The Sleeper Sword (81 page)

“I see that,
but cannot understand why it happens now. I have dreamed this since
my Immortality Ritual, before any of what I said had come to
pass.”

Rosenroth
craned his head forward. “Really? It hadn’t happened yet, is that
what you say? Is that what you
believe
? I would be very
honest with myself, if I was you, or your cage tightens.” His head
subsided.

Torrullin
stared at him without moving a muscle.

Rosenroth
shrugged. “At the time it was prophetic, Elixir. Had you known
then, and heeded, perhaps you would have chosen differently as time
unwound for you. Perhaps not, as fatidic as you became. The dream
then began to haul in your present and long periods would pass
unencumbered by it. It did not actually go away; you were merely
living it at the time. You say in Rayne all things manifested, and
soon after you began escaping the caging …”

“No.”
Torrullin frowned.

“Yes,”
Rosenroth insisted. “There was a time when Rayne accepted himself,
and there was a time, as Torrullin, before the Q’lin’la spoke of
prophecy, you saw a glimmer of peace in your soul. It was hard, but
you found your father and your heritage. Had you then left your
defences down, had you not guarded against disappointment, you
would have seen the tellings as irrelevant, for you would do as
you
would do, and the dream would not have returned. There
would be no cage, for you would not have seen it as one.”

Torrullin
closed his eyes and tucked his hands under his armpits.

“Now it
returns and now it is of the past. It is also, conversely, of the
future. This is your prompting and you should not ignore it
again.”

Torrullin
stared balefully at the old man.

“Are you
afraid of the future, Enchanter?”

“How can I not
be?”

“Why?”

“Another cycle
of death and destruction …”

“That is not
what I meant. Why are
you
afraid of
your
future?”

Torrullin
slammed his hands flat on the table, startling everyone except
Rosenroth. “You want me to bare my soul further? Is that it?”

“Yes. Your
dream is your soul. Do you not seek to understand?”

“No.” One very
clipped word.

“Then you deny
him also.”

A hiss.
“Who?”

“The man with
dark …”

“Don’t speak
of him here!”

Rosenroth
smiled. “He is part of your fear.”

“My
problem.”

“Denial, is
it? Then dream until it comes to pass, Elixir, and take the boy
down that road with you!”

“Do not call
me Elixir!”

There was a
short silence and then the gnarled hand pointed.

“It is no use
shutting it out. You are the Animated Spirit. You are
Transformation. You are Beginning and End. You are the Potion of
Forever. You see with the Eye of Time into the Eye of Eternity.
You. Are. Elixir. Enchanter is not all you are, not anymore.
Elixir.”

Rosenroth’s
hands mirrored Torrullin’s then, flat on the table and straight.
They stared at each other.

“You know
this. You knew when you realised even the invisible realms are
within your domain. Even that, Elixir, which is forbidden.”

Torrullin’s
heart was erratic.
Even that which is forbidden
. “Who are
you?”

It was as if
there was no other in the cell, in the wide universe. Saska reached
blindly for Lucan’s hand and held on, seeking comfort, seeking
solidity from fear. Samuel sat with bent head, scared witless by
the vague implications of what they were hearing.

“We are off
the track,” Rosenroth said, retrieving his hands from the table.
They skewed again as he drew them close.

“Answer
me!”

“I have no
answer to satisfy such as you. I have dreamt you and is as much as
I may reveal. Know I speak with you, not against you, and is the
only added remark I freely gift. Now, tell me why you are afraid of
the future. You have escaped your confines in Rayne, you race
across the plains of emptiness holding something dear and precious.
You are freer than before, yet it follows, the past you have not
atoned for, cannot ever atone for. In your arms lies your perceived
salvation. Why should you be afraid of it?”

“Who is the
babe?” Torrullin cried. “How can I face anything if I do not
know?”

“Not who,
troubled man. What. She is innocence, new beginnings, second
chances, peace, the future. She is not one person, she is a
collective.”

