How did he now understand the concept dreaming?
Rayne swivelled indecisively upon the balls of his feet. Again his heart played its new game.
He turned his head to the left, to the almighty view of nature untamed and the potent vista of an ocean so blue it defied description. He frowned. He knew he preferred the majesty of the sea in storm and darkness, an untamed state that spoke to his deeper places.
Moving his head to the right, he glanced into the chamber leading from his.
It was empty.
His brother was already up, no doubt preparing the morning meal as he did daily. His brother thrived in the routine of a day, always claiming it eased the mind to know the timing of events. Elianas would have answers or would do his best to find them. His brother was there with him when he awakened to a life without a past and recovered from the accident. He would understand what these new and strange feelings and insights meant.
He, Rayne, could trust in that.
Impatient, he headed to the bathroom.
A few minutes later he entered the dressing room and his hands hovered over loose-fitting pants and a bright blue shirt, a comfort and a style he was familiar with. The loose clothes were perfect for wandering in the garden and along well-tended paths … and he hated them. He wore them daily and never questioned the choice, and now he hated them. He despised well-tended paths also. He did not much enjoy routine either.
Biting back an oath, he allowed instinct to guide him and chose clothes he thought more suited.
Slowly he dressed, his thoughts skittering from one angle to another, never finding a hold that led to illumination.
Change was the only certainty.
EGGS WERE BEATEN and ready for the pan, the toast was done and coffee brewed.
Breakfast would be a minute or two to serving once Rayne decided to come to table. A smile flitted across Elianas’ face. Rayne could be relied upon to be unreliable. If Rayne did not show soon, he would have to wake the man.
His brother could be trying sometimes. He fought eating, walking and sleeping at set times, but it was best for him at this stage of his recovery to function within a daily schedule.
Elianas straightened cutlery, placed the butter, salt and pepper in the centre of the table, and wiped his hands on a cloth. The eggs would spoil if …
Ah. A tread in the passage beyond. Rayne was awake.
He returned to the stove to place the pan upon the heat, but halted movement upon seeing the manner of Rayne’s arrival.
Elianas swallowed and the ice of premonition washed him cold.
Dark eyes searched the grey of the fair man entering.
“Rayne?” he managed, and silently thanked the gods it came out steady. “I have not seen you wear black before.” I have not seen you wear black since you surrendered memory.
Rayne shrugged. “This morning I realise how much I hate fancy colours. I have much black in there, yet never wear any, thought I would try it.”
Goddamn it, I should have removed his black clothes. There had not been time to do so and, after, taking anything away would have raised questions he could not satisfactorily have answered.
Dark eyes dropped away. Elianas moved to the stove. “It suits you.”
Rayne smiled. “I thought so.”
“Did you sleep well?” A steady hand placed the pan where it had to go and a firm wrist whisked the eggs a final time before pouring the mixture. Everything was automatic, for his thoughts were in disarray and food was the last matter he considered.
What has changed?
A sigh erupted from Rayne. “I believe I was dreaming.”
Elianas twitched. Fright. Ice. All gods. “Dreaming?”
“I think so. I awoke feeling peculiar and it occurred to me I was dreaming. I never dream, brother.”
There was confusion in Rayne’s voice.
With his back to the man, a brother could close his eyes and offer up a prayer to all gods and goddesses. Please, leave him in peace. He is not yet ready. I am not yet ready.
Aloud Elianas said, “People dream, Rayne. You simply do not remember in the morning.”
Had he looked, he would have seen grey eyes narrow. Peripherally, he noted a hand reach up to brush fair hair away from eyes.
In the silence eggs scrambled.
“Elianas. Look at me.”
Rayne’s tone was not as accepting as it had been in the months of recovery. Elianas hauled the pan off the heat and faced the enigma of this new day, hoping his face revealed only serenity.
Rayne, dressed in tight-fitting black breeches and a woven black tunic, feet encased in black boots, studied him, a small frown marring his forehead. Then he took a single step forward.
Elianas take a small step backward.
Rayne’s eyes narrowed and this time Elianas saw it, and understood there was intent present.
“Why are you different?” Rayne asked.
Elianas shook his head. “You are different, Rayne.”
A moment elapsed, and a nod followed. “Granted, but you seem afraid.” Another eternal moment passed. “Elianas, I have no concept of fear.”
The man with dark eyes and hair almost gnashed his teeth. “Of course you do. You have merely forgotten how it feels, for there is nothing to fear here.”
An eyebrow arched. “Truly? And what else have you withheld … brother?”
“I am not sure I know what it is you infer.”
Rayne stepped forward another pace and this time Elianas stayed in place. Rayne took another step, another and another until he was close.
Grey eyes impaled him. “I am not sure I know either, but today I know something is different in me, and in you. I further understand your difference is because of mine. I would like to know why that is.”
Elianas smiled. “You are tired …”
“I sleep too much as it is. I am not tired. You side-step.”
Elianas swore, moved from the stove and strode from the kitchen. He needed space to think.
