Imagine something and it was, after all, real.
“Be careful,” Torrullin whispered as Tristan resumed walking.
On the left diamonds of blue and red ‘fields’ and to the right squares and triangles of various hues competed for dominance. The path itself constantly altered - gravel to smooth, shifting colours - yet now it stabilized, acting like and becoming what a path should be.
Around a curve, around another bend, and change was there, unmistakable.
Colour fields surrendered to the normality one would expect in usual reality. The fields themselves were soon farmland. Barley vied with lucerne, oats sat alongside hops, and wheat grew emerald with borders of tiny, staked tomato plants. After the patchwork, this was glorious, this was normal, but for Lethe, damn it, in Lethe, this was odd, this was trouble.
Elianas moved forward and Tristan relinquished the lead to him without complaint. He noticed how Torrullin periodically looked back. Torrullin brought up the rear and it was clear both men expected trouble. Tristan did too, yet knew he was not as prepared as they were.
THEY WENT ON in that manner for an hour - fields of normality accompanying them - before trouble came in its new form.
Elianas, leading, saw it come as a dark cloud on the horizon. Torrullin, in the rear, saw it rush up from behind as a dust storm. Tristan, in the centre, felt two hurricanes shift their first breaths of doom at him from either side of the path.
There was no time to compare the different concepts of trouble, nor was there time to shout warning.
From behind, stinging dust smacked into them, from the sides, foul winds hurtled, and from the front and above came oppressing rain. It was like to standing unprotected in a maelstrom of acidity.
Elianas twisted around and flung at Tristan. “Get down!” he hissed in his ear, dragging him to earth.
Evidently Torrullin agreed, for he was soon cowering beside them.
Tristan gasped for breath, struggled up to find space to breathe.
“No!” Elianas shouted, hauling him back. He flung a leg over the struggling man to hold him, saying, “Keep still or we lose each other now. Separation is the point of this manipulation.”
Tristan heard him, heard also Torrullin growl affirmation on the other side, and surrendered to painful discomfort, holding onto Elianas to maintain physical contact. He squinted at Torrullin in the stinging gloom created by dust, wind and rain, and noted Elianas had taken hold of him, for Torrullin stared up as if challenging all life itself.
Torrullin welcomed the change.
Ignoring the roiling, Elianas shook Torrullin. “Don’t you fucking dare get creative right now, hear?”
Torrullin gaze descended from the craziness overhead and locked onto Elianas. Then, scarily from Tristan’s viewpoint, he laughed.
Elianas swore as he shook Torrullin hard. “Not now!”
Torrullin’s left hand stung with the swiftness of the dust particles in the air, but he ignored the sensation to reach over Tristan towards Elianas. He took hold of the swirling cloak and used it to drag Elianas closer. Tristan found himself pinned and thought his femur would shatter with the ill-placed weight.
They ignored him. Torrullin drew Elianas even closer. “Elixir must surface now or we dump ourselves into change without exit,” he managed to say loud enough over the rising din. “This is not creative, brother; this is necessity.”
Elianas stared into completely silver eyes. “Whatever it is, you are already there.” He jerked himself loose. “Why bother to bloody explain?”
Torrullin grinned and for an intense moment - it left even Tristan shivering - his eyes transformed into the deep black, which heralded Destroyer, and those dark orbs travelled hungrily over Elianas.
Elianas closed his eyes and thumped Torrullin’s chest in fury. A moment more, and he retreated entirely, and Tristan sighed relief as the weight lifted. Torrullin gripped Tristan’s shoulder and pulled him close.
“Hold onto Elianas, I am taking us out of this now.”
Tristan nodded. He was holding on, but he strengthened the grip.
Torrullin fingers bit into him, and then everything went black.
Chapter 63
Not knowing something is oblivion. Unawareness of truth is also regarded as oblivion.
~ Book of Sages
Lethe
HOW LONG THE blackness lasted would never be known and never discussed.
For a time they were oblivious to time, space and each other. They were together somewhere and so apart the state of togetherness would eternally remain unmentioned. Only those able to see beyond the boundaries knew how proximity did not imply connection and they, naturally, never told.
Still, let it be said the three men were beyond usual intelligence and thus not without suspicion of the state of separation.
When the alien dark receded like water pulling back from a beach, they were in a rough circle of standing stones. The stones and the configuration thereof was a protection mechanism and they knew it, but as awareness returned they looked at each other as if questioning the nature of life itself.
Elianas’ eyes hooded. He lay beside Torrullin. Those silvery eyes stared down at him from a seated position. Feeling vulnerable, he cleared his throat, pushed up to sit and look around.
Tristan sat cross-legged nearby staring at the two of them as if attempting to determine a great secret. Beyond Tristan were the standing stones and beyond that was nothing. Nothing.
“Where are we?” Elianas asked. He deliberately did not move.
Those silvery eyes had not left him and now filled with knowing amusement.
Elianas frowned and surrendered. “You are frightening me, Torrullin. For pity’s sake, tell us what this is. What have you done and where are we?”
Tristan rose and stretched.
