The Nemisin Star (44 page)

“Yes.”

“I sense you
are ambivalent.”

“I am thinking
too much, as you said. I find it hard to concentrate on a
child.”

“And yet you
were ecstatic when he was conceived.”

He returned to
the darkening view. “I know. I cannot explain it.”

“Why have we
made a child, husband?” Mitrill echoed his question of earlier.

She answered
about the bloodline, and was not wrong. He could use it. “It is for
the blood.”

“Ah.
Whose?”

He licked his
lips. “Ours. Combined now.”

“You did not
know I existed.”

“What do you
want of me, Mitrill?”

“The truth.
And I want you to recognise him.”

He was
silent.

“Please.”

Tristamil
clambered from the window seat and took the glasses from her. He
placed them with the remains of their meal and then held her hands
in his. Trebac was absent. Standing before her, he gazed directly
into her eyes.

“I love you in
my way and I love our child, do not doubt that. But I need to make
peace with my father. I need to reconcile him to our marriage
before I am able to speak the proper words of recognition. The
truth? I need to know his mind.”

“Why?”

“Because we
have a choice before us. His, mine, even yours. It is so
intertwined with how this babe will be regarded, that the choice
must be clear.” He firmed his grip. “I cannot say more than
that.”

“You have
spoken to Caballa.”

“She confused
the hell out of me.”

Mitrill
giggled. “She does that.”

He pulled her
into his arms. “We will be all right.”

She did not
respond with placating words. “Release the hold on kinfire.”

Tristamil
caught his breath and did exactly that, carrying her swiftly to
bed.

Later, as
night was in supremacy outside, Mitrill murmured against his
shoulder. “Quilla was looking for you.”

“He can wait
until tomorrow.” Tristamil snuggled deeper into the bed covers.

“He came here.
He congratulated us.”

Tristamil
laughed. “And no doubt wanted to know why this happened.”

“He wasn’t
that obvious, but that was why he came.”

He rose up
onto an elbow and looked at her in the flickering candlelight. “Did
it make you uncomfortable?”

“After the way
your father reacted, nothing can make me uncomfortable. Quilla is a
pussycat compared to him. No, I sense he really needs to speak to
you, and did not want me to know how much.”

“Did he by any
chance let slip where my father is?”

“Maybe at the
Lifesource, Tris. Maybe that is why he wanted to speak to you, to
get you to go there.”

He flopped
back. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Mitrill,
right now I would rather snuggle here with you than confront that
man. All right?”

“Fine … but
then …”

He turned his
head.

“You had
better kiss me.”

His mouth
found hers immediately.

The candle
flickered out allowing blue sparks to light the dark.

Lifesource
Temple

Quilla
prepared for refugees.

He bustled
about sorting out beds, food stores, water and ablution facilities,
humming as he did so. Valleur and Q’lin’la had already done most of
the work - he tweaked to pander to his sense of perfection. Not
that perfection would count when many people were crammed together.
The first were expected by nightfall.

Tristamil
found him engaged in muttering over an unmade bed.

“Hello,
Quilla.”

The birdman
straightened. “Tris!”

“Do you know
where my father is?”

“He left
earlier to return to the Keep.”

“I must have
missed him.” Thank Aaru.

Quilla
shuffled from between the beds and headed to an adjacent chamber.
“Come this way. More space through here.” He stood with his arms
akimbo studying the grouping of armchairs. “I do not know how we
shall keep many people occupied.”

“It will not
be for long.”

The birdman
swung around. “Do you know how soon the confrontation will take
place?”

“Not exactly,
but soon, and it will be over quickly.”

“Why do you
say that?”

“My father has
a plan.”

“He always has
plans. What is it this time?”

“I have no
detail. Speak to him.”

“I shall do
that.” Quilla scrutinised the young man. “You seem on edge.”

“Why did you
want to speak to me?”

“Ah, Mitrill
told you I stopped by. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you.
She said she sensed something.”

“She is good
at nuances.”

