The Nemisin Star (59 page)

Le Moss Mar
Dalrish, scientist, smiled a toothy grin of pure pleasure.
“Excellent. When do we start?”

Quilla
considered, and then said, “Now.”

Your light
space is a moment of peace.

~ Truth

Near
Galilan

The Rainbow
pool

T
he sun
was too high for the sprites to dance upon the water, but it did
not matter.

Torrullin saw
them as clearly as if they indeed enacted their daily ritual of
greeting the newborn sun. They appeared even when the orb hid
behind clouds, aware of its presence always, and not even the
frigid winter air changed that.

He came for
the privacy, not the spectacle. Lycea brought him here; nearby his
sons were conceived. She returned to him that time his sense of
wonder, when he thought it lost forever, when he needed it most. It
was a priceless gift and one he had not shared with Saska. He
intended to, for he promised to share everything with her, but life
intruded until the right moment never seemed to come, and a year
ago she would have been suspicious of Lycea’s motives.

Now it was too
late. And maybe that was how it was meant from the start, for he
held this magic as private, special, and it would be surpassingly
hard to let it go. The Rainbow Pool was his alone now, his last
haven, one he had not dared tell his boys about either.

Tristamil had
known, all the years of childhood into manhood, and had not
revealed it to his twin. His coming-of-Age gift told a father, as
nothing else could, that he remembered this pool from his
conception. Rainbows in an urn.

The still
water was deep sapphire, reflecting the glory of the sky, and the
cliffs opposite glinted with diamond sparkles of moisture. Endemic
woods enclosed; green impenetrable walls. Privacy was complete. He
had not entered the water. Lycea was wary of the sheer drop and of
the magic. A desire to immerse in the cold water came, but he shook
it aside. No more change. He admitted ruefully he was more afraid
of the disappointment, to discover that water here was as water
elsewhere.

Torrullin,
your mask is slipping. You are a coward.

His entire
life he had been running. Not consciously, yet it was a part of
him.

As a young boy
he ran from his mother’s eternal youth, and the shame that caused
among his companions; he desperately needed to fit it. Choosing
reincarnation as a way to achieve longevity was a more advanced
form of running. It was the coward’s option to choose death in the
face of Drasso’s extermination, to return when the new order was
already in place. Blaming Taranis for deserting him when he knew
his mother made the choice.

Lying with
Lycea, knowing it would hurt Saska. He had the talents to divine
the truth and yet did not unmask his sons. Allowing Saska to
abandon him; he could have stopped her. Pushing Taranis away,
shoving Vannis aside, was running, running, allowing no one close,
with the exception of Quilla. But Quilla was never a threat, could
never challenge him to a … duel?

Was it about
manhood? Or rather a misplaced notion of it?

Did it matter
now?

No, but fact
was he was now in the mother of all races. This time he ran from
everything. Reminding himself he did this to save humanity was,
simply, the greatest lie.

He was in
turmoil … and Margus prepared.

Distance from
pain was what he sought. At last, the real truth.

There you have
it, Torrullin, pal, that is why you run, that is what you fear
most. Loss. Betrayal. Disappointment. Everything you love, trust
and rely upon eventually turns to ashes.

He dangled his
fingers in the water, lying on his stomach at the edge of the
overgrown path to reach it, and lifted his gaze to skim the smooth
surface. Like a mirror reflecting the heavens. Reflecting his
likeness. His chin rested on the back of one hand and he felt
stubble, evidence of time moving inexorably forward. No force could
stop it. In his arrogance he now sought to manipulate it also.

Soul searching
at this late hour?

Amused and
irritated, he splashed his hand on the water and watched with
absorbed interest as ripples appeared, little waves splashing
against the rock under his hand, larger spirals attaining the cliff
on the other side.

Such a simple
thing. Reaction. No such thing as a vacuum, not even in deep
space.

A giggle
sounded.

He bounded up,
crouched, and nearly pulled his knees from their sockets.

“Only me, Lord
Vallorin,” a little voice piped up, and a bright figure popped into
the branches of a bush next to the path.

