The Echolone Mine (67 page)

Everyone,
including Elianas, stared at him, not believing it for an
instant.

Torrullin did
not believe it himself. He stood. “We go tonight.” He tapped the
table, frowning.

Teighlar rose.
“Take a horse from my stable, my friend, and get lost for the
intervening hours.”

He did not
mention the fact it was snowing, that only white landscape would be
seen, for it was not about a cold horse or a view. It was about
silence and not having to say farewell for an entire day.

“Thank you.”
Torrullin turned to Elianas. “Will you come?”

Elianas had
been asked to share the silence. He nodded. They bumped into each
other as they walked towards the arches. Cloaks swirled as they
stepped out and flapped crazily as they went down the stairs.

Like
wings
, Teighlar thought, his heart tightening with both dread
and pity.
Just like wings.

The past is
with us always. We are the product of experience.

Book of
Sages

Luvanor

Tunin
Continent

F
ew Senlu were out, cold and the early hour keeping
them a-bed.

The city was
white with fresh snow and all was quiet. The sun was hidden behind
snow-laden clouds.

Elianas hiked
his gloves higher, but did not remark on the conditions. He strode
down the tiers in silence; Torrullin had to speak first, if he was
so inclined.

Torrullin held
his peace.

They reached
the stables on the lower tier. The grooms fed and watered shivering
animals. Fires were lit to dispel the cold. They chose two mares,
both chestnut, and saddled them personally. A hand to the flanks
ensured they would cope with the temperature. They mounted and
ambled slowly out the side gate, down the path through the trees
and then onto the plain. Snow lay inches deep.

Torrullin took
them south to a narrow path leading off the plateau and into the
low hills and farmlands of Senlu territory.

They jumped
rushing streams and ducked heavy snow-decked branches. Smoke from
many breakfast hearths lay still in the frigid air. They wandered
further south into the lower forests and exited Senlu territory
into Valleur Tunin. The land barely changed, nor did the
farmsteads.

Depth of snow
increased and decreased according to the lay of the land. Sometimes
they walked carefully and sometimes they broke into a sal eating
canter. Neither spoke.

Silence was
precious.

Around midday
they called a halt in a clearing. A shrine sat in lonely isolation
in the centre of the space, and was the only alteration in the
whiteness.

Elianas
watered the horses, gave each an apple, scratched behind their ears
and then left them to wander among the bare trees. Torrullin wiped
snow from the shrine to see what lay beneath. Elianas closed in and
halted when Torrullin started wiping frantically.

A horse
snorted, an owl called.

Elianas peered
closer to read the writing Torrullin uncovered. He straightened in
understanding. A memorial to Tristamil, Priest to the Valleur,
beloved son to a father standing in an empty clearing in winter. A
silvery-grey gaze turned on him.

He looked
away, finding it too unsettling, and wandered into the trees.

They set off
again soon after and began the return journey.

Grinwallin’s
mountains loomed in the east. The horses nickered periodically as
if in private conversation. Snow came down in earnest, obliterated
paths and reduced visibility to a few feet. They gave the horses
free rein, knowing the sure-footed animals would find their way
home.

As night
approached they were at the bottom of the great cliff wall that was
Grinwallin’s greatest protection. The winding, upward path was
daunting covered with snow. Dismounting, they led the horses.
Battling for traction with every step, it took close to an hour to
level off. Once safe, they remounted, setting off at a snail’s pace
across the plateau.

Lights were on
in the city; it was fairy world beautiful.

It was dark by
the time they found the path to the gate in the city walls. The
gate itself was open, a lantern lit to guide them in. They reached
the stables, handed the two weary mounts over after thanking them
with quiet words and firm strokes. Weary, wet and cold, they began
the long climb up to the portico and the Great Hall.

Neither had
said a word the entire day.

Grinwallin

Teighlar saw
them enter and met them as they passed beyond an arch.

“Eat or sleep
first?”

“Sleep,”
Torrullin said.

Elianas
nodded.

“This way,”
Teighlar said and led them to a passage beyond the library. It led
through a set of private rooms and a flight of stairs led upward.
He pointed up.

“Guest
quarters. It is empty and there is hot water. Shall I wake you in
…?”

“Five hours,”
Torrullin said.

“I shall send
dinner up at the same time.”

“Thank you for
today, my friend.”

Teighlar
looked them over again. “You exude peace. Good. Sleep well.”

He left them
there, and they climbed up.

The suite was
sumptuous and warm.

A massive
bathroom was flanked by two huge bedchambers and an intimate
sitting area. A fireplace hosted a merry fire.

Elianas headed
directly to the bathroom and within minutes water flowed into a
round bath. Torrullin hunkered before the fire, removing wet
clothes. When he heard a sigh as Elianas clambered into the embrace
of steaming water, he collected his clothes, drying them with a
word and headed for the nearest bed.

It was a huge
affair and he climbed in, pulling the covers close for warmth. He
was soon asleep.

Half an hour
later Elianas - bathed, dry and robed - stood at the side of the
bed. He stood a long time and then returned to the sitting room,
where he hauled a couch to the fire. Lying down, he stared into the
flames. Sleep, when it came, was restless and filled with
images.

Torrullin was
awake before the five hours expired, and headed to the bathroom. By
the time a servant entered bearing a covered tray, he was dressed.
He told the man to set it down, thanked him, and went to wake
Elianas.

