“Quarrying for suitable rock commenced, pink stone the choice. Then they ran into a snare. Spacefarers had no idea how to tool rock into precise shape. Beacon was not yet at the point of concrete and steel. Much stone was destroyed in attempting to learn ancient lessons fast, and the project almost came to a halt. Folk began looking at discarded designs again. Then two strangers came - stone masons.
“They apparently heard of the dilemma and decided to offer their services. They were feted and feasted, believe me, such was the relief, but nobody thought to ask exactly where they came from or why a pilot and a team of engineers would bother to relate the tale of a simple bridge abroad. They tooled, instructed, laboured and created, and finally the bridge was finished and it was lovely. The two stayed on to affect repairs should it be necessary and later were asked to maintain the bridge.”
Torrullin shifted forward. “This part of the tale should be transparent also.”
Weth leaned closer. “One would think so. Beacon forgot their contribution.”
Elianas said, “They were made to forget.”
Weth smiled. “Yes.”
Torrullin pinched the bridge of his nose. “They stayed to protect the bridge and their descendants became the Brothers, right down to you.”
Weth leaned back. “I am part Valleur, yes.”
And that explained that.
Elianas muttered, “My god, always with the influence.”
Torrullin glanced at him. “It is a sacred site. The Lifesource of Beacon.”
Weth sighed. “Someone knows at last.” A moment later he smiled. “Someone knows at last.”
“And the curse?” Elianas demanded. “A sacred site cannot function under a curse.”
“A ploy. One we had to, um, fatally apply on occasion.”
“Destroy a sacred site,” Torrullin murmured, “and you destroy much along with it.”
Weth nodded. “A few fatalities prevent a greater catastrophe.”
“Give me your hand.”
“I am not kin, my Lord. I am of a long line of stone masons - master builders.” A smile erupted, for ‘master builders’ would ever describe the Valleur, in part. Nevertheless, Weth extended his hand.
There was no kinfire. The handgrip transformed into ritual arm clasp and then both men sat back.
Weth steepled fingers once more. “There are others like me out there. Valleur who separated from their society to protect ancient sacred sites, or build them where they were missing. I don’t know who they are or where exactly, yet I feel the pull of a universal net. Without the net greed could not be contained, evil would flourish and warmongers would be parking their battleships in every sky. Evil is, greed is, war is, I know, yet it would be worse were it not for the sacred sites and their keepers.”
This was new.
And old.
Elianas paced thoughtfully. “Why is it we do not feel it?”
Weth looked up at him. “’We’?” His amber eyes travelled over Elianas. “You are Valleur?”
“Yes. Why do we not feel it?”
Weth glanced at Torrullin and found there confirmation of Elianas’ claim. “The nobles looked up and out; we looked down and back. The two ideals didn’t touch.” He sized Elianas up again. “You must be a noble.”
Elianas swore.
Torrullin interrupted. “Weth, my friend, I am about down and back, and so is Elianas, and we have not felt it.”
Weth inclined his head. “I’m aware of your powers, my Lord, but these are worlds connecting, not people. Unless you seek the net, it isn’t there.”
“Does the physical actually exist - I see.”
Weth smiled. “You do, yes.”
“Who started this, and when?” Elianas asked.
“We aren’t meant to reveal it.”
Torrullin shivered. “Nemisin?”
Weth shook his head.
“Lord Sorcerer?” Elianas whispered.
Weth threaded his hands through his fair hair. He glanced swiftly at Torrullin and then looked away. “Ah, no.”
“Weth.”
The young man could not deny the pull. “My Lord?”
“Talk,” Torrullin commanded.
Elianas came to sit on the armrest next to Torrullin, and both watched the younger man.
Weth was in quandary.
“He is infused with mental denial to this question,” Elianas said. “Added protection for this net. Probably why we do not feel it. No source, no vibrations in the spaces.”
Torrullin nodded, and was now utterly intrigued. They could not walk away from this without the complete tale. He reached over to touch Weth.
The young man jerked, before slumping. A moment later he began to speak. “You are the Lord Sorcerer, my Lord Elixir, are you not?”
“I was. That time has passed.”
Weth nodded. “But you will know whom I speak of when I say Nemisin’s daughter Cassiopin instituted the sacred world connection.”
Elianas froze. Colour drained from him.
Oh, fuck. “Why?” Torrullin asked.
“She said to keep the links open wide, to maintain the connections that are past, present and future, to protect the Valleur heritage through all time, to mute the greed of the races that come after.”
“Noble of her, but what was the real reason?” Torrullin ached to lay a hold of the paralysed man beside him.
“To ensnare her husband.”
Torrullin put a hand on Elianas’ thigh, not caring what Weth thought. His fingers sank in and held on.
“Why?” he asked again.
Weth swallowed. “She had a terrible husband. One of their daughters’ was fixated in scandal over him and another was destroyed by irrational anger against her father. Cassiopin herself committed suicide not long after the net started its growth, and Nemisin protected her reputation by throwing a screen around the truth, but we know how it was; it is part of the continuing connection.”