Torrullin
lowered his head and was still. Then, the words torn from his
innermost being, “I hold that? I still have that after all I have
done? How many have died for me, because of me, as a result of me?
How can I hold innocence, peace and new beginnings in my soul? I do
not deserve it. You said yourself I cannot atone. What hope is
there?”

“Your
salvation lies in the courage to enter your temple of dreams, torn
soul. Offer it up, all you have hidden in your deepest recesses,
and look with an empty vessel into that abyss. I cannot tell you
what you will discover there, but know the hill represents height,
a higher plane, a vantage over all that went before, for you. The
mist represents a desire to put aside what is past, as it masks
what lies ahead. In drawing it aside, you achieve both. Step inside
the temple with that you hold close, and leave it there, be emptied
for what comes next.”

Torment.
“Another realm.”

“Yes. It is
your domain also.”

“How
long?”

“Time is yours
to control.”

“I do not know
enough.”

“Then you must
learn, quickly. However, if you know too much you will balk at the
brink, therefore you require a guide. Find she who is versed in the
realms.”

“Who?”

Rosenroth
smiled.

Torrullin
closed his eyes. “Never mind. I know.”

Rosenroth
nodded. Of course the man knew. He fled her once, for she saw
through him, but he could not afford to do so again. Gradually his
face wrinkled anew, his body folding in upon itself. Nearly he was
done, and the energy he spent had tired him beyond previous
clarifications.

“You do not
have much linear time, Elixir. Do this final thing before your son
comes. It is that death you seek salvation for.”

His head
dropped, and then he rallied a last time. “Do this also for him
with the amber skin, Elixir. That time is now near. You need to be
prepared for how much, how very much, you will feel.”

The old man’s
head drooped and a loud snore issued. Clearly he was done.

Ten minutes
passed. Torrullin stared unseeingly at the mud wall opposite.

Rosenroth
snored ever louder, and it was real, not a pretence.

Samuel sat
with patience, trying to wrap his mind around what he heard. It
scared him that Tristan had to be told this. Would the boy know how
to cope with it?

Lucan waited
with impatience, intrigued by what was revealed, wanting to ask a
million questions.

Saska studied
her husband. She realised she did not know him. She doubted anyone
could ever know him. The Animated Spirit, sweet god. It was a state
of godliness, and she could never keep pace with that. She wondered
who could.

Perhaps
Elianas? The man her husband dreamed of?

Was he the one
Rosenroth referred to?

A further
three minutes passed and then the guards, hearing loud snoring,
entered and lifted the old man reverently and carried him away.
They were alone.

Torrullin
snapped into awareness. He looked to his wife, his own self
withdrawn. “Your friend Axel comes and is distraught.”

Thankfully
latching onto something real, she stumbled up. “His wife is in
labour. I told him to send for you if there are complications.” She
paused and watched him, also detached. “Will you come?”

He rose. Yes,
already it changed.

“I’m a healer,
right? If you ask me, therein lays the remnant innocence of my
black soul. Dare I deny it?” He laughed. “Of course I’ll come.”

Chapter
71

A dreamer is
logical

A dreamer is
insane

A dreamer is
strange

A dreamer is
opportunistic

A dreamer is
fatalistic

~ The Unknown
Poet

Samuel was
like the walking dead, everything about him blunted under the
tension of floods of emotions.

Saska took one
look after leaving Avar’s confinement chamber and bundled him off
to a bed with Axel’s assistance. The proud father of a newborn boy
could not do enough to show his appreciation, and told all
naysayers to back off.

In the lull
between Samuel’s exodus to sleep and Saska negotiating a short
stay, Torrullin informed his wife he was headed into the city.
Lucan went with him.

They returned
in less than hour. Saska watched them walk into the compound, and
smiled. Too quick for sex, and their evident relief revealed they
had not enjoyed their little foray. Putting on a stern face, she
met them at the door of the hall used for meetings.

After seeing a
baby born, she had re-engaged with her husband. Like to Lucan,
questions could wait.

“Have fun,
boys?”

Lucan blushed
and slipped past her, and Torrullin smiled as he pulled his wife
into his arms.