Tristamil
shuddered. That meant she understood everything Caballa had to say,
and he dared not ask her. “She is Valla.”

“By marriage
and blood.”

A dark frown.
“That sounds like an insult.”

Quilla was
horrified. “Not at all!”

Tristamil
raised a hand. “Sorry. The edge is thin.”

“Talk to
me.”

“Not about
this.”

“Is there
anything I can help you with?” Quilla murmured.

Tristamil
flung into an armchair and rubbed his face. “How old is my father,
Quilla?”

The birdman
paled, but the young man was not looking. “Six millennia.”

“No.”

Quilla
sat.

Tristamil gave
a harsh laugh. “So you know.”

“Suspect.”

“Crap, Quilla.
You are an ancient.”

“What are you
asking?” Quilla whispered.

“Did you see
him back then?”

“When?”

“Mists of
time.”

The birdman
nearly hyperventilated. All gods, if this young man knew this much
it meant only one thing. It meant he would not live long, because
Torrullin was not yet ready for the truth. And Torrullin would see
something in his son that could lead him there. Tristamil would
move on soon, and Torrullin would be shattered. Gods, so shattered,
the real truth might never surface.

“Mists of time
is a relative term, young man.”

“I think you
know what I mean.”

“No, I did not
see him.”

“Did you know
of him, hear of him?”

Quilla sighed.
“The Q’lin’la were attuned to danger after exit from the Kallanon
realm. Names and faces had no real meaning, not then. What led you
to this?”

“Something
someone said. I was not sure how true it was … until you
reacted.”

“And now?”

“Nothing. I
will not tell him and he will be too busy with Margus to see
anything. I just wondered.”

Quilla
wondered what he could possibly say to change it.

Tristamil rose
and stretched. “I must go. What did you want to see me about?”

“Your father
was here last night. I hoped to get you two in the same space. For
some or other reason he is not happy about your marriage.”

“He will come
round.”

“Does he
dislike Mitrill?”

“No.”

“I do not
understand,” Quilla said.

“Soon everyone
will, I promise.”

“Fine, no
prodding, but Vannis is straining. There will be a mighty explosion
from that quarter soon.”

“Fortunately
he will tackle my father.” Tristamil said something in greeting and
headed out. In the doorway he paused. “Quilla, why does he not know
how old he is?”

“Time is a
circle.”

“Beyond
that.”

Quilla
approached and punctuated his words with small hand gestures.
“There is no answer. We do not know what happened to bring on
forgetfulness.”

“You think he
forgot.”

“I do.”

“Does he need
to remember?”

“Again, I
cannot answer. We do not know how deep it goes or what the reason
is. Maybe he is meant never to remember.”

“Going into
another realm with Margus may jog it loose.”

“Then we deal
with it,” Quilla said. “Whatever it brings.”

Cease your
constant prattle!

~ Tattle to his
scribe

Somewhere

M
argus ground his teeth.

No one knew
the Three Voices. No one had ever written it down. If the Enchanter
chose that as the method of destruction, he did not now possess and
would never possess countering magic. He doubted it would come to
that, but it paid to be prepared.

The old sage
in Ceta’s hills died slowly, revealing nothing.

The cripple
woman on Ymir screamed long and loud, and knew nothing.

The young lad
from Yltri … nothing. Pity about him. He was voracious in
power.

Every haunt
for sorcerers had been checked and emptied. His blue eyes worked
wonders - not once was a door closed in his face. Thank Aaru for
the Enchanter’s healing hands.

Every
signature tracked led to nothing. The Enchanter knew the Voices,
and only he did. So be it. He would either die like that or he
would talk the man out of it.

At least he
had discovered something imperative to the approaching dark delve.
He now knew how to take Torrullin with him. Despite claims, that
piece of the puzzle had been missing. That was why he delayed a
final confrontation. Now he needed not be afraid. Not that he was
afraid. The sage on Ceta was a fountain of knowledge. Bless him.
Curse him. Wherever death had taken him.

