Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  When she finished, Tristan stood before Elianas.

  “No Sword, no Wings and no Warlock Accruements. That is what he meant; you are clean. Everything you took to yourself in the Circles of Confrontation has been removed.”

  A nod confirmed the summation.

  Tristan demanded, “Why would that piss Torrullin off?”

  “It is not the removal of magical tools,” Caballa murmured. “It is that he understands nuances were exchanged and he was not privy to them.”

  Elianas sighed.

  Tristan frowned. “Not so much was exchanged.”

  Elianas looked at him, and then released a laugh similar to the one Torrullin had earlier.

  Caballa sighed. “Damn all this sighing,” she muttered after. “We are like a bunch of old women, using sighs to speak for us, instead of acting, instead of saying what we mean.”

  “Ixion told me …” Tristan began, causing a curtain of dark hair to swing his way. “… that cleanliness is …”

  “Godliness?” Elianas growled.

  A smile blossomed upon Tristan’s face. “No, that would be a human belief. He said cleanliness is the prerequisite for deciphering time. Being clean is a complicated simplicity, he said, the same as time is. I did not understand it then, but I think I do now. You, my friend,” and he jabbed a finger into Elianas’ collar bone, “are unburdened, unencumbered. You are yourself. You are, therefore, a complicated simplicity able to read the hands of a clock.”

  Elianas stared at him.

  “We figured it out, you know,” Tristan murmured. “Where the master mechanism is in this age. Where it has been for ages.”

  Elianas’ head lifted to the heavens and he swiftly sniffed. “Keep that suspicion to yourself.”

  “It is not suspicion.”

  “Fine, but do not say it here.”

  “I am not an idiot.”

  “No, but I am … I …” Elianas frowned at Caballa. “What did he mean by ‘Perfection’?”

  “I think you need ask Torrullin that question,” she murmured, and placed a hand on his arm. “Do not be afraid of the answer.”

  Elianas snorted. “Where is Lowen?”

  She removed her hand and her expression assumed that of disapproval. “Men. Bloody stupid.”

  “Where is she, Caballa?”

  She glared at him. “Grinwallin. Why?”

  Elianas bowed over his hands at her. “Lady seer, she needs to hear the answer as well.” He glanced at Tristan. “Thank you for saving my hide earlier.” He touched his forehead, and disappeared.

  Caballa swore. “Straight to bloody Grinwallin he goes. Stupid, blind idiot!”

  “Caballa?”

  She moved into Tristan’s arms and held him. “Tris, there are truths you need hear. Make it somewhere it can stay between us.”

  He wrapped her against him and took her with him to the Dome.

  Grinwallin

  LOWEN FELT HIM BEFORE she saw him.

  Immediately she wished he had come to her elsewhere, not here with Alik as witness. How stupid could she be, to wish thus? It was perfect, was it not? Here, with Alik as witness. The real truth, as she had promised the girl’s father.

  The two women sat midway up - or down, depending on one’s perspective - on a step of the great Grinwallin stairway. The view across the plain before them and Tunin continent beyond was breathtaking.

  Elianas perched behind them, one step up, and stared into the distance. It was afternoon and Tenet’s glows lengthened into amber and gold, bathing the land in a wash of warmth.

  “That is real perfection,” he murmured.

  Alik turned her head, a smile already blooming. “Hey! Nice to see you.”

  He smiled down at her. “Nice to see you, too.”

  Lowen turned more slowly, with less welcome.

  He shifted his gaze to her, his own smile vanishing.

  It was there between them the instant their eyes made contact. Heat, desire, need. She swore and jerked her head to the view again while he closed his eyes and breathed slow, deep breaths.

  Then she was on her feet and racing up the stairs. “I am sure Alik will look after you!” her voice floated back.

  He stood. “I came for you, Lowen!”

  She froze near the top.

  “Elianas?” Alik murmured.

  “Forgive me; I need to have words with Lowen.”

