The Sleeper Sword (78 page)

Was there such
a thing as perfection? He always doubted it, and knew he was wrong.
This was perfection and nothing would ever match it.

Before him
stretched a meandering valley and it had no end and no beginning.
Purple-blue mountains rose on either side, gentle slopes reaching
out to azure skies studded with cotton ball clouds. Birds wheeled
in the air. A river of gold sang soft gurgles through emerald
fields, dainty bridges spanning it at intervals. Gloriously
foliaged trees of every variety hosted choirs of birds, their
colours and melodies blending into blissful artistry. Animals,
great, small, those common to reality, and those long extinct,
wandered unhindered and bothered no one, occasionally letting out
contented snuffles. It was neither hot nor cold; it was not dry as
it was not wet. There was dew, with warmth, and there was desert
pebble, with a hint of cool.

Cottages of
the kind the generous-spirited old women of fairy tales inhabited
nestled among trees evergreen and in autumnal hue. Pretty houses
were shaded under new spring growth or in full summer regalia,
along the river’s edge, in flower-filled fields, and alongside
earthy paths.

And people.
Everywhere. Old, young, alien, familiar, male, female, genderless,
exotic, pale, hairless, scaled, finned, beautiful, ugly, black,
white, pink, tall, dwarfed, skeletal, fat, normal, strange,
recognisable, funny, scary, physical, ethereal, two-legged, winged
… the list was endless. They laughed, talked, danced, sang, walked,
ran, swam, flew, whispered, roared. They hugged, kissed, twirled,
stood, smiled, listened, read, played …

Teighlar’s awe
faded, replaced with concern. How to find Tannil in all this?

He glanced to
his right to find the man sitting at the foot of a tree with a
golden-skinned woman huddled under his arm. The two were talking,
but in them the joy was absent, in them an earnestness that belied
their presence in the realm of eternal bliss.

Teighlar
approached. He understood Tannil’s dilemma, and also realised it
was a form of cowardice were the man to remain here.

As he came
with hearing range he head the woman say, “To stay would be a lie.
You didn’t come to this place in honesty, my love; you’re being
selfish, as I would be if I granted you a place at my side.”

“You admit you
want me here?”

“I do, but it
is not yet time. You must go back, for you are not done.”

“Soon there
will be no choice.”

“That is why
you must go now. Tannil, you won’t be happy knowing you forced
yourself in, and it is unfair to everyone here.”

Teighlar
hunkered before them, drawing their attention.

Anger from
Tannil, and the woman’s eyes widened in shock.

“This realm is
forbidden you,” she issued.

“Why did you
come?” Tannil growled, his tones mixing with that of his wife.

Teighlar felt
time slipping from his grasp. He spoke without greetings. “My lady,
I am leaving again, with your husband. I’m aware I’m not allowed
sojourn here. Forgive the intrusion, but we understood Tannil is
unable to leave.”

She nodded,
ever sadder. “You’re a good man. May you find peace akin to this in
another way.”

“Thank
you.”

She looked at
Tannil.

“I’m not going
anywhere,” he said.

Teighlar said,
“The doorway is open and beyond stands the Enchanter doing battle
with temptation. You know whom he desires to contact, and you know
what seeing this place will do to him. If I don’t exit with you in
the next few minutes, he
will
come, forbidden or not, and
then Hell, in this place, will follow. Do you want that for this
woman you love so much?”

“Tannil, go
now, please. And be happy. Love your new wife as she deserves.” The
golden woman rose, looked at her husband and walked away, soon lost
to the throngs.

“Clarissa!”
Tannil howled, stumbling up.

She was
gone.

“You will pay
for this, Emperor!”

“So be it,
Vallorin,” Teighlar said. “Hate me all you want, but we go
now.”

He gripped
Tannil’s arm, the Valleur began to struggle, but he dragged him to
the place he entered and tossed him through.

And stumbled
after, a universe of regret in his soul.

Tannil’s body
rocked and he opened his eyes.

They spat fire
and he pounced on the rising Teighlar. The Emperor shoved him aside
and crawled from the depression, snarling, “Stop your selfish
behaviour!”

He rose and
stalked from the chamber. He did not look at Torrullin as he
passed.