Now there was
one last matter to attend to. Tymall needed to be prepared for the
truly long view.

Tymall would
become the new Darak Or in his absence, and one day he would be
back, and together they would annihilate the Light everywhere.

The Keep

Tristamil
noticed his father on the battlements, pacing.

He lowered his
gaze to the balcony and saw Mitrill watching the stairwell. His
lips tightened. It was untenable. Before he could decide to have it
out, Quilla alighted in the courtyard.

He was
surprised. They had just parted. “Quilla?”

The birdman
shrugged. “I need to speak to that bloody-minded man.” He pointed
up.

A stay of
execution. “Good luck.” Tristamil headed indoors in relief.

Quilla
shrugged and made his way up the stairs.

He nodded to
Mitrill in passing and went into the stairwell. Torrullin awaited
him with a dark expression when he pushed the door open onto the
battlements.

“Quilla,
Margus has been killing sorcerers.”

That arrested
the birdman. “Why?”

“I do not
know.”

“How many
escaped?”

“Many. Luckily
he does not know the universe too well. I find it worrying,
however; he expends much energy.”

“You expended
energy during the recent healing. Perhaps he thought he could
afford to lose some and not be at a disadvantage.”

Torrullin
swore. “Gods, that makes perfect sense.”

“His mind
works in black and white, Enchanter.”

A slow nod.
“Right. An advantage.”

“Where is he
now?”

“He closes in.
We shall end this soon.”

“Why are you
in a hurry?”

Torrullin
spoke without looking at Quilla. His gaze was on the far horizon,
although Quilla doubted he actually saw anything. “Tris. My son is
up to something I must avoid at all costs.”

Ah. “It has to
do with Mitrill?”

A quick
glance. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Well,
whatever it is, she is his wife now, and you hurt both of them with
this stubborn attitude of yours.”

“I am aware of
that.” A sigh. “Just leave it. It will smooth out.”

Sometimes it
was better to step away. Sometimes advice was the worst criticism.
Quilla moved onto a safer topic. “The Lifesource is ready to
receive evacuees.”

“Excellent. Do
the Elders know?”

“They bring
the first this evening. Late tomorrow we should be full.” A nod.
Clearly Torrullin’s mind was elsewhere. “Tris was at the Temple
earlier.”

“He spent time
at the Pillars of Fire yesterday.” The tone was questioning.

“I do not know
why,” Quilla responded.

“I don’t
either.”

“Enchanter,
what is your plan?”

Torrullin
shifted his hair from his face. “Final resolution in the realm
beyond. Is that not why we went to Cèlaver?”

“I mean, how
are you going to force the issue?”

Torrullin
focused on him. “There is only one way.”

A long
silence, and the two traded glances. Quilla’s moved from
questioning, to horror, to denial. “Death? Yours?”

Another of
those profoundly slow nods followed.

“How?”

Torrullin
grimaced. “How much you do know, my friend, if you can ask
how.”

“It requires
staging,” the birdman snapped.

“Indeed it
does.”

Quilla
deflated. “It requires a massive event.”

“Why is
that?”

“Because you
are a true Immortal.”

“And thus you
prove how much you actually know … and do not share.”

“Who kept mum
until now?” Quilla muttered. “You are the ultimate close one.”

“It takes one
to know one,” Torrullin laughed.

Quilla shook
his head in irritation. “Share!”

“Not yet.”

“What are you
waiting on?”

“Good question. Something is off-kilter, something is missing
- maybe
someone
is missing. I must make haste and yet I dare not.”

“Calm
yourself. Think. In Grinwallin you were made aware Margus returned
in Tymall. You left to avoid a terrible fate for that city, and
proceeded to lead him across the universe - I suspect to force him
into his own form. I cannot fault that, but he does. You returned
to Valaris and, not long after, the meeting in Linir transpired,
confirming Valaris is once more the battleground. Margus and Tymall
separated as you hoped. That night terrible events occurred with
long-reaching consequence, not least of which is your son
imprisoned.