  “Words? Really?”

  He glanced down at her with the ghost of a smile upon his lips. “Words, yes.”

  Alik nodded and moved past him, heading up. “If you have time, join Lowen and me for supper later. I could use a distraction from studies.”

  “Thank you. I might just do so.”

  “Good.” She climbed past Lowen, ignoring her, and disappeared soon after through the great gates.

  He climbed until he stood behind the Xenian. Fingers combed through her dark hair so like his. She leaned back and he took her weight against the length of him, his hands still in her hair.

  “Why are you here?” she said.

  “To ask you a question.”

  “Ask.”

  “Why would someone call me Perfection?”

  Lowen straightened and moved a step up, there to turn and look down upon him. “Who would ask that of you, Elianas? Someone who clearly doesn’t know you very well.”

  “He does know me … too well.”

  “He? Torrullin?”

  “No.”

  She blinked as she thought it through. “Throne.”

  “Yes.”

  “The simple answers is, because you are.”

  “I am Perfection? Really? How is that?”

  She laid a hand against his cheek. “How can I possibly explain it without you withdrawing?”

  He did not move. “It is about my face, Lowen?”

  “No. Beauty is merely a bonus.”

  “A bonus?” he growled. “I do not see it as an advantage.”

  One eyebrow hiked upward. “And yet you have used it as one many times.”

  He looked away.

  Lowen took her hand from him and wished she could drag him into her. Dark eyes swivelled back to her, a-fire. Her breathing shallowed and she forced herself to move up a step higher. “Let us walk.”

  Elianas’ eyes hooded and he nodded, ascending to her level. Together they climbed further.

  “We can talk as we walk,” he said.

  She laughed. “I know. Fine, about perfection. Yours. You are of ancient blood and it is trueblood because it is one blood. You may claim Torrullin is the real trueblood - being of Lorinin and …”

  “Do not say the word of power in Grinwallin.”

  “… and that may be true from the Valleur point of view, but from the viewpoint of an ancient race scholar, you fit the requirement. A trueblood, then to now, and a fair few repeats of then to now, not so? Perfect, if one seeks to measure the worth of time itself.”

  He glanced down. “Makes sense.”

  “You are also the power of energy. The building block of a universe. Damn it, Elianas, if you could stand back far enough and look at yourself with objectivity, you would see what others see. Blood, energy, power, history and all the rest of it.”

  “Then the real question is this, why is Perfection needed?”

  She halted him in the great gateway, a hand on his arm. “How can you not know?”

  He did not move or speak.

  “The post of Timekeeper will soon be vacant. Someone perfect for the job needs to step into the void his passing will leave.”

  He reared back. “Torrullin …”

  She shook her head.

  “We are meant to take on the duty as a responsibility, not a post to be filled, and we are meant to do so together,” he whispered.

  “And you think that will be your noble purpose? Think again.”

  “Adagin and Ixion …”

  “… were Timekeepers at different times. Not together.”

  He gripped her shoulders and
pulled her closer. “Lowen, Torrullin too is the perfect Timekeeper.”

  “I know. Tarlinn, I believe, would describe him exactly as he has you.”

  He released her, dark eyes unreadable. “What is this universe doing to us? Trying to force us apart? Why is that better; how can it be better when we function efficiently as a team?”

  “You do not,” Lowen snapped. “You battle and accuse and cause damage, and then sometimes you work together long enough to achieve a sound result. But you do not prevent calamity together; you cause it and then are forced to repair. How is that better? I bet when you were apart in other ages both of you were more effective. Had Margus arrived on the scene after you did, Elianas, Torrullin would not have been as able to deal with him as he did without you.”

  “Are you telling me …”

  She clutched his arm. “I cannot see you apart; it would hurt too much. But let us also be honest here, only one of you can be Timekeeper. It is up to you how to make a choice you can live with.”

  He stared at her. “And who do you think it should be?”

  “You.”

