The Echolone Mine (40 page)

More flowers
arrived every minute and a steady stream of well-wishers moved
constantly by.

He sensed
Tristan behind him. “I cannot take more of this.”

“I know what
you mean.” Tristan also gazed at the bright mound on the opposite
rise.

“How is
Caballa?”

“Silent. She
and Saska were friends.”

“Belun is like
that over Declan,” Quilla nodded. “I do not think he has quite
begun mourning for Saska yet. He was always very protective of
her.”

“Quilla, what
of Belun now?”

“No longer
lone Centuar, you mean? I do not think you need uphold Elixir’s
criteria. Take the Dome from Belun and he will die. It is who he
is.”

“I agree.
Besides, without Belun at the helm we would be less effective.”

“It will
return his purpose; tell him soon.”

“I intend …”
Tristan froze.

Quilla’s head
snapped west.

“Torrullin,”
Tristan breathed.

“Barrier
shore!” Quilla shouted.

They were
gone.

Barrier

Below the
great Barrier Mountains along Valaris’ west coast was a long
stretch of beach few visited.

It was hot in
summer, cold in winter and windswept all year.

There they
found Torrullin, lying on his back, his face bleached of colour,
livid scratches on his cheeks, cracked and swollen lips. He wore
almost nothing and had lost every ounce of healthy weight. His
broken arm was purple, the fingers white and stiff.

Quilla fell to
his knees.

Tristan
breathed raggedly and touched Torrullin at his neck. Erratic
pulse.

Grey eyes
opened.

He could not
speak; he blinked empty, soulless eyes.

Tristan did
not speak either, for there could be no words, and lifted the man
into his arms. By unspoken agreement they took him to the
Lifesource Temple. Tianoman was summoned to carry him over, for
Tristan, Immortal, could not.

As Taranis had
once before him, Tristan cursed his need for longevity’s
continuance.

Lifesource
Temple

For ten days
Torrullin did not speak.

He did not
bother to heal himself either, and only accepted food and drink
when Quilla threatened him. He glanced at everyone who came to see
him, but did not acknowledge anyone. Quilla reset his arm, his
heart breaking when Torrullin did not react to the pain. The arm
would not heal properly, but Torrullin did not care. He stared at
the offensive member as if it was another’s and then looked
away.

Tristan
questioned everyone roughly who came across the lightbridge and
then despaired when the message was ever the same.

On the twelfth
day Lowen stood beside him. She, too, could not enter. Caballa came
over and she halted before them.

“He is no
better,” she said. “He is empty. He doesn’t care.”

Lowen squeezed
her eyes shut. “I must go to him.”

“No,” Tristan
said. “You will be a mortal after.”

She nodded and
opened her eyes. “A long time ago the only way to return him
feeling was by invading him.” She glanced at Caballa. “I would jolt
him back by … by …”

“… sleeping
with him,” Caballa said. “I didn’t know and, gods, now it makes
sense, you and him.”

“Yes, but now?
After Elianas? I don’t know.”

“Seeing you,
deliberately mortal, may be the jolt he requires,” Caballa said,
“but the choice is yours alone.”

“There is no
choice.” Lowen stepped onto the lightbridge and started
walking.

“Lowen, damn
it!” Tristan shouted, but she went on.

“It’s already
too late. There walks a mortal woman now,” Caballa murmured.

Tristan
watched her go.

He thought her
extraordinarily brave, and hoped Torrullin would appreciate her
sacrifice.

Quilla was at
the western arch when she got there.

He bowed low,
his gaze filled with sadness and admiration. “He is wandering
around somewhere.”

“Come with me,
please.”

The Q’lin’la
nodded and fell in beside her. Together they wandered through
chamber after chamber, finding him beyond the eastern arch watching
the snows melt from the highest peaks. Spring had come to
Valaris.

He did not
turn.

“Torrullin.”

His head
dropped from the high view to stare straight ahead and he
stiffened.

Lowen approached to lay a hand on a bony shoulder, feeling
his hot skin through a thin robe.
Christ,
he is really ill
.

