Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  Anaho had the look of one who had always been old.

  He grinned at their surprise. “I only look old. All my faculties are still in place.”

  Lowen, knowing of the Valleur aging process, asked, “Are you in your final century?”

  He beamed at her. “Pretty one, age is relative. I sometimes think I was born with wrinkles, but I have lived long, longer than the man at your side, and I mean longer than his years, whatever cycles he lays claim to.”

  Lowen glanced at Torrullin, who studied the man carefully. “I would dispute that,” he murmured.

  A chuckle escaped lips surrounded by white whiskers. “Perhaps you have the drop on me, having lived multiple lives in other realms. Perhaps.”

  Torrullin shrugged.

  Anaho spread his hands. “I am able, however, to speak of a time you have no knowledge of.”

  Torrullin nodded. “You have me there.”

  “Why are the Aleru not mentioned in Valleur history?” Elianas demanded.

  “Are the Danae?’ the man came back swiftly. “The Lorin are erroneously labelled as the Golden, are they not? The Lorin are Golden, make no mistake, but Lorin is a separate bloodline the Vallas absorbed. It depends, does it not, on who wrote the histories?”

  Marjori’s inquisitive gaze went from one to the other. She said, “I am receiving the clear impression you are all of one people.”

  Anaho pointed at her. “Now that is the truest statement made here this night. We are all connected. I was born on a world known as Akhavar …” He paused and glanced at Torrullin. “Has it regained its true name?”

  Torrullin nodded. “Recently.”

  Anaho sighed. “Then many events are finally lining up for the final showdown.” He returned his attention to Marjori. “As I was saying - Akhavar is my homeworld. Lady Immirin was born there also, as was Elianas …”

  “I was born on Valaris,’ Torrullin said.

  A bristly white eyebrow shot heavenward. “Really? Keep telling yourself that. My point, young lady, is this. I am of the Aleru line, Immirin is Lorin, Elianas is Danae and Torrullin is Valla and yet …”

  “Valaris is my birth world,” Torrullin insisted.

  He was ignored. “The multiverse regards the four of us as separate races and yet our genesis is identical …”

  Torrullin slapped his hands flat on the table.

  The old man glared at him, all joviality missing. Silence reigned for long minutes, before Anaho felt about his person, eventually finding something in his layers of robes. He smacked a small green sphere onto the wooden surface.

  “Dare you?” he challenged.

  Torrullin stared at it as if it would bite him.

  “Looks like an emerald,” Elianas murmured.

  A bent finger rested on top of the sphere and Anaho flicked it in Torrullin’s direction. It rolled to a stop before Torrullin’s spread fingers. He snatched them away.

  Laughing, Anaho murmured, “When you are ready, then.” He shifted his attention back to Marjori. “We are the same people, yes. It is such a pity the reality is now lost.”

  Immirin snapped her fingers, and two women and one man entered with covered dishes. They proceeded to lay out the offerings in the centre, retreating thereafter. Immirin gestured. “Some of it may appear strange, but the taste will not be too unfamiliar.”

  They helped themselves to steamed ‘cauliflower’, grainy rice and succulent slivers of ‘chicken’. The condiments were spicy, but there were no comparison labels available for those.

  All the while the green sphere, larger than a standard marble. lay accusingly near Torrullin’s setting.

  When Torrullin turned his head to Lowen, Elianas seized it and curled his fingers around it.

  Anaho started talking immediately, ignoring his food. “The memory devices move through time as pretty baubles. Frequently their true value is ignored. They are not endemic to Kathin Arne, although they are rare elsewhere now. That one is old. My grandfather gave it to me.”

  Torrullin watched Elianas’ face, remaining wordless.

  Spheres seemed to change much for them in this present.

  TWO WOMEN WHISPERED together over an ornate cradle, both cloaked and hooded.

  One cloak was blue, the other grey.

  Firelight flickered over them, casting their features into shadow. One rocked the cradle; the other fussed with the bedding.