Rayne watched him go - he felt those eyes - and called out, “Where is your black, brother? Are we not a pair?”
Seconds of silence ensued and then Elianas stood in the doorway. His dark eyes were unreadable, his posture stiff with inner tension.
“Advice, brother, from one who loves you and has taken care of you these past months, Leave this new angle alone and allow time to heal all wounds first. The moment comes when you will be strong enough to cope.”
“Thus you are hiding something from me.”
“I am protecting you.”
“From what?”
“Yourself.”
Rayne strode nearer. “I like that not.”
“No, you would not, but I am not saying more.”
Gripping Elianas by the collar, Rayne slammed him against the wall, and then swore and released him immediately.
“Suddenly, dreams, the understanding of something called fear, and now capacity for violence. I feel as if another seeks freedom and he lives in this skin. Who am I, Elianas?”
The hairs in his neck spiked in dread, but Elianas remained calm. “You are Rayne.”
“What am I?”
“A man recovering from a terrible accident.”
Rayne scowled. “Why do I think that is a mistruth?”
Elianas sighed and told the truth, as far as it could go. “You know you lost recall, and it may now be returning. This will be a confusing time for you, but I will help you understand. Just give it time.”
“Time,” Rayne echoed.
Elianas swallowed. He dared say no more.
Rayne glanced into the kitchen. “I seem to have little appetite this morning. I am going for a walk.”
Elianas nodded. Perhaps activity would distract him.
Rayne gave a tight smile. “But not on well-tended paths. They have their place, I know, but this day I aim to seek out the wild places.”
Elianas’ fingers curled into unseen claws.
Rayne walked away. El
ianas noticed the hunter stalk had returned to how he moved. Until yesterday Rayne’s movements were more casual. Returning memory would also restore inherent bearing.
The dark man slumped against the wall. All gods, he was not ready.
“Elianas, do you think it will storm soon?”
He jerked his head to the left to see Rayne standing in cat-like silence and patience nearby. He shivered within. Stealth was back as well. “I have no idea.”
“Pity. I hanker after a storm.”
“Perhaps it will soon enough. Autumn approaches.”
Rayne inclined his head and continued down the passage. He spoke over his shoulder, “I shall discover my true self in the insanity of a storm, I think. Pray it is soon.”
He vanished from sight.
Long, terrible minutes passed before Elianas could move.
That is what I fear most, my brother. I do fear you may discover your true self in the insanity of a storm. I have prayed for benign weather daily and then I have prayed I have succeeded in blocking your memories sufficiently, in the event the weather does as it does without harking to prayer. That insanity has ever driven us to extremes, and you may never forgive me for removing the other insanity, the one that binds us. All gods, I pray you never remember.
A new tomorrow may drive us apart.
Chapter 2
“When all certainty lies in change, I tell you, friend, brother, love is everything. Hold onto it, treasure it, renew it and always respect it. When change is upon you, love is the only factor that withstands every onslaught.”
~ Le Matt Dalrish, Xenian Sorcerer ~
Sanctuary
Lake Altar
HIS LUNGS COULD TAKE no more.
Teroux had nothing left to fight off the grasping desperation around him, but he wanted to live! He thrashed and managed to dislodge fingers clutching at his throat. He kicked hard against a tumbling, inert form, using it as leverage, and fought his way through the press of bodies, some so intertwined in the dance of death he would lose his way if he did not go around them. He had but seconds before he swayed in an eternal current of oblivion.
His lungs were a-fire, his eyes extended in the effort to hold, to save, to have that final breath of life.
Teroux kicked against debris, felt his fingers stiffen.
Is it true one stiffens before the nerveless state of death?
In blind panic, he surged up with everything he had left.
And pierced the inky surface of a silent, calm lake.
Gasping, spluttering, he drew in precious air. It burned worse than a lack of had, but was also the most glorious sensation in the entire universe. He drew more in, held, released, again and again. Life was precious, so very special.
Debris from the ship bobbed silently, accusingly, upon still water. Amid the destruction, lifeless remains of crew and passengers floated.
It was calm and quiet, when half an hour ago everything was chaos and all was insanity.
Teroux swam to a broken spar, wrapped arms around it, rested his head against the swaying wood, and surrendered consciousness.
He had given all.
Mariner Island
HE OPENED HIS EYES.
Rose, beloved Rose, smiled at him, her blue gaze tearing.
“Teroux.”
One word, his name, and in it all the love she bore him.
“Rose.”
They stared at each other and then awareness returned. He gasped, struggled to sit, and she forced him back.
“Teroux, calm yourself. You are still weak. You suffered a few scrapes and bumps. Stay down.”
He stared at her.
She understood what that mute gaze meant. “Four others survived. We found wreckage on the eastern shore yesterday morning and sent out search parties.” She swallowed, fighting back tears. “I thought I lost you.”
Teroux blinked and a tear ran over one cheek.
Rose sat on the edge of his bed and took his hand. “The storm was swift and vicious. There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent it, not even you.”