You know me
well enough to realise I wanted to do something venal to forget
what Rosenroth said. I did nothing, I give you my word.

I know, my
love.

His arms
tightened about her and then he let go. “How is Samuel?”

“Confused.”
She took his hand and walked with him to a nearby cottage. “He’s
not asleep.” She left him there.

He was being
managed, and only Saska was permitted that freedom. He knocked on
the door and a middle-aged Ymirian male drew it open
cautiously.

When he saw
who it was, it opened wide.

“Thank you,
friend, for the life of my daughter Avar, and that of my first
grandson. We have named him Sannir.”

“It was an
honour to serve your house, friend.”

The Ymirian
bowed. “My name is Katsular. Please come in.”

“Thank you. I
hoped to check on Samuel’s progress,” Torrullin murmured as he
stepped into the cool interior. Mud walls were fantastic
insulators.

“He is not
well, I think. His mind is like a water mill, tiring him,” Katsular
whispered. “I also think he hasn’t slept in a long while.”

He led the way
to a dim room in the back of the house where the sun had minimal
impact, leaving it almost cold.

Samuel lay
fully clothed atop the covers of a single bed and his eyes opened
the moment he heard movement. There were dark circles gouged into
the tender skin of his cheeks, and Torrullin drew a breath. The
torment in those eyes was like to Tristamil’s on his final day. It
felt as if he looked at his son.

“Leave us
please, Katsular.”

When the
Ymirian left, Torrullin sat on the bed. A hand smoothed the damp
hair from Samuel’s forehead. “You look so like him right now. My
god, it’s as if Tristamil is in this room with us. My grandmother
Mantra told me you would return to me the essence of my beloved
son. How right she was.”

Samuel gripped
Torrullin’s hand. Trebac sparked. “I am not your son, my Lord, and
can never be.”

“I know.”

“Good, for I
can’t bear that burden also.” Samuel struggled up and sat leaning
against the wall. “Last night I accepted who I am.”

“I felt
you.”

Samuel nodded.
“Then you know how hard it was. Curin, well, she spoke to me, told
me I had to stop fighting. She said a lot of things, but mostly she
told me to be Valla … like Tristan.”

“I struggled
with my humanity also, Samuel. I thought I would lose it.”

“Did you?”

“I realised
‘humanity’ was a term that could be applied to all races. It is
your morality, your charity, your tolerance, your family values,
those generous spirited things that define a good man or woman.
Others copied the term, seeing in humans something lacking in
themselves, but they copied more than a word - they took on the
state. You see, short-lived life spans condense those emotions,
highlight them to others, and others learned the lesson. You won’t
lose your humanity, Samuel, because it is greater than being
human.”

“I get that, I
do, and it helps, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“Did I lose my
humanity? I like to think I still have it in me. Did I lose what is
human? Yes. A long time ago.”

Samuel had not
expected that. “Gods, how do you cope?”

“It was my
choice. I don’t need to cope.”

“Still …”

“It’s no use
pulling this thing apart, kinsman. I am not you; I have no need of
what is human inside - those genetics are limiting. You are another
matter; you will not forgo anything unless you force it, and
there’s no reason on earth you should have to.”

“I don’t need
feel guilt?”

“Guilt?”
Torrullin was astonished. “Whatever for? You are human also -
celebrate it! And embrace the Valleur without diminishing your
past.”

“What about
longevity? Will I outlive my wife, and by how long?”

“I’m afraid
you will, and you will appear to age slower as well.”

“Dear gods,
Curin will leave me. There’s no way she will accept growing old
when I do not.”

“Samuel,
Vannis fell in love with a human. Raken. He was twelve thousand
years old with a good few millennia left in him, and she had a life
expectancy of seventy, eighty years. It worked for them, even when
she showed the lines of maturity and he changed not at all. It may
not be that way for you and Curin, I realise, but don’t give up on
it yet. Love overcomes, does it not?”

“Does it? I’ve
never put it to the test.”

“I have, and I
still wait on an answer.”