  “Why?”

  She reached for his face, pulling him towards her. “Because you are perfect.”

  He resisted. “I have scars.”

  “I know and I love them.”

  He cupped her head and lowered his mouth to hers. Before their lips touched, he murmured, “I want that you release your Wings and surround us with them. Hide us from both sight and the connection of another.”

  Her eyes locked onto his. “He won’t feel anything?”

  “No.”

  Dark shadowy wings soared out and gently wrapped about them, and then tightened.

  They became one.

  “JUST WORDS, YOU SAID,” Alik murmured when they entered her home some time later, her gaze moving from one to the other.

  Lowen frowned, glancing at Elianas beside her.

  He smiled, shrugged, and took Alik’s hand to bend over it. Laying a kiss there, he said, “Does the offer of supper still stand?”

  She removed her hand and glared at him. “You are hungry for food now?”

  He laughed. “I am, yes.”

  “Lucky, then, I decided to make more than usual. Supper will be ready in half hour.” She turned on her heel and strode into the kitchen, leaving Elianas and Lowen in the tiny sitting room.

  “Alik is …” Lowen began.

  “I know. Do not say it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he will seek to use her against me. He has already threatened to do so.”

  “Because you are attracted to her also?”

  “Gods, Lowen, I just asked you not to say it. He hears, do you not get that?”

  “Not words, he doesn’t, but you suggest he will read it when he sees you in the same space together. He will read this issue was discussed.”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  Her nose scrunched up. “I hate that he can do so.”

  Elianas grinned. “Yes.”

  “So? Are you?” she demanded.

  “Attracted? It is her eyes.”

  Lowen frowned. “Her eyes?” Alik had the brightest green eyes. “Oh. That is twisted, you do understand? Alik isn’t Saska.” Saska once possessed glorious emerald orbs.

  Elianas inclined his head. “And yet one cannot help but make the comparison.”

  “You didn’t have a thing for Saska, did you?”

  He glared at her. “Never. Saska was … special.”

  Lowen snorted loudly and moved towards the kitchen. “Men.”

  He followed more slowly. “You are special, Lowen.”

  “Bugger off.”

  “Not that I am the one making comparisons. You do. He does.”

  She rounded on him. “What do you know about it? There was only ever Cassy for you and even that was …”

  “Leave Cassy out of it.”

  “Who is Cassy?” Alik asked from the kitchen’s doorway.

  “My wife,” Elianas snapped. He bowed in her direction. “Forgive me, but I seem to have lost my appetite. Another time.”

  He headed to the front door.

  “Mention of Cassy ever sours your mood,” Lowen said.

  Elianas presented her with the finger over his shoulder and slammed from the house.

  Alik demanded, “He is bloody married?”

  “He was. Come, let us eat and talk. I have stuff to tell you; I promised your father I would tell you the whole truth and it is getting to a point, without even my interference, where you need it in order to be ready for Elianas and Torrullin.”

  “Start with what happened between you two today.”

  Lowen stared at her. “No.”

  Alik nodded as if she had something confirmed. “My father was here to ask where you took Elianas. You know he senses arrivals and departures from Grinwallin; seems the two of you suddenly snuffed out.”

  The Xenian swore under her breath. “Bloody Teighlar.”

  “Lowen?”

  “Can’t, Alik, sorry. Come; I’m starving …” She peered around the doorjamb and saw pasta and sauce on the stove. “Yum.” She glanced at the woman beside her. “He might be back.”

  Alik snorted.

  HE DID GO BACK, because he was hungry, and because he sought to avoid Torrullin a few hours more.

  Elianas came upon them in the kitchen tucking into plates loaded with pasta and sauce, and it smelled absolutely divine. His stomach growled so loud both women burst into laughter. He sat and soon had a share before him, accompanied by a massive goblet filled to the brim with a full-bodied Senlu red. Clearly the Emperor made sure his daughter ate and drank of only the best.