Torrullin
glared across the space at the furious figure of his grandson.
“Tannil!” His voice was a whiplash of greater anger, relief giving
it impetus. “It is done!”

Tannil inhaled
heaving breaths. “You have no idea what you asked of me!”

Torrullin
crossed the space in huge strides. “Declan, Lucan, leave us.”

The Siric and
the Xenian hurried out, gripping Belun roughly as the Centuar
arrived in the triangular entrance.

Torrullin came
to a halt before the heaving Tannil.

“I do not know
what I ask? Did I ask you to turn your back on a woman you love?
Did I ask that you set aside a measure of peace? Do you think I do
not know how that feels?
Do you?
Did you expect me to let
you go without a fight? Did you really ask I let you go forever? I
love you, Tannil, you are my blood, but beyond that, you are not
done here!”

He quietened
and stepped away. “How much peace would you find there? Will love
for a woman sustain you enough to disregard your son here? Gods,
Teroux would be declared Vallorin! Would you have forced it on him
at this age, as it was on you? In a time of strife? Or was I meant
to rule until he comes of age?”

Torrullin
retreated further. “I shall not rule, do you hear me? And I shall
not release you to a forced death either, no matter your reasons.
If it hadn’t been for Teighlar, I would have entered that realm.
For you, but also for Taranis, Millanu and …” He laughed, angry
with himself now.

“Tris?” Tannil
whispered.

Torrullin drew
breath. “Of course Tris! And had I found my son in there,
I
would not have left.” He choked on the words, but when Tannil,
penitent, came closer, he held his hand aloft. “Or I would have
brought him back and he does not deserve that … gods, why is it so
hard to let him go?”

Deliberate,
determined, Torrullin headed for the crucible.

“
No
!”
Tannil cried and lunged at his grandfather, wrestling him to the
hard floor.

Torrullin
tossed him aside with a wave of his hand and came up growling like
a caged beast. “Stay away if you value your life.”

“
You
value my life more than I!” Tannil cried out in desperation. “Do
you really want to hurt me?”

Torrullin
shook his head as if awakening, and then sighed, a sound imbued
with as much regret as had been in Teighlar’s eyes as he passed
earlier.

“No, I do not
desire to hurt you.” Drawing raw emotions close, he added, “Give me
your word you will not leave before due time, Tannil.”

Tannil closed
his eyes. “I promise.”

Torrullin
nodded and headed for the exit.

“Grandfather.”

“No, I shall
not give the same promise.”

He proceeded,
leaving Tannil alone in the empty chamber.

Chapter
69

Dreams are
problem solvers

Dreams are
healers

Dreams are
magic makers

Dreams are time
movers

Dreams are rift
breakers

~ The Unknown
Poet

Saska was
sleeping when Torrullin slid into bed.

He did not
disturb her, and calmed her when she moved restlessly, knowing her
dreams were troubled by Tymall’s incarceration, and then lay awake
listening to the night sounds of a city at sleep, his mind in
turmoil.

Eventually he
dropped off and for once found it dreamless.

In the small
hours, when all was extraordinarily still, a knock sounded at the
door, hesitant and soft.

Saska was
awake instantly, attuned to unpredictable night-time visits. She
turned convulsively to Torrullin and saw in the dim light that his
eyes were open, and breathed easier.

He touched her
face to reassure her, and rose from the bed, opened the door, and
hunkered. “Can’t sleep, Tristan?”

The boy shook
his head. There were dark lines under his eyes.

“Come on,”
Torrullin murmured and drew the boy in, closing the door. “Jump
in.”

Tristan
clambered into the bed, lying in the middle. He stared anxiously at
Saska.

Her gaze went
from boy to man, but she said nothing, merely took Tristan’s hand
in hers and closed her eyes.

Torrullin
settled in, turning his back on the two in the bed with him to give
his legs space. Moments later Tristan turned and snuggled into
Torrullin’s back to fall asleep immediately after.

He’s
dreaming?
Saska sent.

Yes, but it
will leave him soon.

You’re
dreaming, too.

The same one
as this young man.

Bad?

Bad
enough.

Can I
help?

