Elianas gazed over her to where Torrullin sat.
Torrullin did not look his way.
TWO HOURS LATER Elianas shook with fever and an hour after that he was delirious.
Saska gasped for breath, whispering, talking to someone as if she had already crossed over.
Torrullin sat between the two, with Declan forever still nearby, and thought he would lose his mind.
“… five oval stones …” Saska whispered.
“… burns, it burns!” Elianas roared.
“… went too far, lost too much …” Saska.
“…fucking kill you!” Elianas.
“… a flower, sweetie, a lovely blossom, do you see it?”
“… eyes hurt, they burn, touch is hot … lose myself in it …”
On and on it went, interspersed with cold silence from Declan.
By all gods, the Siric were finished. After millions of years, the Siric were extinct. How they would be missed. A hole had opened in the fabric of space and would never be adequately filled.
“… time overflows, time is timeless …” Saska whispered, her voice growing weaker. “It is glorious in its eternity, isn’t it?”
“Where is the Maghdim Medaillon?” Elianas shouted.
Torrullin twitched. The Medaillon? He touched his chest where said Medaillon usually hung, but it was not there. He hardly wore it in recent years and yet the gesture remained habit, like the stroking of his chest where once Neolone, Dragon, resided, missed still.
The Medaillon would have released them from the Path of Shades, and instead it lay in a box somewhere amid other boxes.
“… when all things are new,” Saska whispered, and he turned to her. She was looking at him. “Torrullin, when all things are new, go home, go where you found your reason for living so terribly long ago.”
“Saska?”
“You know where that is? Home?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Promise me you will go there one day even if you are alone.”
He swallowed. “I promise.”
She smiled. “I would like to have seen your true home. I think it must be lovely, with rock and water and flower … big trees?”
“Huge,” he whispered.
“The sun shines in, the rain falls, there is a sense of peace, of elemental magic.”
Torrullin cleared his throat. “Yes, all that.”
“You see, the real Torrullin still exists. Don’t forget him.”
“Saska, fight this!”
Her eyes widened and she looked beyond him. “Look, look at that.”
He followed the direction of her gaze, expecting to find emptiness, assuming she was looking into realms beyond, and then was on his feet, screaming, “No! Go away!”
“It’s all right, my love, it really is.”
A huge black featureless cube hung in the blue space, intrusive, ominous, threatening and powerful. It neared and bumped against the transparent ellipse, and opened like a flower unfolding, a flower of death. In its unfurling the other cube immediately behind became visible.
“Destroy the hope!” Elianas shouted.
Torrullin sobbed in desperation and fell to his knees, knowing he was as helpless as a newborn. “Gods, no, don’t do this,” he begged of all things wherever they were.
A horse-like figure appeared in the centre of the black open cube, and Torrullin stared at it. It neared and then stepped off onto the transparent ellipse.
“Torrullin, it is time to let go.”
“Mahler?” Torrullin whispered. “Here?”
The Centuar bowed. “Our deaths left an undoing in place and this was our purgatory. Unfortunately, only a death would restore life. Torrullin, I have come to collect Declan, to take him home so he may be interred with all honour, and then I shall be free also. I am sorry.”
Torrullin drew a shaking breath. “Belun will be happy.”
Mahler smiled. “I know.”
“Take him, my friend, for he deserves every honour.”
Mahler bowed and bent over the Siric. For a brief moment he transformed into humanoid and then the Siric was on the Centuar’s back.
Torrullin stared at his friend of long years, touched his forehead in homage, and watched the two step back onto the black platform.
“I shall see you soon, Torrullin,” Mahler murmured.
The cube folded up, moved away, and then hurtled outward at a speed faster than any light.
The second cube bumped up, and it meant only one thing.
He looked down, his heart breaking into tiny pieces.
Saska smiled up at him. “The time is now. I love you.” Saska closed her eyes and did not ever open them again in a place he would see her do so.
The cube unfolded and Assint, Centuar, stepped out. He waited wordlessly.
Torrullin stared down at Saska’s lifeless form, and stared and stared.
Assint retrieved her and walked away, still wordless. He clearly understood what grief this death caused.
“Bring her back!” Torrullin shouted.
Assint bowed, the cube closed, and was gone.
Saska was gone.
Torrullin’s mind unravelled and he fell into oblivion deeper than any void.
Chapter 30
What use this? Let me die.
~ The lament of grief
The Dome
BELUN AND TRISTAN were alone in the Dome discussing the merits of freeing the Dome from Sanctuary’s orbit when the Centuar ogive chimed.
“What?” Belun muttered. He stalked closer and Tristan followed with a drawn sword.
Both braced to defend, and then the blade dropped and Belun reverted untidily to Centuar form.
In came Mahler and in his arms was the lifeless Declan.
Belun, caught between joy and terrible grief, could only stare.
The ogive chimed again, and Assint entered, with the lifeless Saska.
Tristan cried out, sinking to his knees.
Mahler spoke, “We have brought them to be honoured. Their deaths have returned us our freedom and it is a bittersweet feeling. We grieve and rejoice, and know not anything beyond that right now.”