Torrullin’s glance flicked up at him, and returned to Elianas, who cursed. Torrullin leaned closer. “This is still Lethe, but now it is a different realm and I suspect it may be a different time also. But I did not bring us here. Something fools with us. I may enjoy a challenge and I am particularly enjoying how you squirm at the moment, but this is going too far.”
Tristan strode nearer. He stood arms akimbo over them.
“This is precisely why we go nowhere - you two and your lack of conviction. Reaume is unprotected and you carry on as if we have all the time in the universe. I am well aware you were warned not to delve the issues in Lethe, yet I’m saying, unless you do, even if it is scratching at the surface, we are headed to nowhere for eternity. Look …” and he swung one arm in a wide arc, “… a stone henge, a place of safety. Either you brought us here, Torrullin, or we brought ourselves here by consensus, or we were bloody chucked in. Whatever and however, get to sorting enough out so we may actually aid Reaume and, yes, aid the Dryads also. Understood? This is why you wanted me to come, wasn’t it? To get your arses moving?”
Torrullin exhaled, a weary sound. “We are exactly one year back in time. Whatever is to happen to Reaume has not yet begun.”
Elianas glared at him. “What happened to ‘I suspect’?”
Torrullin shrugged. “To see you squirm.”
Tristan interrupted, “Good god, will you stop? Would you please do something more than taunt each other?”
Both men looked up at him.
Tristan cleared his throat. “What did I say to make you do that?”
Elianas clambered to his feet. “So,” he murmured, “a whole year back in time. How does not concern me, nor does why - the why I can figure out, I trust. What concerns me is the where of this place. A year ago - biological count - we were not returned. You had not remembered your past and I was in the Throne.” He swung around to stand with his hands on his knees, leaning so that Torrullin could not escape him. “Why choose a whole year?”
Torrullin did not attempt to escape that gaze. “I do not desire to change anything, if that is what you imply. We have been through trauma recently, but it revealed more about us than it h
id, and I am not running away from it, and neither should you.”
“Agreed. Now answer the question.”
“A year? It was a round number.”
“Really?”
Torrullin gave a quick grin. “Yes, really.” He pointed a finger. “More than a year passed in reality than for us in realm travel. Whether I deliberately tweaked or not, does not influence either memory or return.”
“I’ll get out of your hair now,” Tristan said. “Before I do I would like to hear the where of this place also. A year ago I wondered who would be Vallorin, even if everyone else counts a few more years than we do. I don’t want to find myself revisiting that time.”
“This is Lethe. I do not know.”
“You are a Walker,” Elianas frowned.
“Not when another pulls the strings,” Torrullin said. “It does not matter what we do, what we say or how we feel or even where and when we are; we are not in control.”
Tristan licked dry lips. As Elianas stared at Torrullin, Tristan said, “The only way out is to start talking to each other, don’t you see?”
Torrullin frowned. “Maybe, but it does not return us control.”
“Which control do you seek?” Tristan demanded. “Which is more important, Torrullin? Elianas? The control over Lethe or the control over self? Is it that hard to imagine one may lead to the other?”
Silence.
“Well?”
Elianas shrugged.
Torrullin threaded hands through his hair.
Tristan smirked. “I guess my point is made. I’ll be over there if you have need of me.” He walked away, leaving them alone.
He did not go far, but was outside of hearing range. He knew words were telling between the two men.
ELIANAS SAT, LEANED against a lichen covered standing stone and stretched his legs out.
A minute passed, then two, but he did not look up. He drew his smaller knife from a boot and commenced whittling a piece of scarred wood he found near the base of the stone. Another minute passed and he whistled tuneless accompaniment.
Tristan wanted to strangle him, while admiring the calm the dark man projected.
Torrullin wandered from stone to standing stone, stopping to study each curiously before moving on, and all the while remained aware of the man ostensibly whittling. He moved past Tristan at one stage and raised an eyebrow in his direction.
Few knew of his capacity to wait another out; Elianas knew, but how long would he absorb the strain before surrendering? Was it a lesser form of brinkmanship? Torrullin came to an halt as he thought on that. Brinkmanship had no place here; it was getting to the point where it had no place anywhere.
He inhaled and moved to Elianas. There he stood, looking down.
Elianas squinted up.
Tristan held his breath, praying sense would prevail.
Torrullin hunkered. “Any shape in the wood?”
Elianas returned to the carving. “Too soon to say.”
“A sculptor of talent claims the shape already is.”
“I am not a sculptor.” Elianas smiled, but did not look up.
“I am finding it hard to reconcile what you thought of me in private to what you shared with me,” Torrullin said.
“I was prepared to bury my revenge.”
“But you did not, Elianas. I have paid many ages.”
A brief nod. “I am sorry.”
“Are you? You cannot look me in the eye.”
Elianas’ hands ceased moving, and wood and knife stilled in his lap. He looked up and locked onto Torrullin. “I am sorry.”
“Are you?”
Elianas stared at him without reaction.
“I would appreciate honesty, whatever it is.”
The dark man leaned over to slide his knife back into his boot, doing so without looking away. “I find myself insulted.”
“A small price.”
Elianas turned the piece of wood over in his hands and pulled a face at it. He tossed it aside. “What do you want of me now?”