  “His father refuses to look at him,” grey cloak murmured, rocking away. “He blames the boy for killing his mother.”

  “That is grief speaking,” blue cloak said. “He will soon realise he has a son.”

  “Perhaps. What do we do? Wait until he recognises that? He will have our hides for disobeying him.”

  “He will kill us if this boy is gone when he acknowledges grief has unwittingly spoken for him.”

  Grey cloak rested her hand on the curve of the tiny bed. “You advocate that we wait.”

  “No, I suggest we place him where he will be safe until his father changes his mind.”

  “Where? Who do we dare trust with the life of this child?”

  Blue cloak lifted a tiny pink hand, caressed small soft fingers. “They will call you Lifegiver, little one. You are so very important.” She looked up and firelight caught her tawny eyes. “There is only one we can trust. We must take him from Akhavar to her, rather than have her come to us.”

  “Will Millanu do this?”

  ELIANAS DROPPED THE SPHERE in his shock, eyes stark with revelation. “All gods. How can it be? Everything until now will be a lie.”

  Anaho said not a word.

  “Akhavar was dead when Torrullin was born!” Elianas roared at the old man. “This makes no sense. He has the kin list - he is Danae also!” He hurtled to his feet. “Old man, explain. Perhaps this refers to another, maybe …”

  Torrullin yanked him down, reaching for the green orb.

  Elianas smacked his hand aside. “You do not need this knowledge.”

  “I think I do,” Torrullin said. He lifted the sphere.

  “… have her come to us.”

  “Will Millanu do this?”

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Torrullin forged further into the memory.

  “MILLANU HAS DECIPHERED Nemisin’s runes. She will do this, for she will understand,” blue cloak said.

  “We will alter this child’s future,” grey cloak demurred.

  “It alters far less than drowning him as his father commands.”

  Grey cloak nodded, reaching for the boy’s other tiny hand. “And if his father never asks after him again?”

  “Then he grows up with a mother who has exactly his departed mother’s genetics. No one will question it.”

  “And his father?”

  Blue cloak reached in and lifted the baby boy to her, gazing into his sleeping face. “Taranis is Danae. It will explain enough for him one day to accept.”

  “This requires that strands be inserted to alter the kin list.”

  Blue cloak looked up. “Which is why Millanu is perfect.”

  TORRULLIN OPENED HIS FINGERS and eyes.

  For the life of him, he could not move more than that.

  “They took the boy across time to Valaris,” Anaho said into the silence. “You were born as you believe you were in the cycle Millanu and Taranis met, but it was not your original birth. The memory of before was removed for your safety. Millanu, too, forgot.”

  Elianas spoke for the man at his side. “When was Torrullin born?”

  “In the time of the Lorin,” Immirin murmured.

  “Who was his father?”

  “This we do not know,” Anaho murmured.

  Torrullin stumbled up. “It is the same man who carried this sword through Lorin time.” He slapped Trezond at his side and strode from the chamber.

  Anaho’s eyes rounded and abruptly his chin dropped to his chest.

  Lowen caught Elianas as he was about to launch across the laden table for the old man’s throat. “Not his fault, Elia
nas. Go after Torrullin.”

  He glared at her. “Do you not know him yet? Right now I will not find him.”

  She looked away.

  Anaho said from his lowered position, “A Valleur sword is an extension of the bloodline it belongs to. Always it finds a way to return.” He looked up. “As yours did, particularly as that scabbard was wrought here by me.”

  “I will not argue the scabbard, but this blade was forged in Grinwallin.”

  Anaho raised himself. “It is made of Akhavar metal, and you forget who Grinwallin’s architect is.”

  “You describe mindless fate, old man, going round and around in circles!”

  A sound erupted from Immirin. “Thus we have ever believed. Cycle after cycle, no escape from the same faces, but it is no longer true. Recently something altered the fabric and now time begins to function independently. I believe this is a glorious state of being, for all will eventually be made new.”