I wouldn’t
know what to ask, Saska. I don’t know what this dream is
saying.

The Three
Gates?

Unsuccessful.

You need an
interpreter,
Saska suggested.

So it
appears.

There is a man
named Rosenroth on Ymir, a dream symbolist. I know him quite well,
and he’s good. He would help.

A sigh from
Torrullin sounded quietly.
Will you take me to him?

Of course, but
what of Tristan? It’s not safe there.

It is never
safe on Ymir. He stays.

They
slept.

Saska rose
early, the crowded bed driving her out.

Padding to the
kitchen she came across Tannil pacing the sitting room. It was the
first time in days she had seen him. She had not heard him come in
during the night.

He had not. He
just arrived, having wandered the city to clear his head.

“Tannil?”

He started.
“Oh, Saska. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. Are you
all right?”

“Exhausted,
yet unable to rest. Did Torrullin tell you what happened?”

She shook her
head, knowing then it was harrowing, whatever it was. She wondered
if Vania knew, and asked.

“How do I tell
her I inadvertently stumbled into another realm?” Tannil
muttered.

She went cold.
“What?”

“Teighlar
brought me out. How do I tell Vania I nearly died to stay with
Clarissa? How can I expect her to understand?”

Saska took a
breath and released it, then another and let that one go. Aaru?
Dear gods, how close had Torrullin come to following Tannil in?

Close, she
thought, for he had not spoken of it. Should she confront him? No,
let him come to her when he was ready.

She focused on
Tannil, saw there uncertainty, a sense of shame, and deep regret.
For returning, she understood, not for wanting to leave.

“It’s natural
to feel guilt in a second relationship, Tannil. Vania is no fool -
she’ll understand you needed, in a sense, Clarissa’s permission to
love again. You do love her, don’t you? Tell her the truth. I think
she’ll surprise you.”

“You read well
between the lines.”

She managed a
smile. “Years of practice.”

“I wanted to
stay. What does that say of Vania?”

“It says
you’re scared. It doesn’t mean you don’t love her.”

Tannil sighed
and turned away. “Maybe you’re right.”

Saska left him
to his thoughts. Only Tannil could fathom his heart and make
choices.

In the kitchen
she found Curin pale and drawn at the table, fingers curled around
a mug of cold coffee. She started a fresh pot brewing, and
approached the woman. “Curin?”

“I’m sorry,
did you say something?”

“Would you
like more coffee?”

“That would be
nice.” Curin stared at the mug in her hands, set it down.
“Cold.”

Saska removed
the mug and rinsed it. “Can I help?”

“You have your
own unique problems, Saska.”

Saska sat at
the table. “Things I dare not dwell on. Talk to me; I could do with
the distraction.”

“Isn’t it all
linked really?”

Saska gave a
smile. “I guess.”

“I spoke to
Samuel last night, told him what I hope he needed to hear. He left,
Saska. I can’t make it right for him, you know … I can’t ease the
burden.”

“I know.”

“Tristan is
sometimes like a stranger, bothered by something. I suspect that’s
why Torrullin came, to help him … they spend time together …” Curin
rose as the coffee began to burble.

Absently she
poured, bringing the mugs back to the table.

“Tristan isn’t
in his bed and … well, I don’t want to get hysterical like
yesterday …”

“He’s sleeping
with Torrullin.”

Curin stared
at the table and slumped. “I should’ve guessed, I suppose.”

“A bit of hero
worship, Curin - it’ll pass.”

“Will it? Have
you heard how the Senlu speak of your husband? Like he’s a god,
Saska, and these are level-headed people, with many years behind
them. What chance has a boy?”

“Tristan is
Valleur …”

Curin snorted.
“So I’m told.”

“My point is
he’ll come to grips with reality faster. Torrullin isn’t perfect
and Tristan will discover it soon enough.”

“Seems to me,
the more contrary the Enchanter, the more he is revered. It’s
expected of him, you know, to do things differently, to be
destructive, to be arrogant.”

Saska smiled.
“Yes, I’ve noticed that.”

Curin returned
the smile. “Well, I guess the man has more on his mind than most,
and a little tolerance aids him. Who are we to judge anyway? Still,
Tristan is so young.”