“The truth.”
“Will you reciprocate?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, my brother, let us examine the toll revenge takes in a long wait. I was lied to, I did not know you well enough to know the difference, I loved you more than a need to see justice done and I chose deliberately to allow revenge to wait in sterile conditions. Listening to the lie was my first mistake, not asking you about it was the next, but permitting it to go unresolved has been my gravest error, among other equally grave errors, but they are related to other issues, not this one.
“In thinking the conditions of waiting to be sterile, I moved on, I went boldly forward, and never understood how an accusation unspoken could be a barrier, poison in fallow ground, never sterile, not even close. Am I sorry? Yes, but I am sorry I waited so long, not that I thought you capable of this foul deed. In this it would be maligning you, yet you were and are capable of causing someone to disappear if it suits your purpose.”
By the time he ceased talking Elianas leaned once more against the stone pillar behind him. His dark eyes revealed little.
A long and tense silence ensued. Then, “Once I was capable of such evil, Elianas. I am no longer. You now insult me.” Torrullin’s voice was cold.
Dark eyes bored into grey. “That is like saying you could never do a fraction of the evil that befell Kalgaia again and yet, twenty-five years ago, Torrke swallowed innocent Valleur when you played the hero with the draithen. Do not presume to claim you are no longer able.”
Torrullin closed his eyes. “That was then.”
“A mere drop in the mighty bucket of time. I am well aware you are a fantastic family man and thus could not ever envision harming a father or a son, but wait - did you not beat Tymall to within an inch of his life and did you not force him to kill himself? Did you not withhold love from Taranis, the man who was Danae like my father?”
Torrullin stared at Elianas. “Goddess, how will you ever let go? I am not guilty of hurting your father.”
“You hurt yours, Torrullin.”
“This is not about Taranis.”
Elianas nodded. “I know, but can you not understand why I believed as I did? When have you proven the accusation false? And, brother, you say you know me, yet you did not suspect this lay behind our warring.”
Torrullin took in a breath and exhaled slowly. “I knew there was something.”
Elianas swirled his tongue inside his mouth, eyes fixedly on Torrullin. “Now you are angry again.”
Torrullin shook his head and rose. “I am fine. I accept my responsibility. You asked that I reciprocate truth. Ask away.”
Elianas gazed up, eyes narrowing. “You are making this too easy. I hate to admit I do not trust you in an accommodating mood.”
“The choice is yours.”
TRISTAN COULD NOT hear what was said, but it was obvious by their body language it was not going well. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse rather than better. He decided to head over to interfere, and then subsided in the act of rising when Elianas sprang to his feet, eyes flashing fire.
Better, Tristan thought, much better. Both of them responded to high emotion.
“MY CHOICE?” Elianas hissed out. He marched to Torrullin, who stood his ground with legs braced. “Look at you, goddamn it, you are spoiling for a fight.”
“I am merely defending. Come, Elianas, ask what you will.”
“I shall ask nothing. I shall walk away from this and get on with the business of looking only ahead. You do as you see fit.”
Torrullin inclined his head. “A rare and excellent plan.”
FOR A BRIEF FEW seconds Tristan thought they achieved consensus, although he could not understand how they managed it when they seemed in opposition, for he saw them smile at each other. A second after that conclusion came the revision. There was nothing sincere in either smile or body language.
It was time to interfere.
He was too late.
; ELIANAS GRASPED TORRULLIN’S tunic. He hauled him roughly closer, or attempted to. Torrullin did the hauling. He laid hold of the fists at his chest and jerked Elianas nearer. They glared at each other, and Elianas’ elbow rose obliquely. It smashed into Torrullin’s jaw, who gasped his astonishment and then laughed in delight.
When Elianas gaped at him, he threw his head back to crow more laughter, and his fist smashed into Elianas’ face. He followed it with another punch and then one to the gut. When Elianas doubled over, he hauled him up by his hair and stared at him tauntingly.
Elianas did not disappoint. He snarled and dove in with flying fists and it became a rough brawl, a street fight with no holds barred. The incongruity of fighting within the questionable protection of the henge was lost on them, although it did occur to Tristan, who watched the fight escalate into alarming intensity.
Clods of mud and grass flew like missiles and cloaks tore to flutter material into the alien empty surrounds outside of the protective circle.
Neither man drew sword, dagger or knife; this was about personal anger and hurt and letting the other know it was so, not about inflicting wounds.
Grunts followed hisses, snarls accompanied bunched fists, and they fought a running scrap that had them swirling about each other searching for openings.
Elianas slipped, righted himself and renewed his attack.
Torrullin lost his footing and entangled his cloak in his scabbard; swearing foully, he threw a defensive swipe of his arm to ward Elianas off, then fell backward hitting the back of his head hard on the churned turf. He literally saw stars, groaned, and the will to fight left him.
In the aftermath he was numb and closed his eyes. His arms went limp.
Elianas stood heaving great breaths and he bent over Torrullin. “Damn it, are you all right?”
“I will survive.”
Elianas put one leg to either side of the fallen man and leaned low. “I am sorry I used Taranis as an example.”
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 116