The Nemisin Star (42 page)

He shuddered.
His father never revealed even obliquely what happened there. He
had not mentioned even in passing how the Darak Or met his end,
until Teighlar, in Grinwallin, led the talk to the Three Voices, a
manipulative sorcery that knew not friend from foe. His father’s
horror in discussing it that day with Teighlar intimated how
terrible the event at the Pillars of Fire was. His father had
nightmares about it.

Was Caballa
intending to clarify? And if so, why?

Gods,
speculation got him nowhere. His time would be better served in
putting his thoughts in order. Fate. That was the real issue, was
it not? Had he changed fate in going to Cèlaver? It had, after all,
led him directly to Mitrill, and she knew enough not to deny him.
Was that not fate? How had he then changed anything?

What did it
matter now? The path was set.

He swore under
his breath and sat on the low wall. Mitrill was told to expect the
blue fire - it could have been Tymall she touched first. She was
told to lay with the one who brought the fire, she had not known
why… or … and his head snapped up.

Or she knew
exactly why, and it was not to conceive a host.

He somehow
slotted in with her fate. It was not originally his - he could well
be the accident that fulfilled hers. It meant Caballa was right- he
inadvertently changed something. Perhaps Caballa’s purpose was to
return him to his original path. Question was - what was that?

Thoughtfully
he paced around the empty bowl, seeing nothing.

Originally he
expected to remain as the mask and protector of his twin, because
of the symbiosis. While that symbiosis only become clear in Linir
the night with the swords, he knew in a vague way it was in place
and he and Tymall would go on as before. That was how he saw his
life before the Coming-of-Age ceremony and directly after when
their father maintained the status quo.

The Dragon
Prophecy changed it.

He and Tymall
were physically, emotionally, and spiritually, separated into
different realms of the soul, which, by all gods, altered a future
that was mere existence into a future with potential. He, Tris,
took who he was unto himself completely and it had nothing to do
with his brother. The symbiosis remained, but he could function
apart.

The road
thereafter was as a wielder of the Light. He desired to spread it
out and send it into every dark corner. Standing at his father’s
side, he saw himself as the right hand that would lift the Valleur
into a glorious future and aid all nations into peace. Lofty
ideals, and he never thought about it, and yet that was how he
foresaw the course of his life.

His brother
was a blight occasionally to deal with, but no longer a driving
force. World-hopping to manipulate Margus did not detract; it was
an unholy interlude only. The event in Linir did not significantly
change how he saw his future either; although it did bring home the
unsavoury fact that his brother would have to live.

Even that,
unpalatable as it was, could be borne, for the Light required a
counterpoint.

And then
Cèlaver. He understood just how immortal his father was. And what
would need to be done to prevent Margus revisiting doom on the
future time after time.

Every lofty
ideal had included his father.

Without that
man at his side, ideals meant little. The truth was they meant
nothing. He would rather spend the rest of his days hiding his twin
than spend them autonomous without his father.

Thus he lost
the Light.

And stumbled
into Mitrill’s fate.

How did
Caballa hope to undo it enough to return him to the path?

Why was it
necessary?

And why were
the Pillars of Fire required for this meet?

Fire is
life.

~ Truth

Menllik

C
aballa shared the house with four
others.

Her needs were
modest and thus she preferred a small chamber on the ground floor
to sleep in, another to see visitors and petitioners for visions,
and used the communal kitchen and laundry facilities.

One of her
house-mates died in the Dinor battle and another succumbed to the
Plague.

The house felt
like a mausoleum. She hated it now.

It was time to
move on, find a small place to call her own. As new Elder, it was
expected.

Certain things
had to come to pass first.

She paced her
bedchamber. It was quiet beyond the door. Quiet reigned beyond the
perimeter of the house. It usually aided her in seeking a vision,
but right now it also distracted. She could not help wondering why
it was quiet, why it felt like expectancy. As if someone listened
to her listen.

Gods. Her
sightless eyes widened in shock.

This was a
vision. She was listening to someone listening who was … grunting
in irritation, she shut that off. Distracting.

She came to a
stop and slowly lowered to her knees. Bowing her head, she reached
for the void that was absolute calm, and then she listened … and
watched. When it was done, the silence remained unbroken, but now
it was an empty feeling, frighteningly so.

Most of
Tristamil’s questions would go unanswered.

For there were
no answers.

Corridor
Mountains

Pillars of
Fire

The heat would
sear skin from bone if one ventured too close.

The great
canyon floor was ablaze and the plateau above it desiccated and
sterile.

Caballa
arrived in the region first and chose a place on the western ridge.
From there she could view the mighty Pillars without fear of the
heat, and she could look to the west over lands dormant in winter’s
guise. The cool of winter was spectacular after the heat of the
Corridor, and she often visited for that reason. She appreciated
winter afterward and did not then bemoan the cold.

Another reason
why a relationship with Torrullin would not work, were Tristamil to
ask again. Torrullin preferred winter. He flourished in cool climes
and always would. Perhaps his grey eyes saw further in the tones of
winter. Valleur, generally, sought comfort in warmth … and perhaps
they had yellow eyes because of that choice.

She waited for
Tristamil in the exact place Torrullin confronted Margus more than
twenty years ago. Here they had their final interaction and
confrontation. Thereafter Torrullin committed the Darak Or to the
flames below and Margus sought out the recognised essence of unborn
Tymall.

In this place
was the current situation unknowingly written. She knew that, for
she saw it. Tristamil did not, and she was intrigued whether he
would sense it in coming here. The Light, she was aware, would
know.

Then he was
beside her, having tracked her signature from the Fountain.

He alighted
and gazed around him, grey eyes picking out the beauty of the west
and the searing pillars below. An instant later he frowned in a
manner that set her heart beating unevenly.

