

  “Fine. You lead, I follow.”

  Torrullin wondered what the real purpose was, but he owed Elianas far more than the man owed him.

  He thumped the table. “Innkeeper, how many coins are due?”

  Chapter 2

  Magic in the most unlikely places has the power to astonish.

  ~ Book of Sages

  Beacon

  IT WAS SPRING on the giant city-world, but there was little sign of the renewal season. Here and there a tree blossomed and boasted emerald leaves, but trees were a minority. Buildings great and tall assumed majority space. Even the ocean was built over.

  There were people everywhere.

  “Gods, maybe this was a bad idea,” Elianas muttered as they walked along a busy road between skyscrapers.

  “It was an excellent idea. We should start at the nearest library.”

  “These people rely on computers, not books.”

  “Which the library will let us use,” Torrullin said, and steered Elianas towards a city map glazed against one wall of a mighty building. “Stay clear of uniforms; we do not want questions.”

  “We have nothing to hide.”

  “Beacon requires a special passport; without it we will be in jail. Bloody Beacon; serve them right if we vanish from under their noses.”

  Elianas grinned. “They must know who you are.”

  “Then the entire universe will hear of it.”

  “Ah. Incognito.”

  “You like it.”

  “I might enjoy the cloak and dagger, yes.”

  “Read the bloody map,” Torrullin grinned.

  THE LIBRARY, WHEN they eventually found it, was an imposing building of at least thirty storeys. The circled L on the city map had not promised quite this. The entrance could admit an army and the stairs leading up were almost as many as Grinwallin’s great stairway counted.

  Teighlar of Grinwallin would be horrified to realise concrete could mirror the great task of building with stone. Then, having now finally travelled, Teighlar probably knew, and was horrified. The Emperor was sure to expound on it sometime.

  Once inside the hallowed halls of knowledge, quiet reigned. Banks of flickering monitors detracted from what should have been an academic atmosphere.

  Torrullin suffered another bout of misplaced amusement; he and Elianas were the staid ones. What did they expect? That the universe would remain trapped in their kind of past? The look of pained astonishment on the dark man’s face eloquently revealed he would prefer those old ways.

  A uniformed guard/guide asked if they needed help, and Elianas, after a moment of inner debate whether to run or not, explained about research into early history. They were led to the twentieth floor using an elevator at least two hundred years old. It was in good order, fortunately.

  “Early history is only partly computerised,” the guide explained. “It seems some scholars prefer working with books - an outdated notion, but, then, they have grants.”

  Torrullin nearly laughed aloud as he let them off, pointing out a workstation before going back down.

  The two men sat before the monitor and looked at it as if it would attack them. What now?

  A young woman giggled, rose from her seat before a similar contraption and ambled closer. “I’m guessing you’re not from Beacon.”

  She was pretty, and kind, for she showed them how to access the necessary files, explaining the numbers beside each work denoted whether computerised or in bound format. Books, she said, were across the hall beside the elevator. They thanked her, began pushing buttons, and were soon lost.

  Elianas sent her a desperate look, and she giggled again and came back. Shooing them away, she punched buttons to return to the system.

  “I’m working on my thesis, political boo-ha, so I could use the distraction. What are you looking for?”

  “Settlement sites,” Elianas said.

  “Sorry?”

  “Sites from the time Beacon was settled.”

  “No such thing. All available land is used commercially or residentially.”

  “Artefacts?”

  “There are some in the museum in the southern hemisphere, but, really, it’s nothing special.”

  Torrullin said, “What about tales of early settlement? History, legend, myth, that sort of thing?”

  “Let us see …” She punched and looked, punched and looked, and then gave a sigh of satisfaction. “There. Aisle 6. Bound format.”

  “Thank god,” Torrullin said. “Books I can handle.”

  They thanked her and headed towards the hall. Elianas paused. “If you are doing a political thesis, why are you up here in Early History?”

  The young woman smiled. “The Bridge of Dreams.”

  That sounded interesting. “And what is that?”

  “It’s the bridge built around settlement time. A huge economic disaster that led to major political upheaval. I’m trying to prove we should hark with hindsight to the future.”

  Maybe not so interesting, but one never knew. “Very astute,” Torrullin murmured. “Where is this bridge?”

  She gave directions and they thanked her again, and headed out.

  Left of the elevator an arch led into the bo
und format section. Books, to the simple-minded. They spent hours paging through a variety, but did not learn anything significant. By the time the guard called closing time, both wanted nothing more than to leave Beacon.