“We should have had warning.”
“It’s spring, my love. These weather patterns are not unknown, but everyone understands how hard it is to predict this. Let it go.”
His gaze slid away.
“You are feeling guilty that you survived, but, Teroux, I am beyond relieved you were one of those we pulled from the water alive.”
He looked up at her again. “You came?”
Rose smiled, and swallowed hard. “My husband was out there, was he not?”
He managed to smile as well and squeezed her hand.
“Sleep now. I will be back later with proper food.” She leaned in to kiss his forehead, and rose.
By the time she reached the door, he was fast asleep. She nodded. Yes, better that way.
She left quietly.
SANCTUARY AS A WORLD was exactly that, a sanctuary.
The dispossessed, the desperate, the sick and the lonely came from all over a populated universe seeking aid, succour, healing and companionship, and most stayed to help others, finding new purpose in a new way of life upon a different world. Sanctuary was neutral, non-political, and had the space to absorb the varied races that knocked at her door.
The local people had chosen to open their hearts and minds to others in a bid to stem slow extinction due to a stagnated existence, and it paid off magnificently. New kinds meant new skills and knowledge, and it led to a renewal of confidence in themselves and their future.
Teroux and Rose came to Sanctuary twenty years after its inception as a haven, taking over the management of an important and special service to those in need of renewal.
They worked well with the locals and both were cosmopolitan enough to deal with offworlders and visitors of means, while being as grounded in reality, a personality trait necessary to manage compassionately those who came from places less advanced.
With only the friends made in their new life as witnesses, they wed there in a quiet ceremony. Family had not featured. Family had planned elaborate nuptials, but family brought problems. Or thus they made it known when asked.
Truth was, Rose had no living family, and Teroux was in continued rift with his, and that rift was on his mind when he returned home, having been released by the healers on Mariner Island.
The Villa
TORRULLIN BUILT THE VILLA.
Teroux halted in the blooming spring garden and stared at the yellowed walls, the façade of glass and stone, the chimneys, and the welcome of a home. His grandfather built well. Not only was it functional in design, but also pleasing to the eye.
Happy as he was in this place with Rose, he could not forget it was built with and for a mistress, a woman who had not stayed long. His grandfather had lived in an adulterous relationship, one that did not bring anyone happiness.
It was not what brought about the rift between himself and his family, however. Another prejudice achieved it, and now Teroux could not forget he parted from his grandfather uneasily a few months back over a different relationship, and today lived in a house that reminded him of their rift daily.
“Teroux?” Rose prompted.
“We have a lovely home, do we not?”
She smiled. “We do, yes.”
“We have made it our own, have we?”
She knew then what was on his mind. Always Teroux said he did not care what his family thought, and ever he worried over it. He loved his family, but unfortunately the issues keeping him from loved ones had their source in his beliefs, not theirs. It meant he had no idea how to repair the separation.
“It is ours, my love, in thought and deed, and it is lived in now as it never was when Torrullin owned it. We have transformed walls of stone into spaces with heart.”
He glanced at her and saw only truth in her eyes. He smiled and shrugged. “I guess he is on my mind.” His smile slid away. “I thought of you down in the deep, but it was Torrullin’s face I saw when I surfaced. It was as
if he accused me for lack of action. I could have saved them, Rose. Did something … called to …”
She was firm. “No, you could not. There was no time. And you know well he would never accuse you like that. Stop it and come inside; the mornings are chilly and you are not well.” She took his arm and steered him indoors.
Teroux allowed her to do so and, once inside with the familiarity of their life together, he relaxed. As always, she was right. He would be lost without her.
And yet … yet … “I think he is in trouble.”
Rose headed for the kitchen. “Torrullin? What makes you think so?”
He followed. “He is too quiet.”
She did not turn to look at him. “You wanted it so.”
“I know.” His response contained only helplessness.
She did turn then. “What did you see in the water?”
Teroux passed her and entered into the warmth of the kitchen. Rose was making soup and the smell was mouth-watering. Sitting at the high counter, he rested his head in his hands.
“I heard this peculiar silence and then I saw his eyes. They were vacant, as if he is dying.”
“Not possible.” She put water to the boil. “He cannot die.”
“I am aware,” he muttered, “but there are many ways of dying, Rose, besides the physical.”
She understood he had included himself in that statement. “True.”
He looked at her. “Maybe you should contact him.”
Rose blinked at her husband. This was more serious than she thought initially. It was more than survivor’s guilt. “I cannot, and you know Elianas has too many shields in the way. Not even Quilla can get through.”
Teroux sucked his cheeks inward upon hearing Elianas’ name. “Then someone should go to him.”
Rose stood on the other side of the counter, staring at him, concerned. “You? You would go to Avaelyn?”
A long silence ensued. “No. I am not the one with the right words.”
“If you are worried …”
“That bastard will not let me near Torrullin anyway. And I would want to kill him.” It was Elianas he spoke of.
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 131