Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  Tannil would also blame him, Torrullin.

  He could only guess what the Tannil of Elianas’ time was like, but odds were, Elianas too, as legendary grandfather, would pay the price.

  There had been other, as complicated, events in and around Margus and Tymall’s reigns of terror.

  The battle with Neolone, the Dragon from another time and realm carried as the ultimate symbol of leadership upon generations of Vallorins’ chests. A mighty symbiosis began by Nemisin, First Father and First Enchanter. The war with Murs and Mysor on Luvanor, a world then known as Atrudis. The void of Grinwallin, the march through Time’s realm to put a fire under Nemisin’s arse. The destruction of the Dome, its return. The deaths of the Guardians, the emergence of the Kaval. The murder of the Q’lin’la. Vannis’ return from the dead, a mere ten days. Grinwallin’s crucible, which led to the foray into Aaru.

  The personal complications of Saska, Lycea, Cat and Lowen. Lycea, murdered. Cat, suicidal, leading to her death and that of their child. Lowen, the child, and later an immortal, who waited two millennia for his return to her … as Saska had.

  The acceptance of Rixile. The dreadful Hounding. The journey within the Path of Shades leading to the deaths of Declan, Siric, and Saska, beloved wife. That rankled still, and grief remained a spectre. The confrontation with Nemisin and Tianoman on Echolone before the Valleur Throne.

  It was at that confrontation when it became known Nemisin had named the Throne as Tarlinn. It was that conflict which led to memory loss and the re-emergence of Rayne’s persona.

  Tarlinn. Always there. Through every loop. Through every reconciliation with Elianas, age after age. The indestructible sentient Valleur Throne. Subservient and autonomous.

  His thoughts moved to Elianas. And shied away. Too much there to compute. Too much time, too many situations and events together and apart.

  Avaelyn.

  Discovered in second cycle. A true home. Cycle after cycle in Nemisin’s time he and Elianas were Lord Sorcerer and his Apprentice there, learning from each other until both were masters. A place for experimentation. A place for peace. A place for storms. A place also for love … and lust. A place of confrontation and togetherness. And, in this cycle, Elianas’ true home also.

  Torrullin pounded gloved fists upon the sleeping bag and screamed aloud his terrible rage.

  Avaelyn. True home. Destroyed.

  Their combined sins had manifested in one being. Tannil, destroyer of Avaelyn.

  If either he or Elianas had thought to reach Tannil through the connection of blood, it was now moot. Tannil would pay for this affront.

  It was time to speak Tannil’s true name, time to free themselves of ancient and recent connections to do their worst.

  CLARITY.

  Best achieved in the cold

  Best achieved without magical shields. Nothing to engender warmth other than what one wore and what one thought about.

  Elianas went in without gear, without forethought.

  THE WASTES ASSAILED EVERY sense within seconds of arrival.

  Icicles formed in his hair, upon his eyelashes. His skin turned blue. His lips cracked. The scars upon his cheeks began to ache as if a-fire. He clutched himself and forged forward, uncaring.

  Elianas could not know how long he walked in the murky world of wind and ice and hidden sunlight, but eventually he fell to his knees, head hanging, unable to summon even Alhazen’s energy to keep moving.

  Every thought crowded in.

  The dreams he had as a child of music; feeding swans with his father beside him. The first time on Avaelyn with Torrullin. Cassiopin, betrothed and then wife. His first murder, the man he attempted to lie with.

  Beyond, to the times he swerved alone through the ages and cycles. The Darak Or Ortan who taught him the true meaning of duplicity. Felian, an aged sorcerer, who taught him how to summon creatures from other realms, something he employed once with disastrous results, another time with Torrullin’s aid. They were successful together and used it more than once.

  Flying on Shadow Wings into a glass citadel; using a spell for dragon fire to fuse the entire complexity of buildings. Many, many died that day. Time spent in lizoid archives. Time in Titania’s library. An age tracking a shadow, world to world, ever finding only ash in its wake, until the day he understood his Wings were responsible. Thank all gods, he was in an alternate realm or this universe would have suffered the consequences.