  Outside it was dusk, but the city-world barely registered coming night. People hastened everywhere and with seeming purpose.

  “We may as well have a look at that Bridge of Dreams.” Torrullin yawned.

  Elianas shrugged, disheartened by the fruitless day.

  “Come. An hour more and we can leave.”

  Elianas followed.

  IT TOOK MORE than an hour to get to the bridge, for they were soon thoroughly lost.

  Directions were spuriously given by passers-by, proving anew most Beaconites were rude, some obnoxious. Having spent the time, however, despite frustration, they did not want to leave without seeing the mythical bridge.

  Then the edifice was upon them, and jaws dropped.

  It was beautiful.

  Of pale pink stone, it was an arch bridge. It had a span of two hundred feet and the semi-circular arches were perfectly cut forms united by ornate iron clamps. It had the look of benevolent antiquity and was probably one of the few spaces where buildings had not encroached to hide something striking.

  The stone glowed in the city lights, appearing surreal. It reposed in splendid isolation. Once it spanned a river; now it arced gently over a green field. The faint smell of flowers rose from below.

  They closed in. This, at least, was worth the effort.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” a rough voice murmured. A drunk lolled against a light pole for support. “They say it’s cursed.”

  “A Bridge of Dreams is cursed?” Elianas asked.

  “So they say. Nobody dares cross. They say the last time someone did the river dried up.”

  “Who are ‘they’?” Torrullin asked, finally intrigued.

  “The Brothers of the Bridge, strange lot, very cliquey.”

  Really. Smacked of a tale. And a curse should be harked to until proven false. “Where do we find them?”

  The drunk pointed wildly and then eyed them. “Why you want the Brothers?”

  “We are archaeologists. We want to talk to them,” Elianas offered.

  The drunk cackled. “With swords? Then my mama’s a lady!”

  Torrullin gave the man money and they walked on, hoping the wildly pointing arm would prove a useful lead.

  They came to a narrow four-storey house overlooking the green field. The bridge was twenty feet away. Lights were on inside and they headed for the front door.

  It pulled wide before they reached it and a young man stood framed in light, holding a shotgun in steady hands. The light haloed his fair hair.

  An avenging angel.

  “What do you want?” he called out.

  The weapon moved slightly - right on target. One of them could sport a massive hole in the chest before long.

  “We would like a word with the Brothers of the Bridge,” Torrullin called as they came to a stop. “We hear they live here.”

  “Why do you seek them?” The shotgun remained steady.

  “Historical interest in the Bridge of Dreams,” Elianas answered. Softly he said to Torrullin, “Is this frustration worth it?”

  “I get the shotgun - Beacon’s a dangerous place - but did you hear his tone change when we mentioned the Brothers? Let’s give it a while longer,” Torrullin whispered back.

  “Why?” the man called out.

  “Because research has shown nothing old exists on Beacon, except this bridge. We are curious,” Elianas called back.

  The shotgun lowered, fractionally. “Do you know what they say about curiosity?

  Elianas laughed. “Different things on different worlds. Largely to do with cats.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Sanctuary,” Torrullin replied.

  Long moments of silence ensued and then the barrel lowered to point downward, and the man stood aside. “Come in.”

  “I think if we were Beaconites, he would pull the trigger,” Elianas muttered from the side of his mouth as they approached the rectangle of light.

  “YOU’RE RIGHT IN saying nothing of beginning times remain,” the young man said over coffee a while later.

  His name was Weth, the current and only Brother of the Bridge.

  “You must know Beacon’s reputation - exploit, exploit, and exploit. It was no different on home soil back then. The bridge remains only due to the curse.”

  “Curse?” Elianas echoed.

  “Any who misuse it, die. This is a fact.”

  “Surely not?” Torrullin murmured, his gaze drawn to several paintings of the bridge on the wall opposite. Different angles, different light. They were good.

  “Some fall off, others die later of other causes, but it’s true. Misuse - die.” Weth sounded satisfied.

  “The Brothers have nothing to do with these later causes, I take it?”

  Weth smiled.

  “Who did those?” Torrullin pointed his mug at the wall.

  “Most by my great-grandfather, but others come from further back.”

  “They are excellent,” Elianas said.

  They were in the formal drawing room and Weth inched forward on an old, stiff armchair, pushing untidy fair hair off his face.