Assint said, “They are free in death as we were not. Do not mourn them.”
Belun beat at the air with raised hoofs.
Tristan rose and took Saska from Assint. Gently, carefully, he laid her on the marble slab. Knotted hair, scratched face, torn clothes, swollen feet, torn fingernails, hollowed cheeks. The signs of severe deprivation. Her death had not been easy.
Belun reverted to humanoid and took Declan. He laid the Siric nearby. Dirty, bruised, scratched, blood behind one ear. Wing nubs. No glorious Siric colours. A hard death.
He looked up at the two Centuar. “My friends, it gladdens my heart to see you.”
Mahler bowed. “We understand, Belun, and we cannot reunite under these circumstances. We shall leave for a while and reacquaint ourselves with this reality. Call when … well, call.”
“Wait,” Tristan said, looking up. “Torrullin?”
Mahler sighed. “He is inside, for he has not an answer yet.”
“How is he?”
“He is injured, and now needs to find a way through the turmoil Saska’s passing has caused. There is no way to tell how long it will be before they exit.”
“And Elianas?”
Assint answered. “He is injured also, and in delirium. He cannot build bridges at the moment.”
Tristan nodded.
Belun said, “Go now, my friends, and thank you for bringing them to us.”
Mahler and Assint bowed and left. The ogive chimed.
“A prophecy fulfilled,” Belun said. “I never expected it to be like this.”
Tristan squeezed his shoulder. “Bittersweet indeed.”
Belun looked down. “They suffered.”
“Seems so,” Tristan muttered.
Belun swallowed. “Let us restore their dignity.”
“Yes,” Tristan whispered.
Nearby were the shrouded forms of Saska and Declan. Tristan, pale and resolute, stood behind the console. Assint and Mahler were briefly recalled to present exact descriptions of Torrullin and Elianas’ state, and left again.
Quilla and Lowen sat with heads bowed low.
Finally Tristan spoke. “Would anybody know of their wishes in ceremonies of death?”
Belun said, “Saska wanted to be cremated and asked that her funeral pyre be lit on Valaris, where her heart lay, she said. In the desert, where the air is hot and pure. It is cold there now, but she would have wanted it so nevertheless. She asked that her ashes be strewn over Torrke and no memorial plaque be raised.”
“Thus it will be,” Tristan said.
“Declan told me he would want the Sentient Lady of Valaris to take him into the depths,” Belun went on. “No memorial either.”
Belun, of all Kaval present, had known them the longest. Saska, at least five thousand years, and Declan a lot longer than that.
“Then that is what we do for them.”
Quilla lifted his head, his cherubic face streaked with tears. “You must wait for Torrullin.”
Lowen looked up. “Yes, he would want to scatter her ashes.”
“How long do we wait?” Tristan asked.
“We hold the memorial services as soon as possible, but we wait for the other as long as it takes,” Quilla said.
“We cannot keep them, Quilla.”
“We will. I will. I shall take them to the Lifesource.” His face dissolved in tears. “Now they get to enter, when they cannot appreciate the beauty. Now they are truly immortal.”
Tristan held tight to the console. “None of us here dare enter the Lifesource to help you.”
Quilla nodded, wiping his face. “I can do it alone.”
Lowen rose and ran out. Her ogive chimed.
“We shall post notices of the services,” Fuma offered.
Tristan nodded his thanks. “Three days, the Graveyard.” He straightened. “I must speak with Tian.”
“I’ll go to Canimer,” Erin said. Saska’s homeworld.
“Do that.”
“Come, Quilla, Gal and I will help take them to the lightbridge,” Shenendo said, rising.
Gradually the Dome emptied of both living and dead.
The Path of Shades
ELIANAS OPENED HIS eyes and stared up at the unchanging blue.
His dreaming had been dark, nightmares to shy away from. He tried to swallow. His throat was swollen and his mouth so dry his lips cracked when he moved them. Pain came in waves throughout his body, except where he had lost all feeling from being in the same position too long.
His head pounding, he found Torrullin lying nearby, motionless, pale, rivulets of sweat tracking over his face and chest. It meant he was alive, at the very least.
He croaked, but could not speak. He tried swallowing again, but there was no moisture to aid him. He moved and then silently screeched at the onslaught.
Breathing through brittle nostrils, he lay still until it passed somewhat, and then tried again, this time biting down and bearing it. He came within touching distance of Torrullin, and collapsed. Torrullin’s mouth was similarly cracked, his breathing ragged. Some pair they made.
He reached, gripped Torrullin’s wrist and pulled. Torrullin’s eyes were fever-bright.
How long had they been there? They had wasted away, skin to bone now, and where was Saska?
Elianas could not talk and he was not certain Torrullin would understand anything. Beyond the fever, he noted, lay madness. He could not say what he needed to, could not tell the man he considered both friend and foe that he, Elianas, was not a true immortal. He stared death in the face now, as Declan had, as Saska had - ah, she died - it explained the madness.