  “We entered Grinwallin’s void,” Lowen said.

  Anaho lifted a brow. “To maintain the timeline? Then you must have suffered severe balance after … ah, you did. Thus is the cyclical nature of our destinies opened into infinity.”

  “Mindless fate is no more,” Immirin added.

  “Change is upon us?” Marjori questioned.

  Elianas swore under his breath and strode out.

  Immirin summoned her retainers. “Take it away. It seems talk is more important than sustenance this night. Bring coffee and liqueur.”

  Swiftly the table was cleared until only candles and the small green sphere remained. Lowen stared at it, fascinated.

  As Immirin and Marjori began discussing changes that would possibly affect Kathin Arne’s natural cycles, Anaho shook his head.

  “It will not grant you insight, lady.”

  “Who was his father, Anaho?”

  “It is for him to reveal.”

  “But you know.”

  “Given his sword, yes.”

  “What of the Lumin Sword?”

  “Pardon?” The word exploded from Immirin and she swung away from Marjori. “The ability to forge the Light Blade went into the Dragons’ realm. We pushed it away.”

  “Dragons brought it back to us,” Lowen said. “Torrullin forged it from the …”

  “… twin genesis,” Anaho breathed. “Time has moved more swiftly than we suspected.”

  “What is it with this damnable sword?” Lowen demanded.

  “Contradictory, untrustworthy, a deceiver,” Immirin said.

  “A peacemaker too, my lady,” Anaho murmured. “If Torrullin intends employing it as peacemaker, it will serve him well.”

  “He has employed it thus and it did, but now he will use it to access the Path of Shades.”

  Immirin looked to Anaho. “Will it work? Will it take Rivalen away?”

  The old man blinked. “I had not considered it, but … yes.”

  “I hear a codicil in there,” Marjori stated.

  “Likewise,” Lowen murmured.

  “The Light Blade is elemental magic,” Anaho said. “Much as Rivalen is, and the Elixir part of Torrullin. To employ it as a portal, to seal that portal, the elements must be in place. In a sense, the three must be as one at exactly the same time. Fire needs be present, but I speak not of physical fire. Rage. Absolute confrontation. Water needs be present. The coolness able to extinguish such a blaze. One with the heart’s desire to summon a raging soul from a place of extinction. The Light Blade is forged of fire and water - twin swords created for the opposing personalities Tymall and Tristamil, after all - Rivalen is of fire and water - Jacastu and Immirin - and Elixir has the fire, but has he water?”

  “Elianas …”

  “… is not who will summon a soul from a place of extinction in this case. Torrullin is the water and he must be present when Elixir rages inside him. He must allow his duality full freedom, or fail. Then there is air and earth. Intrinsically, the Blade has these, for thus it is forged, of an earthly substance with the aid of mighty bellows. Rivalen was cursed with earth and sent into air. Elixir is earth and air.”

  “You are saying there can be no witnesses when all their elements are in the same place at the same time,” Lowen murmured.

  “It will be destructive. Any witness present would not survive it, not even a man of energy.”

  “I must separate them.”

  Anaho stared at her. “A conclusion you have already reached, I think, but now you understand the real purpose of your reasoning.”

  Lowen grimaced.

  NIGHT ON KATHIN ARNE belonged in the minds of science fiction writers. Imagine an alien sky and Kathin Arne would be close.

  Elianas breathed in the metallic atmosphere overlaid with the smoke from countless hearth fires, and nearly choked. He realised Immirin in some manner had created a more normal air ratio inside her home and her barrier between it and conditions outside was well designed. He had not marked its presence at all.

  He told Lowen Torrullin could not be found and usually that was the truth when the man sought to come to terms with something complicated. Now, however, as he stepped out, he noticed the fair man leaning against the wall opposite.

  Waiting.

  Well, this was new.

  Much was new in the present. It seemed mindless fate had commenced the retreat already.