  He thought of … her.

  Daywalker.

  Daywalker Hunarial.

  She was his Saska. A beloved, a complicated relationship, a true friend lost.

  Fingers clawed at the snow, tears iced over and burned upon his cheeks. Elianas lifted his head to the murk of snow-laden cloud overhead and screamed into the rising storm. He had put her away, locked all memory of her securely into a cage of forgetfulness, because to remember hurt far too much.

  Never, never had he mentioned her to anyone.

  Silver hair and emerald eyes. Daywalker, who wandered in moonlight.

  Elianas’ chin lowered to his chest, his fingers stilled on the ice. Daywalker … who was … a … soul … dancer …

  He doubled over and fell head first into powder and ceased thinking.

  TORRULLIN AWAKENED FROM deep oblivion.

  Something … something …

  Shivering, he rubbed at his arms to aide circulation before scrubbing his hands together, and then he frowned in concentration. Something missing. Something was off-kilter.

  He froze in position.

  Elianas. Missing.

  He muttered under his breath. The fool probably went to Lowen for comfort. But, no, this sense of absence was different … it was akin to …

  Torrullin hurtled to his feet, kicking sleeping gear and discarded clothes aside. It was akin to the time he thought Elianas dead after the journey through the Path of Shades.

  Elianas!

  He quested employing every sense Elixir possessed. Taste and smell, hearing and sight. Touch. He quested far. He quested near.

  Finally he found a sliver of residual warmth, of energy dissipating, less than a sal away. Abandoning tent and gear, forgetting to grab his insulating coat, Torrullin stumbled into the murk.

  ELIANAS CROUCHED AND appeared frozen solid.

  He fell over, an ice-ridden statue, when Torrullin attempted to lift him. Frantic then - himself beginning to lose function - he tore his gloves off and sought to lay them on the man’s skin. Eyes on the red blood crystals on the man’s forehead, he carefully placed fingertips alongside the wound.

  How had he hurt himself?

  Still questing for life’s pulse, he glanced down at the snow and saw there a rosy stain, as if the man had fallen upon something sharp, something unyielding.

  It could not matter.

  He concentrated on Elianas and discovered a faint, truly miniscule, rhythm. The man’s metabolism had slowed to protect the body. He was not dead, not yet. This was profound hypothermia, and the absence he had sensed was the long delay between heartbeats. He ignored the wound and placed both hands on Elianas’ forehead and concentrated on blood flow, on heartbeat and on warmth.

  Elianas’ eyelids fluttered, but could not open due to rimmed ice. He leaned in and blew on them, melting the rime, and the dark man opened his eyes.

  Torrullin rocked back, entirely shocked by what he saw in those dark pupils.

  Elianas groaned, and those eyelids lowered. Covering naked suffering.

  Torrullin swallowed. What had brought it on?

  Lifting a hand to his forehead, Elianas brought away fingers sticky with blood. He frowned, noticing the blood on the snow before him. His frown intensified and he leaned in to scrape at the powder to reveal a murky shape. Scrabbling on his knees, he dug around it, ignoring Torrullin beside him, until he lifted a round object from the snow.

  An obsidian sphere.

  He glanced up then, his own confusion mirrored in Torrullin’s eyes.

  The wind was to
o loud for speech, and mind communication required too much energy. Torrullin gestured and, after a time, Elianas nodded, moving to cradle the sphere under his left arm.

  He held his right hand out to Torrullin, who took them away from that place of terrible cold.

  Chapter 9

  If you would be counted, by others, by history, by yourself, place your mark where it is ever visible.

  ~ Book of Sages ~

  Sanctuary

  Mariner Island

  TORRULLIN CHOSE FOR RECUPERATION the abandoned cottage on Mariner Island, Sanctuary.

  He could not, and knew Elianas would not, bear to see what had become of their home on Avaelyn. Not yet. Perhaps when stronger. That their home was gone, he did not doubt. It, too, was an absence sensed.