“Torrullin,
talk to me.”

“Why did you
do this?” His voice was hoarse and strange.

Quilla sagged
against the archway. Finally, finally. Now the healing could
begin.

She moved to
see his face. “Torrullin, she waits to be cremated. We all wait for
you.”

“She is dead
and it does not matter how long she waits now.”

Lowen punched
his arm and pulled at him. “Snap out of it!” She reached up, took
his head in her hands, but he pulled away and moved beyond her
reach. Her hands dropped.

“It will not
work this time, Lowen. I cannot feel anymore.”

“You refuse
to!” She stamped her foot. “Saska needs to be cremated and Declan
needs to be consigned to the deep, and you need to pull yourself
together. Others need you, others love you, and you are hurting
them.”

Torrullin
noticed Quilla. “Thank you for your healing.”

“It is not
enough, my friend,” Quilla said. “I got to you too late; you must
do the rest yourself.”

Torrullin ran
a hand over his broken arm. The cast fell away and he flexed it
whole and healed. “Power,” he murmured. “I had to lose it to
understand it.” He touched here, there, restoring health. He looked
up. “I had to lose love to know love. I had to know death
intimately to understand life. I hate life.”

Lowen stalked
over …

… and he
impaled her with his eyes. “I thank you for this sacrifice, but it
changes nothing. Speech does not restore a soul. Healing does not
restore a heart.” He drew breath. “Elianas is dead and therefore I
am dead.”

She
gasped.

“He was not a
true Immortal, after all,” Torrullin added. “I am bereft.”

“Torrullin …
oh, God, I am sorry.”

He moved
towards the arch. “We shall light the fire for Saska and send
Declan to the water’s embrace, and then I ask that you allow me to
leave you.”

Torrullin
moved past Quilla and walked on.

They found him
in the chamber Quilla placed the bodies of Declan and Saska, in
coldness to preserve them.

“Have the
services been spoken?”

“Yes,” Quilla
replied. “A ship is ready in Danak Harbour for Declan and a pyre is
prepared in the Gosa Desert.”

“Just the
Kaval and immediate family. Danak, one hour.”

Quilla bowed.
“I shall see to it.”

“Thank you.”
Torrullin took a last look at Saska’s face and then pulled the
shroud over. “Is Tristan on the land bridge?”

“Yes,” Lowen
managed.

He walked on
past her.

Tristan
pointed and Caballa sighed.

Torrullin
strode over the bridge and came to a halt on land.

“I do not hear
music anymore.” He walked past. “Danak, one hour.” He vanished.

Tristan and
Caballa looked at each other and then Lowen ran towards them.

“Elianas
died.”

Caballa put a
hand to her mouth. “He will never recover.”

Lowen burst
into tears and Tristan stepped forward and took her into his
arms.

Danak

The beautiful
ship sailed from harbour gracefully.

Aboard were
the Kaval, the three cousins, Assint, Mahler, Rose and Caballa.

And Torrullin,
splendid in his isolation.

He wore the
black, with a long cloak, but had no sword and scabbard. His hair
was cropped short and he was clean-shaven again. There was no
expression on his face and he acknowledged none who came. He stood
over Declan’s shrouded form as if guarding him, but was otherwise
completely still, hands laced behind his back under his cloak.

They sailed
west into deep water and there the sails were lowered, the anchor
dropped. Torrullin lifted Declan and placed him on the plank. He
stood there while everyone, including the captain of the ship, said
something in farewell, but said nothing himself. When silence
descended, he made the sign of a cross over Declan and tipped the
plank.

The shrouded
form slid away and splashed into the ocean. It sank
immediately.

Torrullin
blinked once and then gestured at the captain.

They returned
to harbour.

Gosa
Desert

Torrullin
placed Saska upon the pyre and lit it.

He retreated
to stand where the flames could not get at him and did not move
until she was consumed, along with every piece of wood. When all
was ashes, his gaze raked the gathered, he bowed and was gone.

“Unbalance is
restored,” Tristan said.