  Swiftly the day and its issues vanished into the background as the three of them filled the space with banter and more laughter, an atmosphere into which Torrullin appeared akin to an avenging angel.

  Silence reigned immediately.

  Elianas lifted his goblet - second refill - and sipped ostentatiously. “I believe there is some left in the pot; I am sure Alik will dish up for you.”

  Alik stood.

  “Sit,” Torrullin retorted. “I am not hungry.”

  He dragged a free chair to the space beside Elianas and sat the wrong way around, his arms on the backrest. He faced the dark man, his back to the women.

  “You are rude,” Lowen muttered.

  He ignored her and spoke to Elianas. “I do not track your every move, brother, but even to an untrained mind you achieved something unusual this day. No one, especially not you, can simply vanish as completely as you did. And then, poof, you are back. I only realised you had vanished when you abruptly and magically reappeared as if from the fucking ether, and then I waited for you to show up. Guess what? Here you still are.”

  Elianas sipped. “Your point?”

  Torrullin’s eyes narrowed. He leaned closer to sniff. A moment after his head lurched around to Lowen. He stared at her, and heaved to his feet and left. The emptied chair rocked upside down on the floor.

  Again silence descended.

  Alik, an innocent not yet aware of every nuance, said, “One would swear you and he are lovers.”

  Elianas froze.

  Suddenly, poof, he was gone too.

  “Jesus, Alik,” Lowen said. “Man. Where even the angel Saska would fear to tread. We have to talk … now.”

  Chapter 7

  Mist is water is ice.

  Mist is soul is traveller.

  Dust is stone is mountain.

  Dust is soul is visitor.

  Seed is sapling is tree.

  Seed is soul is resident.

  Spark is ember is fire.

  Spark is soul is sentience.

  ~ Pagan Philosophy ~

  Valaris

  Linmoor

  HALON HUNKERED OVER A rough workbench in the barn of a cottage farm on the outskirts of Linmoor.

  His work space lit only by a single candle, he squinted over the object before him. The tools of a jew
eller’s trade adorned the walls, small shadows in the flickering glow. Display cabinets that had once showed off remarkable and intricate creations in metal and gem were now dusty and empty. For the most part, for here and there a fallen nugget hugged a corner, forgotten.

  This was the workshop of Samuel Skyler Valla, biological father of Tristan Skyler Valla, the Kaval leader. Samuel was also surrogate father to both Teroux Valla of Sanctuary, and Tianoman, Vallorin of the Valleur.

  Samuel passed a few years back, a man loved and well-missed. The farm had fallen into disrepair since; the Valla boys who spent so much time there once now had other duties, and did not feel comfortable visiting this place of memory. Cottage, barn and fields had been abandoned.

  All of which Tannil knew of. And had shared.

  Halon drew a breath and looked up. Goddamn. Tannil. Teroux’s biological father. A Vallorin who died after being put through the Gauntlet. How did these Vallas know to die and come back, effortlessly?

  Halon returned to the task at hand. Whatever the answer to that was, it meant Tannil knew how to put an end to Torrullin Valla. Whatever happened after, for that alone he would bow to a Vallorin dead and risen.

  A disc lay on the workbench. Circular, flat and golden.

  Halon cursed under his breath. Of this, this device, he was not as certain. Prepared as he was to follow Tannil, this thing filled him with dread. It cost Vannis of the Valleur many months of endeavour to create his magical coin. The result was a powerful device that became part of Valleur legend.

  The Maghdim Medaillon.

  This, this, was a replica of the Medaillon, one created in a hurry. What was Tannil thinking? He, Halon, did not know the procession of glyphs or the order in which to engrave them. A mistake could result in an abomination. There would be mistakes, of that he was convinced.

  Gods.

  “Cease thinking about it,” Tannil’s voice intruded. The man moved into the candle’s glow to peer at the object. “It needs only appear as the Maghdim; we will not use it as an actual device.”