  The cottage was uncared for, cold, and smelled of forgotten objects, mildewed wood and fabric. Beyond the rambling natural garden, cliffs fell sheer to the lake below. It was entirely deserted. This was the first place in this time he brought Elianas to, the dark man just returned to a breathing realm, and still a stranger to everyone.

  They did not at first speak of snow and cold and what drove them into those wastes. They did mention the coincidence of choosing the same place, not that either believed in coincidence.

  “Valaris’ polar cap, Torrullin?” Elianas eventually said.

  He moved slowly about the small room, gaze flicking over old couches and a scratched table surrounded by mismatched chairs. He shivered uncontrollably. The sphere he had flung onto one of the couches.

  “A place no one would usually visit,” Torrullin shrugged. “I had gear, though.” He, in turn, tracked Elianas’ movements.

  “Hmm. I meant to go straight to you, but …”

  “Too much thinking?”

  “Along those lines.”

  “Come here; let me warm you.”

  “No. Start a fire.”

  Elianas clutched himself and moved methodically from one end of the room to the other and back, pacing to restore circulation.

  The hearth soon blazed out warmth and benign light. The interior of the cottage was transformed, and appeared almost pretty. Torrullin dragged a couch into position before the fire and sat with his hands extended to the flames. He said nothing further. Elianas, after glancing at the dark object on the other seat, moved to sit. Shivering hands nearly went into the fire in search of decent heat.

  “You fell over and hit your head?” Torrullin murmured.

  A sideways glance. “Not on purpose.”

  A smile bloomed. “Of course not.”

  “An odd thing, isn’t it? Definitely obsidian.”

  “You would know. The foundation of the Dome.”

  “Right.” Elianas was expressionless.

  “It’s manufactured. Strange.”

  “There is no magic in it.”

  Torrullin abruptly leaned back. “Return to the place of your birth and shatter the rock. One of the seven messages. I wonder if this …”

  Elianas snorted. “Of course it is the rock in question. No such animal as coincidence, remember?”

  Torrullin stared at him, unseeing.

  “What?” Elianas asked after a moment, irritation clear in his tone.

  “A lesson, maybe. How to shatter obsidian while maintaining core integrity.”

  “There is no core integrity. It is stone, yes, but is also akin to glass, Torrullin. Shattered is shattered. What else did your angels reveal about stones?”

  Another unseeing glaze ensued. “That stones bleed, suffer, and most cannot hear them. That I must listen. Hear. Damn it, I have to be so-called wary of my point of origin and I must be certain of my expectations.” Torrullin focused. “Is Valaris origin for me, Elianas? Is it the place of my birth? Is that sphere therefore the correct rock to break apart? And what do I expect to have revealed if the object is shattered?”

  Silence followed, and then Elianas murmured, “I no longer hear a ‘we’ in what comes next.”

  “The messages were …” Torrullin stood and stalked around the couch to stare at the sphere. “Fuck this shit. It is ‘we’ always. Stop reading between the lines.” He swore again, under his breath. “We need coffee.”

  He snapped his fingers, an Enchanter’s trick, and held moments later two mugs of the steaming dark brew. He passed one to Elianas.

  “Probably not as good as yours.”

  “Not that I can brew the Fenu blend now,” Elianas muttered as he accepted. His hands still shook markedly.

  Silence ensued.

  “It is my fault, mine and Lowen’s,” Elianas said.

  Torrullin threw his mug against the far wall. Coffee ran in steaming rivulets amid the cracks.

  “Forgive me.”

  “Fuck off, Elianas. I do not want to talk about it, not yet.”

  “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

  “What caused the pain I saw in your eyes out there in the snow.”

  More silence settled into the small space. Then, “I felt removed … from you.”

  “There is more to it.”

  A shrug came then. “It is all you will get. I found you to all intents dead on our kitchen floor. And then - well, there was a clear sense of separation.”