“What is this
place, Caballa? Why here?”

“This is where
your father and Margus confronted each other.” The Light was not
lost to him. It was a place to start.

He was silent
and wandered over to a shattered pile of rocks and stared at it. A
finger pointed. “Margus tried to steal my father’s soul from this
pinnacle …”

“… and your
father shattered the perch, thereby causing Margus to lose his
hold.”

“You have seen
it all?”

“I think so,
although I cannot be sure without speaking to him.” She was
surprised he garnered so much from so little, without trying.

“He will not
confirm it.”

Caballa
sighed. “It is too traumatic.”

Tristamil
whispered, “To have one’s soul stolen would debilitate one.”

“That was the
least of it.”

“The Three
Voices. Will you explain them?”

“I do not know
how. No words can describe such terror. Tris, I really do not know
how. It has something to do with masterful sibilance and it causes
monsters in the mind and a host of other manipulations. That is
rumour of rumour, for no one I know living or dead has employed it
and then recorded it for posterity.”

He stared
westward. “Teighlar is one of two I know of.”

“It is partly
why he and your father formed a swift bond. And neither will ever
record it.”

He did not
turn; he wanted to listen to her tone rather than look at her eyes.
“Complete bond.”

“Yes. Two
Enchanters, two horrors, and Grinwallin. They are bound and will be
bound far into the future.”

“What is it
about Grinwallin?”

“Should you
not be asking for confirmation of your father’s future? I have now
told you he will be around.”

Tristamil did
look at her then, but her eyes revealed nothing. Sometimes, he
realised, blindness could be useful. “And why would I need that
confirmed?”

“You want to
play games, I see.”

He made a
sound in his throat. “No, no games. You are saying you know he is
leaving.”

“And coming
back, yes. You needed to hear it. That is the confirmation.
Whatever transpires now, tomorrow or the day after, your father is
the Enchanter and he is returning. His duty to the universe is
incomplete.”

He continued
to stare at her, but it was not to read her eyes. He simply stared.
She could have been a rock. “That word again. Complete. Does
Grinwallin feature?”

“Clever.
Grinwallin is a cornerstone.”

“How?”

“You promised
not to repeat any of this.”

There was a
slight question in her tone and it caused him to focus on her anew.
“I did. I hold by that.”

“Then I shall reveal that Grinwallin is far older than even
the greatest archaeologist would be capable of accurately
determining. Grinwallin was conceived in the mists of time, and
because it was conceived it was real. Teighlar’s kind built it, but
they did not design it. It …
she
was designed by another. And that is what binds
two Enchanters.”

He pondered
that and the answer was not long in coming. “My father designed it.
Caballa, how old is he?”

“Ancient by
every standard.”

Gods. That
changed … everything.

“Teighlar
built Grinwallin.”

“Ninety
million years ago?” Tristamil was confused.

“Close to
those mists of time.”

He swallowed.
“A reincarnate. Like my father.”

“And thus are
they bound and will remain bound.”

“Why do I need to know this? How do I hide this from
him?
Or does he already
know?
”

“There will
not be time for him to see it.”

There was a
message in there, a profound message. “He is leaving soon?”

Caballa
nodded. “He is.”

Tristamil
frowned, attempting to unravel the message. “He will not see what I
know when he returns?”

She did not
say anything. This was one of those questions she simply could not
answer. It was up to him to find a solution he could live with.

He did, but it
was not the truth. The truth would undo too much. “Ah,” Tristamil
murmured. “He will know when he returns from that other realm.
Caballa, what will it do to him to know how old he really is?”

Gods, that was
another one she should not answer. She closed her eyes and
sighed.

“Caballa?” His
voice was soft and reminded her absolutely of his father.

“It will alter
destiny.”

“His?”

“No.”

“Ours?”

She sighed
again. “Not Valleur - others. They will come to regard him as a
god. He will not be happy about that.”

“I do not
blame him.” Tristamil moved then to stand at the very edge of the
ridge. Again he sent his gaze to the west. “I now know my father
returns and I suspect the future is not as tranquil as he would
like after dealing with Margus. And the time for parting is close.
Caballa, I could have figured this out in some way. So, why here?
What is so terrible you …”

She
interrupted him. “Do not assume you are that clever,
Tristamil.”

He frowned.
“You are confusing me.”

“Good. Maybe
you will listen.”

He barked a
laugh. “Fine. I listen, you talk.”

She moved to
stand beside him. “Valaris is a beautiful world. Ardosia cannot
compare. Oh, we had more land and eventually we had more water, and
our world would have rivalled this one sometime in the future had
not Margus taken us wholly by surprise. But, and this is the
telling difference, Ardosia was manufactured, aided, tweaked, while
Valaris was, is and will be a natural phenomenon. That makes this
world very special.

“Notice how
you are drawn to look west, to beauty, to silence, to what is
natural. I do not blame you, but it is time you understand what
lies behind and below us is natural also. Ardosia did not have this
volatility, and that is why it was ordinary.”

She took his
arm and turned him to face east. “Fire creates life, Tris, and it
births worlds. You do not want to see because you are prejudiced by
your father’s demons regarding this place. I do not fault that -
you love him. But I want you to ponder this; Taranis and Vannis
gave much to uncover the ancient seal put in place to hold back the
fire, and Torrullin lost power in undoing the ancient magic. He
landed on this ridge and spent long hours renewing himself before
Margus came.

“Then he
watched trees and all other life burn to nothing in the unleashing.
If you know your father, you must know how that hurt. He regards a
tree as a better friend than a person. He would protect a small
mammal or little lizard as fiercely as he would a man, woman or
child of any race.