Torrullin inhaled, breathed out. Everything inside him shivered with dread. “I thank you for this truth, my friend.” He reached over and touched the young man without releasing Elianas. “You will now forget you told me.” He sat back, his expression carefully neutral. “Weth, my friend is unwell.”
Weth was all concern. “You are welcome to use the bedrooms …”
“Ah, no, but thank you. I must take him from the city. I believe it influences him negatively.” Torrullin forced a smile. “You have been most helpful and we hope you continue your work here. We shall return soon.”
Weth nodded and was clearly confused by the sudden end to sharing.
Torrullin rose and, without breaking contact with Elianas, helped him stand.
A moment after they were gone.
Chapter 3
Do you ever escape your past? Can you?
~ Tattle, in a philosophical moment
Elsewhere
“BITCH!” ELIANAS SPAT out. “Fucking bitch!” He flung himself away.
Torrullin said, “Had you betrayed her with another woman, she would have moved on, but you betrayed her for a man, Elianas. No woman forgives that easily.” He closed in and took his shoulder roughly, swinging him around to face him. “Nemisin carries the blame here, not you. He knew how you felt and still insisted the marriage go ahead. He didn’t care about his daughter or you, only his power.”
Elianas glared at him. “I should have refused.”
“You were so young,” Torrullin murmured.
“But you were not!”
Torrullin nodded. “I must take part of the blame, yes.”
Elianas pulled free. “I hate him, I hate her … and I hate you.”
Torrullin remained wordless.
Elianas pushed him. “I hate you! Had I never laid eyes on you, I would have wed without burden, watched my daughters grow into women I could be proud of, and I would never have chosen immortality! Nemisin would have ignored me and …”
He stopped there, breathing hard.
Torrullin said
, “Had I never laid eyes on you I would have wed without burden, watched my sons grow up without the influences of my past, and I may never have chosen immortality. Nemisin would not have feared me, and I would now be nothing.”
Elianas bent, hands on knees. He took in deep breaths. “What does she want of me now, after all this time?”
“A woman’s revenge. You have to know what you did to her, for she could not tell you in life. Yet, Elianas, she did a good deed also. Weth was right in saying evil, greed and war has been contained. Have we not wondered why worlds do not annihilate each other with frequency of battle? Why do most stand together to fight the darak kind instead?”
Elianas nodded, still bent over.
“Of course, this means the past is no longer adrift,” Torrullin added. “The future, however, seems darker than ever.”
“Bitch,” Elianas muttered.
“She was a good person.”
Elianas straightened. “I fucking know that!”
Torrullin reached out …
… Elianas flinched away. “Don’t touch me.”
Torrullin did not move again.
Elianas did. He closed in and moved his gaze over the face before him. “God help me, now I desire you.”
He moved away and, giving the finger over his shoulder, continued walking.
Ymir
TORRULLIN TRACKED ELIANAS to Ymir and knew exactly what the man came to do.
He climbed a set of stairs in a dank stairwell and kicked a scarred door open. The fair-haired man Elianas had bent over a couch squawked, but Elianas simply looked up, dark eyes unreadable. He had not yet undone his breeches.
The aroma of cat piss filled the air, almost but not quite masking the scent of spent semen.
Torrullin strode across, flung the naked man aside and gripped Elianas by his hair. “Do not be stupid. God knows what you will pick up here.”
Twisting his hand further in, he walked towards the gaping door, pulling Elianas along without a care for how he hurt him.
Elianas, wordless, went along.
The naked man screamed obscenity.
Outside in the dark quiet of the city Torrullin slapped Elianas. “What are you thinking? This isn’t you.”
Elianas stared at him, swung about on his heels and walked on.
Torrullin caught up and said no more.
On the outskirts of the city, before the high walls, Elianas halted. “I suggest you get Lowen to do this with us.”
“Why?” Torrullin snapped. His gut wrenched. Lowen could do that to him, anywhere, even absent.
“So she stands between us.”
“No. That’s unfair. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“Yes. Either you get her or I will do it, or I am going to force you over the line.”
“I will fight you.”
Elianas closed his eyes. “Do not tempt me, for god’s sake.”
“You’re driving me mad; I cannot read you.” Torrullin fought for control. “Fine. I will fetch Lowen. Go to the cottage. We shall meet you there.”
Elianas jerked a nod.
“Elianas. Directly to the cottage.”
An unreadable stare nearly flayed his skin from his bones.
“Swear.”
“No.” Elianas left.
Chapter 4
And now we dance … and smile until our jaws ache.
~ The feeling of being forced
The Dome
THE DRAGON OGIVE chimed, and silence fell.
Kaval stared at it and then at Tristan, who immediately ceased speaking at the console. All eyes returned to the ogive.
Torrullin strode in, for the Dragon ogive would always admit him. He headed to Tristan, and the console went mad.
“Hush,” he said, waving a hand over it. It stilled. “Forgive the interruption, Tris. How are you faring?”