  Torrullin sat beside him. “How did Tannil do that, I ask you? It was not death; it was more like a shove into another realm. And why? He said he needs me to speak his name; why would he attempt to throw me from the arena?”

  “Perhaps to prove to you he can? I think he knew you would be found in time.”

  “There are too many ifs now. I do not like it. And I do not enjoy that it can be that easy to trip me from the stage. He can do the same to you.”

  Elianas muttered under his breath, before saying, “Damn it, make me warm. This fire isn’t doing much.”

  Torrullin ran a hand absently along the black-clad arm nearest him. The action dried Elianas’ clothes and heat penetrated to skin below. His shivering ceased and Torrullin withdrew his hand.

  “What gets me is how speaking his true name helps us? Really helps us, I mean. Seems to me it makes him stronger.”

  Elianas stared at him. “You are already punishing me for Avaelyn.”

  Torrullin frowned. “I am not. And we are not going to talk about it.”

  “You are. I asked you to warm me …”

  Torrullin snorted a laugh. “… and I was not focused enough on you? Gods, that is childish.”

  “Of course, the truth is, had you been focused, I could not have reacted anyway. Lowen and I …”

  Torrullin slapped him, hard.

  Elianas grinned. “There you are.” He leaned back and settled his mug on his stomach, cupping both hands around it. “You were saying?”

  Torrullin swiped the mug into the blaze and drew Elianas up by the scruff of his neck. “Why do it like that?”

  “We did not want you to participate across the distances.” Elianas’ eyes glittered. “She did, after all, owe me one. And it had nothing to do with you.”

  “What are you doing to her, damn it?” Torrullin threw him down.

  “Lowen did this to herself, idiot. A dual road for her now, eternally. She thrives in complication and the twisted nature of relationships the way we do. Surely you understand that?”

  “Have you never loved someone simply, purely, the kind of love created of peace? Of beauty?” Torrullin demanded.

  Elianas’ eyes flashed. A spike of pain appeared, a needle of suffering, before it was gone. “Perhaps the love I bore my father qualifies?”

  Torrullin whispered, “Lorinin discovers absolute truth.”

  Elianas scrambled up and vaulted over the couch. “Do not touch me.”

  “And here, beloved, is the spectre of what it is you hide even from yourself. The great and debilitating secret. The one truth no one may uncover, it is that precious and private.” Torrullin stood up and paced towards the dark man. “Your one pure love, I suspect.” He reached out and hauled Elianas close. “What is her name, my b
rother?”

  Terror flared in dark eyes. “Not this. Please.”

  Torrullin released him immediately and stepped back, breathing in great gulps. “My god. She is your Saska.”

  “Was! Fuck off, she is fucking dead!”

  Torrullin, still breathing in swallows, fell to his knees. “By all gods, and you spent the kind of time with her I lacked with Saska. There was only peace for you, true love, true connection. My presence could not interfere.”

  “You interfered. Always you were there in my mind.” Elianas kneeled also. “She asked about the ghost between us, but I never told her.”

  “Who was she?”

  Elianas shook his head.

  “Elianas, this is the mother of all secrets.”

  A loaded silence ensued.

  Torrullin stated, “I shall reveal what it is I keep hidden from you.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Why not?”

  “I swore never to speak of her. And then I forced upon myself the kind of absolute forgetfulness you endured through the ages. Out there, in the cold, energy seeping away, I could not maintain the barrier and … and …” Elianas lapsed into renewed silence.

  “Grief is new.”

  Elianas offered a quick nod.

  “You helped me with Saska’s passing.”

  “I knew Saska; I saw you together. It isn’t the same. Torrullin, this stays with me.”

  “You must know I will push, I will threaten and I will use whatever tools I have at my disposal to find this truth.”

  “Yes. I wish you would not, but I know you. This is who you are, after all. Despite the ages of forgetting, the real you hankers after knowledge and needs all secrets revealed. So you will push, but know you might push too far. I may not speak of her and thus I shall fight you.”