“Thundor. Man,
you should not do that.”

“The way I see
it,
you
gave
me
a turn.”

Torrullin was
amused. “Highly unlikely.”

Thundor
giggled. “True.”

“You came
looking for me?”

Thundor
prepared to divulge a great secret. “I live here, Torrullin; all
the Thinnings do.”

Torrullin sat,
for once completely surprised. “Ah.”

“Indeed. We
are those little sprites you saw with the first rays of the sun and
we are those comical little people you think you know. Imagine our
fright when this giant came wandering down the path earlier!”
Thundor laughed and clapped his hands as his jumped to the ground.
“Shapeshifters we are, but most folk never know that.” The round
little man came closer until he stood beside Torrullin’s knee. He
reached out a hand and rested it on the dark-clad roundness. “This
is why we helped you; you could see us.”

“Thank you,
Thundor.”

“Don’t mention
it,” the Thinnings preened.

“Are the
Thinnings mortal?”

“Are you
asking whether we shall be here when you return?” Thundor’s eyes
twinkled. He flicked at Torrullin’s knee and sat heavily; as
heavily as a tiny creature could. “I do not know if this place will
survive unscathed. We may need to move on. Pity. But to answer your
question - no, we are not mortal, but neither are we immortal.” He
clamped his lips and waited, looking up expectantly.

Torrullin
tucked his hair behind his ears and made him wait, and then allowed
his curiosity to win through. “Fine, I will bite. What does that
mean?”

Thundor
clapped his hands again. “Finally someone asks! Well, it is like
this; we are born as the little tadpoles - not frog babies, mind,
that is merely an apt description - and then we morph into those
sprites you have seen, and during the latter stage we learn to
alter our shapes. After a time we proceed to the next stage, a
little death in a manner of speaking, but in reality we attain a
higher level. Would you believe we become dragonflies?”

“Dragonflies?”
Torrullin repeated.

“Aha!
Surprised you! Not all dragonflies are Thinnings, of course, just
as not all Thinnings become dragonflies.”

“And this is
regarded as a higher level?”

“Indeed, yes,
Enchanter. We are free to roam the countryside, never hiding, never
afraid of persecution.”

“Thundor,
dragonflies are preyed upon.”

“The cycle of
life, and a gigantic risk, but many make it through.”

“To what?”

“To mate,
Torrullin, for Aaru’s sake! More tadpoles and the cycle continues.
The dragonflies do not die; they transcend into the vapour of our
magic. Like ancestors. Always there, never forgotten.”

“Unbelievable.”

“To you
maybe,” Thundor said.

“I meant no
slight, my friend. Why do you think you may have to move from
here?”

“We predict a
surge in human births, Enchanter. With the Valleur in exile trees
will fall to the axe. Valaris will change and not for the better.
It will, mercifully, take some time for current hard-learned
lessons to be forgotten, but I am afraid it will happen, and one
day some enterprising fellow will discover this pool. We shall
leave then.”

“Where will
you go?”

“I do not know
… another pool? Another world? Luvanor maybe? An island near your
people? Who knows? Too far for me to see from here.”

“I know the
feeling.”

“Torrullin, do
not fret over the future. What you do the day after tomorrow is
worthy.”

“You have done
some serious eavesdropping, I see.”

“How else
would I learn anything?” Thundor grinned, and was serious again.
“You save the present future, Torrullin, but you will also save the
far future.”

“Please, no
more platitudes.
I
want to move on.”

Thundor
waggled a minute finger. “Fine, but remember it when you are done
with that evil creature. You will need a reason to return, my
friend, and it will not be a desire to revisit your loved ones. You
are to return eventually because the far future will have need of
your particular talents.”

“Goddess, I
hope not.”

“Wake up,
Enchanter! We spoke of cycles, and this is another! You are
immortal, get used to it.”

“You are not
going to mince words, I see.”

“Not at the
thirteenth hour, no. One should always be honest, admitting to
oneself even the most unpalatable truths. Torrullin, you desire to
leave and you regard that as selfish, perhaps even as cowardly
…”

“Somewhat.”
Torrullin snorted.