Tianoman said,
“I give him one week and then I go after him.” Resolute, he
returned to the Keep.

The others
began raking the ashes together and placed a measure in an urn.
Soon, it was hoped, Torrullin would complete the scattering Saska
wished for.

“If only there
was a body for Elianas,” Quilla murmured. “Then he could finish
it.”

Lowen stood
straighter. “There can’t be a body, because Elianas intends to
return.” She drew breath as realisation dawned. “A seventh
birth.”

Teroux said,
“Surely Torrullin would know?”

Lowen glanced
at the empty space. “I don’t think he does.”

“Are you
certain Elianas will return?” Tristan frowned.

“No. It just
makes sense.”

“Where would
Torrullin go, Quilla?” Tristan asked.

“I cannot
track him,” the birdman said. “Leave him for now. We can attempt
restoration with a little more time.”

“But if
Elianas is returning …” Teroux began.

“… he will be
forced to wait,” Quilla said. “Particularly if it is a rebirth.
There is no rush and Torrullin needs to be alone.”

“He doesn’t
need us,” Lowen murmured. “I am returning permanently to Xen this
day. As a mortal Dalrish I will spend my remaining years among
family.” She smiled. “Come and see me sometime, for I’ll miss you
all dearly.”

“Lowen, don’t
be hasty,” Caballa said.

“I am not.
This thought has been growing since the parting on Echolone and now
mortality has nudged me into a final decision. I regret it not. At
least, thank God, I don’t regret it. Come see me, please.”

Everyone
nodded and Lowen, eyes filling with tears, left immediately.

Caballa turned
convulsively and found Tristan’s arms ready for her.

Gradually the
desert emptied again, until only a black scar remained as evidence
of a funeral.

The shifting
sands would soon cover it.

Chapter 32

Memory is
subjective, personal, misleading, encompassing, and is the stuff of
life. We are because we think, yes, but we are also the result of
the years, events and experiences residing in memory. Without it we
are born anew, and it is hard to start building a personality again
… can one ever be the same?

Book of
Sages

Avaelyn

P
erhaps it was the name that drew
him there - Avaelyn for peace - perhaps as part of grieving or
perhaps it was the isolation.

There were
hosts of galaxies in the universe, untold solar systems and
incalculable planets. Some regions were more populated than others,
such as the great spaces in which Xen, Beacon and Valaris lay,
although they were billions upon billions of sals apart. Akhavar
fell within the massive space, while Luvanor was outside of it.

Avaelyn,
however, lay beyond thought; much like Pilan, but Pilan was
inhabited; Avaelyn was empty.

It was marked
on universe charts, a speck in a corner, and he was fortunate
indeed he possessed the art of transport, for the way to that world
was long and expensive.

Smaller than
Valaris, it yet had three continents. Salty oceans teemed with
life, as did freshwater lakes and countless rivers. Birds flew in
azure skies, nested in mighty trees and mightier mountain ranges.
Great and small beasts roamed the plains, moved through forests and
slunk to waterholes in search of prey. Carnivores and herbivores,
the variety was endless. It was world of contrasts, in topography,
vegetation and climate; it was new daily, and older than
imagination.

Perhaps he
came because few recalled it now, not even the Valleur. Perhaps he
came because it was home, or had been once.

Somewhere up
on a cliff overlooking the ocean, in sync with nature, there his
home had been. Perhaps something remained, for the other he
discovered with Elianas lay only in the Time realm. Only there did
it remain whole. Here time had wrought destruction or a more benign
reclamation.

Perhaps here
he would find a shiver remaining, a tiny sense of Elianas.

Elianas said
to go home if he was lost … and if he was absent.

Torrullin took
the long way. He crossed rivers, hiked around lakes, moved
stealthily through living forests, climbed mountains, abseiled
down, and discovered a measure of acceptance in the hard and
physical nature of his trek. He ate frugally and watched every
creature as if they were created new for him.

He had
succeeded in disappearing, he knew, for none came to bother him
with words and well-meaning thoughts. After a month of seeing no
one, feeling no tell-tale signatures, he finally relaxed.