He could not say, do not grieve, I shall be back, and this time it will be eternal. He could not even send it without magic. He could not say he was sorry, that he lied about longevity to remain at his side, that he knew how to use Reaume to make it seem he had true long life. He could say nothing, and thus tried to put all of it into his eyes, and knew it was not enough.
When the bump came he knew what it was, but was not sure whether Torrullin understood. When he suddenly slid away from that beloved man into black space, Torrullin did not react. He lay there, staring. Blind to everything.
Elianas cried out within, crying out all he wanted to say, and never had, and there was no sound.
Blackness enfolded him, a fair face was lost, and he breathed his last.
Valaris
The Keep
THEY CAME FROM everywhere to pay their respects to Declan and Saska, and many spoke of times and events that honoured the dead.
The memorial service ran into hours and when it was over mountains of flowers covered the Graveyard site.
Drained and beyond feeling, a few gathered together in private, in Tianoman’s study. Tianoman was there, Tristan and Teroux, Rose, Caballa, Aislinn, Belun and Quilla.
“It’s the fourteenth day,” Caballa said. “No bone can heal without proper aid. They will be feverish by now.”
“Assint said they felt the surges we created,” Belun said. “That means they must have direction. We must hope.”
“They may be too hurt to do anything about it,” Aislinn said. She sat with Tianoman, her hands protectively over her rounding stomach.
“We must hope,” Belun insisted.
“Yes, we must,” Teroux murmured.
Tristan leaned forward to cover his face and sat like that, unmoving, for a long time.
No one spoke again.
The Path of Shades
LUCIDITY RETURNED, as did terrible agony.
Torrullin swallowed and found no moisture. Weak, shaking uncontrollably, he sat up.
Where was Elianas?
He froze and even his shaking ceased.
It had not been a dream. Elianas had not left in a black cube in a nightmare. Elianas had left … by dying. Dying?
He fell back and surrendered entirely. There was nothing left to live for. Nothing.
In surrender there was the answer at last. The veils parted, the shadows reflected upon the maze of sentient souls, throwing dimension into corners and curves, and he understood.
He had to lose everything in order to know.
The knowing left him empty, for he was empty. There was nothing left to hold onto.
When the black cube swallowed him, he did not care.
He was empty.
Part III
HEALER’S HANDS
Chapter 31
When all else fails, know silent support is the best you can offer. Be strong.
~ The lament of grief
Valaris
Torrke
QUILLA STOOD ON the path beyond the Keep’s mighty dragon doors and stared over the mound of flowers obliterating the Graveyard.
More flowers arrived every minute and a steady stream of well-wishers moved constantly by.
He sensed Tristan behind him. “I cannot take more of this.”
“I know what you mean.” Tristan also gazed at the bright mound on the opposite rise.
“How is Caballa?”
“Silent. She and Saska were friends.”
“Belun is like that over Declan,” Quilla nodded. “I do not think he has quite begun mourning for Saska yet. He was always very protective of her.”
“Quilla, what of Belun now?”
“No longer lone Centuar, you mean? I do not think you need uphold Elixir’s criteria. Take the Dome from Belun and he will die. It is who he is.”
“I agree. Besides, without Belun at the helm we would be less effective.”
“It will return his purpose; tell him soon.”
“I intend …” Tristan froze.
Quilla’s head snapped west.
“Torrullin,” Tristan breathed.
“Barrier shore!” Quilla shouted.
They were gon
e.
Barrier
BELOW THE GREAT Barrier Mountains along Valaris’ west coast was a long stretch of beach few visited. It was hot in summer, cold in winter and windswept all year.
There they found Torrullin, lying on his back, his face bleached of colour, livid scratches on his cheeks, cracked and swollen lips. He wore almost nothing and had lost every ounce of healthy weight. His broken arm was purple, the fingers white and stiff.
Quilla fell to his knees.
Tristan breathed raggedly and touched Torrullin at his neck. Erratic pulse.
Grey eyes opened.
He could not speak; he blinked empty, soulless eyes.
Tristan did not speak either, for there could be no words, and lifted the man into his arms. By unspoken agreement they took him to the Lifesource Temple. Tianoman was summoned to carry him over, for Tristan, immortal, could not.
As Taranis had once before him, Tristan cursed his need for longevity’s continuance.
Lifesource Temple
FOR TEN DAYS Torrullin did not speak.
He did not bother to heal himself either, and only accepted food and drink when Quilla threatened him. He glanced at everyone who came to see him, but did not acknowledge anyone. Quilla reset his arm, his heart breaking when Torrullin did not react to the pain. The arm would not heal properly, but Torrullin did not care. He stared at the offensive member as if it was another’s and then looked away.
Tristan questioned everyone roughly who came across the lightbridge and then despaired when the message was ever the same.
On the twelfth day Lowen stood beside him. She, too, could not enter. Caballa came over and she halted before them.
“He is no better,” she said. “He is empty. He doesn’t care.”
Lowen squeezed her eyes shut. “I must go to him.”
“No,” Tristan said. “You will be a mortal after.”
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 92