  “So tell me why two men from Sanctuary would be interested in Beacon’s early past.” He looked at Torrullin. “Particularly when one of them is the Lord Elixir.”

  He was a young man, yes, but something in his eyes belied genuine youth.

  A wry smile came from Torrullin. “I hope you won’t repeat you have seen me.”

  “I stay away from the authorities, believe me. Hypocrites, all of them.”

  “Good, then we can talk. Elianas and I attempt to discover the past of those less connected to the Valleur. We chose Beacon as a starting point.”

  Weth nodded. “It’s about time someone with the years, ability and will investigates the greater view of history.”

  Elianas set his mug down. “That is how we reason it.”

  “I think you might have a few of those necessary years,” Torrullin murmured.

  Weth blinked in an awkward silence, before saying, “But I have a duty here.”

  Torrullin waited. Elianas’ eyes narrowed. There was an odd glint in Weth’s eyes and for a young man he was self -possessed.

  “There’s a tale surrounding the Bridge of Dreams and it speaks loudly of our early past, kind of the mirror of Beacon, if you know what I mean, and the Brothers’ were tasked with remembering. You won’t find this tale in a book.” He shrugged. “I am now the last; so it is as well I’m able to share it before it’s lost. Will you listen?”

  “Yes,” Torrullin said.

  Elianas nodded, fascinated.

  Weth leaned back, steepling his fingers.

  “Beacon was settled around thirty-five thousand years ago. We were spacefarers already, thus the building of a new world presented little problem. If Beacon did not have the required material, we found it on a neighbour world. Fuel was soon an issue, but geologists and engineers swiftly discovered reserves in the sea. Of course, we knew what happened when one tampered with continental plates’ lubrication, so we were careful, and found other reserves on other worlds as soon as we were able to.

  “Beacon’s exploitative nature began in the beginning. Clear oceans, wide rivers, flora and fauna, everything a new world had to offer, and now this. We spread out, settling all continents simultaneously - with travel and communication it made sense - and trade flourished. This region had something special, however, and it led to strife.”

  He leaned forward. “We came to grief over diamonds, when we should’ve learned our lesson on other worlds.” He leaned back again. “They were alluvial and the river nearby held those riches, enough for anyone to dip a pan into, but ownership of the water became a debated topic. The settlers on one side claimed it belonged to them, while those opposite claimed likewise. Villages u
p and down the river were of similar belief. A new world, and within a year we were at war. Other continents, towns and regions weighed in and took sides, and the war spread. On a particularly hellish day the river ran red, and it finally brought the settlers back to their senses.

  “They began to talk again, and it was decided a bridge of stone would be built across the river, one that would stand the test of time, and upon this bridge would be a diamond house. All stones would be brought there, sorted and valued, and every prospector allocated hereditary land as payment. The diamonds were for trade with other worlds and goods would be equally shared between regions. The diamonds therefore belonged to all and the water was for crops and drink, not for pollution with human lives.

  “There were problems, such as who would run the facility, and the design of the bridge almost sparked another war, but it was built. It virtually crippled a fledgling civilisation, for manpower was taken from other survival pursuits, and folk concentrated more on finding the stones to claim land for perpetuity than on growing food and building homes. An economic disaster, a political lesson. All said and done, it worked - for five years.”

  Weth paused and then laughed. “The diamonds dried up.” He cleared his throat and went on. “The building on the bridge was demolished and the materials used for other purposes. Some wanted to dismantle the bridge itself, but that was stupidity. A bridge, after all, is a safe way across a river. The Bridge of Foolish Dreams - idiots. That is the known tale, on record in the economic section of any library. Its erection gets brief mention in the history books.”

  “There is another tale,” Elianas murmured.

  “The reason for the Brothers of the Bridge.” Weth pointed a finger at Torrullin. “You seek the past of others, those less connected to the Valleur. I’m sorry to disappoint you, for that is a Valleur bridge.”

  Of course it was. Torrullin sighed. “How?”

  Weth smiled, looking from one to the other, and then he was markedly intent. “I told you the design nearly sparked another war, and it was so. They had drawings of beam bridges, truss, cantilever, even suspension, and all were lovely. Most were impractical and meant too much resource. The beam bridge was sound, but how long would it last? The river could flood and did. A two hundred foot span is not that great, so why suspend and cantilever? The practical solution was an arch bridge with foundations of rock and stone; done properly, no flood would damage it, and it could also be raised above potential flood level. Thus it was decided.