Tristan smiled. “It’s going well. We have …”
“I am not here to check on you. I have need of Lowen; can you spare her?”
“Of course,” Tristan murmured.
Torrullin faced the marble table. “Greetings all.” He found Lowen. “Will you come?”
She rose and headed around the table. “Let’s go.” She headed to her ogive. “Where?”
“Cottage,” Torrullin called, and strode to his and Tristan’s ogive.
Seconds later, two chimed in unison and they were gone.
Tristan and the Kaval stared at each other.
Sanctuary
Mariner Island
LOWEN AND TORRULLIN arrived simultaneously.
Elianas paced before the cottage and had not bothered to unlock. He came to a stop when he saw them. “We are not staying here.”
“Ceta, I think,” Torrullin murmured after a moment, and glanced at Lowen. “Keep up until I tell you what is going on.”
She nodded, studying both frankly. Something was clearly wrong.
Elianas snapped, “Lead, Torrullin.”
Torrullin led, and they were gone.
Ceta
HE TOOK THEM into the heartland where people were few and nature was benign. In a paddock the size of a small country, he faced Elianas.
“Happy?”
“Happy?” Elianas echoed. “Oh, blissful.”
“All right, what?” Lowen demanded. “You two vanish for ten days and that’s fine - you did warn everyone, after all. But, honestly, I expected it to be quite a while longer before we saw you again, and here you are, peeved. Spill it.”
“Brothers, lovers or enemies,” Torrullin muttered.
Lowen drew breath. That had been the mighty question when Torrullin left ten days ago. How would they emerge, she thought at the time. She quirked an eyebrow.
“At this point we are virtually enemies, and lovers are but heartbeats away.”
Elianas growled.
Lowen sucked at her teeth. “Who asked that I stand in the middle?”
“I did,” Elianas said. “Keep him in line.”
“What happened?”
They ignored her. Elianas said, “You should have left me to it; at least I would not be so pissed off now.”
“Goddamn it, I am not the one who messed up her life!”
“You messed with mine!”
Quivering with anger, they glared at each other.
Lowen took a breath. “Tell you what. Why don’t we make it a threesome and then all of us can get some satisfaction.”
The two men snapped to her.
She closed in, gripped Elianas by his tunic, Torrullin by his, and pulled them close to her, one on each side. “If you prefer Torrullin in the middle, Elianas, I’m happy to oblige.”
Elianas stared at her and then put his hand over hers. Taking it to his lips, he planted a kiss there. “I am sorry. Thank you for coming.” He let go and stepped away.
Torrullin was still contrary. “Would you really do so?”
Before she could answer with a snide comment, Elianas pulled him aside. He pushed him back, back, and left him only long enough to draw his sword.
“Come, brother, let us draw some blood this hour.”
“No, damn it!” Lowen shouted.
Torrullin had Trezond to hand, eyes glittering.
They engaged untidily, fury driving them. It was a stupendous battle, for neither gave quarter. In the silence of Ceta it was incredibly loud. Soon both suffered cuts, and hair was wet with perspiration. In a flurry of blows, Elianas shredded Torrullin’s tunic and, snarling, he countered with a similar dance.
With cloth and hair fluttering, hampering, they fought on.
Lowen could only watch in fascination. They were astonishingly good, both fast and strong. Dressed alike in black, long, lean legs dancing, they were also extraordinarily sexy. Her heart hammered as she began to understand they made each other by the strength of their personalities.
Then came an almighty swerve and parry, and both blades went flying beyond reach.
A moment of utter silence ensued, and then a kiss that reverbe
rated through the spaces.
Lowen fell to her knees as two bodies virtually climbed into each other and hands dug into hair and shoulders.
Torrullin broke away and sank to his knees as well, hands clawed into the ground, head hanging. “Get away from me.”
Heaving, Elianas stood over him like a vengeful god. Blood dripped from a host of cuts upon his chest and arms.
Lowen swallowed and did not move.
Elianas lowered to his knees before Torrullin. He forcibly took up the man’s hands and placed them upon his chest, holding them there. “Look at me.”
Torrullin lifted his head and they locked gazes.
“A heartbeat away from lovers,” Elianas whispered. “I did not realise you were telling no lie. However, we are not enemies and I prefer my brother to this … tension. Heal me, please, and we move on.”
“Take your hands away.”
Elianas dropped his hands from Torrullin’s wrists. Stoically he endured the ensuing healing caresses on his chest, arms, neck and cheek, and one on his thigh. Torrullin’s hands on him; now he knew what they felt like.
The healing was complete. Those hands were removed.
“Thank you.”
Torrullin stared at him and then commenced his own healing.
Elianas knocked his hands aside. “I shall do it.”
With hooded eyes, Torrullin watched the self-control Elianas imposed upon himself as he healed. “Nemesis,” he murmured.
A slow smile curved Elianas’ lips.
By the time he was done both had locked away intensity and the familiar taunting was in place.
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 65