  Elianas ambled across, sword and scabbard bouncing upon his right thigh. Legs apart, arms crossed, he braced before the waiting man.

  “I desire to rename my sword,” he said.

  A smile flitted across Torrullin’s taut face. “Excellent.”

  “Kilathen.”

  Torrullin inclined his head. “Eternity. I like it.”

  Elianas rocked once, twice, on his heels. Waiting.

  Snorting, Torrullin straightened. “I have already renamed my blade. Trezond is my choice.”

  “What was it called before?”

  “I do not know.”

  “But you know who carried it before you did.”

  “I sensed a previous owner when I ‘found’ it on Valaris. Now I wonder if two cloaked women did not steal it from him and leave it with Millanu. I do not know his name.”

  “I believe Anaho does.”

  “He is a sword maker. He no doubt knows the lore behind every Valleur blade.”

  “So ask him.”

  Torrullin shook his head. “I prefer the lie I am familiar with.”

  “It is not a lie, Torrullin. It is merely not the whole truth. You were born from Millanu’s body …”

  “… but I am not of her body. Or Taranis. You have no idea how much this pisses me off. I jumped through hoops searching for my father.”

  “You are looking at it wrong. You were born of exactly the same genetics in order to become exactly the person you were meant to be. Taranis and Millanu are thus rebirths. They are your parents and were your parents both. Two wise women knew of this and thus placed you in a future time to begin your journey with inherent safeguards.”

  Torrullin slumped against the wall again, strength leaving him.

  Elianas untangled his arms and moved in. “It does not matter who your father was, for Taranis became him when he reassumed his place on the wheel. A good man, a true man.”

  “You are the wise one. Thank all gods you see better than I do.”

  “The time you spent in this cycle searching for your father was better spent than the time you would have expended searching in ancient time for a man who did not want to know you. And you knew your mother, Torrullin; you were not an orphan from birth.”

  A sigh escaped the fair man. “Very wise.”

  Elianas laughed lightly. “Sometimes.” He tapped Torrullin’s shoulder. “Let us finish this. I want to go home.”

  Torrullin straightened again and stretched long. When he returned to normal, he asked,” Are you more at peace now with Hunarial?”

  “I would like to lynch her murderer still, but otherwise I am fine. Coming here has been my catharsis.
” He jiggled the hilt of Torrullin’s sword, smiling.

  Torrullin drew breath, stepped in close and gripped Elianas’ sword hilt. “Eternity is perfect, but they will attempt to separate us now.” He released and stared into the dark man’s eyes. “Everywhere we go we hear of how others knew we would be together, as if we have fulfilled their expectations at last. What comes after fulfilment?”

  “Change,” Elianas said, unblinking.

  “Someone will soon force us into parting.”

  Elianas invaded his space. “Let that someone dare.”

  “Epic battle, yes.”

  They smiled at each other and then stepped aside to turn together and head back into Immirin’s space.

  Chapter 33

  All colours have a place and each is an aura. Red, for instance, signifies manipulative tendencies, amongst others

  ~ Auras Explained ~

  Millwold

  RIVALEN AMBLED ALONG the line of men and one woman. “You are killers. Assassins. You kill for money. Am I right?”

  None answered. As statues they stood, hands clasped behind backs, legs braced. Eyes stared beyond him, into distance. Cloaks tattered and torn, some newer, flapped in the strengthening breeze. Most colour had been washed from the fabric, leaving original scarlet a faded, dirty rose. Rivalen sneered, hating them for their lack of standards.

  “Why do you don the red when on a mission?” he barked out.

  Again, no one responded.

  “Answer!” He pointed at a man with severe acne scarring.

  “Red hides the blood,” the man said without expression.

  Indeed it did, but there was more to it, except these mindless fools would never comprehend the nuances. The hue was a statement, of intent, of resolve, of reward, and also of belonging. Without realising it, these killers belonged to a clan, and that made them far more effective than an individual calling was able to engender.

  “Then why are you wearing pink?” he roared.