There he
stood, unable to move. Elianas was one of those rare breeds of men
almost entirely without body hair, and yet not in the least
feminine. He did not need to shave and his legs were smooth, his
skin shining. One arm was flung backward and pulled the robe askew.
A long leg bent up, firelight dancing on amber skin, and his chest
was half uncovered.

It was not
desire that rooted him there, looking down. It was melancholy. When
Elianas moved, covering himself, he looked into dark unreadable
eyes, but could not answer the silent question. He sank down,
putting his face in his hands.

Elianas pulled
his legs away and swung them off. He sat up, pushing hair from his
face. Minutes ticked by and then he rose and went to get
dressed.

Torrullin sat
on, unmoving.

The dark man
returned, checked the tray, and brought it over. He set it down on
the couch between them.

“Eat,” he
prompted.

Torrullin ate,
tasting nothing.

Elianas flung
his fork down and rose to pace the sitting room with his hands
laced behind his back.

Torrullin gave
up eating also and made a move to find his cloak. When he left the
bedroom Elianas was waiting for him, braced, frowning, arms
crossed.

“Talk to
me.”

Torrullin
swung his cloak on, secured it. “There is nothing to say.”

“Your silence
now is different.”

Torrullin
looked away. “Come; it is time. Where is your cloak?”

“Torrullin,
no, not like this.”

A beat, two
and then, “What are you most afraid of, Elianas?”

A blink. “I
told you once.”

“Tell me
again.”

“That when you
fracture I will not be able to bring all the pieces together.”

Torrullin
nodded. “Start preparing for it.”

Elianas moved,
closing in. “No, it has not got that bad … has it?”

Torrullin
refused to meet his eyes. “Of course not. I am being
melodramatic.”

Elianas drew
breath. In a strangled voice, he asked, “What are you most afraid
of?”

Torrullin met
his gaze. “Not being able to find you.”

“I am not
going to get lost.”

Torrullin put
a hand to Elianas’ cheek. “But I may lose you.” He took his hand
away and moved on. “Let us go.” He headed for the door and was
gone.

Elianas found
his cloak and followed, fighting to contain a rushing of contrary
emotions.

The rosy light
picked out the circles on the walls between the columns and
highlighted tense faces.

They stood
around the crucible depression with the cage lifted. Now, at this
point of parting, words could not do justice.

Torrullin
studied every face as if committing to memory and stepped into the
depression. Elianas was in a heartbeat later. Tristan pulled
Caballa briefly to him and joined them.

Torrullin sent
his thoughts out to the magical circles to lower the coppery
cage.

Teighlar
sighed. “Good hunting, brothers.”

Quilla
murmured, “Be careful.”

Belun
muttered, “Just don’t take too long about it, hear?”

Tianoman said,
“Bless you.”

Caballa
shouted, “Tristan, I love you!”

Elianas gave a
lopsided smile, Tristan stared at Caballa and Torrullin bowed over
his hands.

The cage was
empty.

Time to light
the match; those fireworks won’t shower magic in the heavens
otherwise.

Tattle

Glare

T
orrullin used the crucible to locate the portal on
Glare - a small moon orbiting the planet Entor - as Krikian had
marked on his map.

It was a swift
connection, yet not swift enough to take them from the crucible
without the viewing of emotion outside of it.

To those
watching the crucible was empty, but to the three men inside
perspective was different.

Tristan saw
terror on Caballa’s beautiful face. Tianoman’s depth of sorrow
shocked him. It was obvious they did not expect to see them again
soon, and perhaps even expected someone would not return. He
realised it meant him. Both Tianoman and Caballa thought they had
lost him. He tried to shout, but it was evident they could neither
hear nor see. He dragged his gaze away when Caballa convulsively
turned and Tianoman tried uncomfortably to soothe her.

Torrullin saw
Quilla close his eyes and turn and the pathos in the tiny figure
caused him to wish he had asked what form sacrifice would take.
Belun stared after the birdman and then raised one of his huge
hands to wipe his face, a nervous gesture. For Belun, strong man,
it was most telling.

Elianas could
not look away from Teighlar, Senlu Emperor. Teighlar had solidity
of presence, but the man himself always seemed somewhat ethereal,
as if stretched too thin. Reincarnation could do that, Elianas
thought; the bridging of time was too vast. Teighlar’s eyes were
unreadable, yet for an instant he was otherworldly, particularly
when he raised his palm out towards the crucible. He dropped it
quickly and turned away.

After, Elianas
would wonder a long time whether that was a benediction or
curse.

Then the
crucible chamber faded out and a rushing sound assailed them.

A moment later
a tear in the thin atmosphere of Glare was visible, and a moment
after it loomed large … and swallowed them.

Sweet lord and
lady of the swirls! Where am I? Where is this? What is this?

Tattle’s Blunt
Adventures

Lethe

U
nderfoot was sponge, like to Titania, but this was
saffron in hue.

Above streaks
of cloud like strata, and it was red and purple.

There was
nothing else, anywhere.

Tristan
retched. The portal shift upset his equilibrium, and now alien
colours completed the biological disturbance.

There was
more. The air was not benign.

Torrullin
gripped and hauled him up. “Look at me; I am breathing. Connect
with your added biology. Do it now.”

Tristan
swallowed bile, tried to breathe, doubled over again, tearing
through the grip meant to hold him up.

Elianas, while
finding internal control, whispered, “Do it for him. We are
exposed.”