“… it isn’t.
Realm travel takes guts, so put that stupid notion aside right
now.” Thundor snorted also. “I think you may believe you are
running from something here, and that may or may not be true, but
know that bowing out for a while is not a sin. We all need time
out, Enchanter. How else do we function?”

“And what
unpalatable truth do you have to admit to yourself?”

The little man
clasped his hands over his stomach and dropped his eyes. “I have to
admit that this is the last time I shall have the pleasure of
rattling you.”

Silence. “It
is hard to say goodbye.”

“I shall miss
you; I must admit that as well. Thinnings do not generally like big
folk, but I shall miss you. Hear this; when you come back the
Thinnings will know you, and you may ask our aid wherever you find
us.”

“Thank you, my
friend. Know I am going to miss you as well.”

Thundor nodded
and lost his sorrowful expression. “My people would dearly like to
greet you - may I?”

“It would be a
great honour,” Torrullin smiled.

Thundor
clapped his hands. “Turn around.”

Torrullin
faced the Rainbow Pool and froze in delighted amazement.

Bubbly
laughter filled the air as his attention was first caught by the
beautiful magical sprites hovering with fluttering silvery wings in
receding tiers across the expanse of the water … so many, so
bright, so entrancing.

He was drawn
to the swirling movements in the clear water.

Hundreds of
tiny tadpoles swimming in patterns akin to a dance, but they were
not tadpoles; they were colourful little blobs of movement
propelled by tiny wings, swimming, no, flying through the water
with boundless joy. Little ripples broke the still surface like a
shower of light.

Above this
incredible theatre of magic circled countless iridescent
dragonflies on wings of gossamer.

The
fantastical sprites shifted into various Thundor likenesses, male
and female, and all splashed down laughing uproariously into the
water to swim among the young.

Thundor hopped
onto Torrullin’s shoulder, proud and pleased.

“Thundor,
thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“Knew you
would appreciate it,” the little man whispered.

Torrullin put
a hand up to hold Thundor as he bowed low before the Thinnings
nation, among them expatriates from Tennet. They, in turn, arose
from the water as sprites and solemnly, as one, returned his
homage.

The tadpoles
came together below in the shape of a star and the dragonflies
formed a more intricate one in the air.

Without
warning, they were gone.

Torrullin
straightened with a knot around his heart. “Thundor?” The Thinnings
had vanished from his shoulder.

“Farewell,
Torrullin.” His thin voice came on the air, and was gone also.

“Thank you for
this,” Torrullin said. He drew a breath, took a final look around,
and was gone from there as well. His heart was both light and
heavy.

On the path
Thundor reappeared, his round cheeks shiny with tears.

We are
formed of fairy dust, friend. Mother Universe has magical
pouches
.

~ Tattle

The Keep

T
orrullin returned to find Vannis and Saska packing his
books.

He had
forgotten - all would be lost if left here. “Thank you for this,”
he murmured in the doorway, echoing his words at the Rainbow Pool.
Unselfish friends and family; how blessed he was, and how rarely he
acknowledged it.

Vannis looked
up, “Anything else you want to send west?”

Torrullin
strode over. “Yes, and I almost let it go undone.”

“Trust women
to think of these things.” Vannis gestured at Saska.

Torrullin
looked at his wife. “We would be lost without them.” She quirked a
smile. “Saska, will you put Taranis’ jewellery in?” She nodded and
he bent to the drawers behind his desk and drew Taranis’ diary out.
“Add this and my father’s sword.”

Vannis took
the book and opened it. “It is empty.”

Torrullin
laughed, “No, it’s pretty full.”

“Ah, Taranis’
diary.”

“Enchanted for
my eyes. Pulls no punches.”

“Taranis
didn’t believe in unnecessary tact,” Saska murmured. “A bit like
his son.” She took Taranis’ sword from the cupboard and paused.
“Where’s your sword? I haven’t seen it on you recently.”