The Echolone Mine (73 page)

“Why me?”
Elianas shouted, but there was no reply. “Answer me! Why is this
for me to do?”

There was no
answer

Elianas sank
to his knees before Torrullin and put his hands to that warm
stone-frozen face. He stared at hooded rock eyes and tried to hear,
tried to listen, but Torrullin, the prisoner within, was silent and
would remain silent.

“No,” Elianas
breathed. “Not this.”

He craned his
head back to look at Tristan.

Whatever lay
ahead, he realized, would not be pleasant.

He wandered
first around the glass cage.

It had roughly
the same dimensions of the stone henge, but there similarity ended.
The glass was thick and it would take mighty giants with mighty
fists to smash through, or a wrecking machine able to destroy
skyscrapers. It was too high and too smooth to scale, and there was
probably some kind of deterrent device to entering from above … or
below. It would be physically impossible to enter given those
constraints, and then there was the matter of the glass being
entirely seamless; there was no formal entry point either.

He attempted a
spell to shatter glass; it did not work. He tried one able to shift
huge chunks of rock, but the glass was immune. Sound manipulation
had no effect, the vibrations lost in the vastness of their
surroundings. He conjured a wrecking machine, then sent it away
again in disgust; he had no idea how to operate the device. He
attempted delving and met unholy resistance. He flew up and smashed
into a force-field overhead. He hung there a while, throwing spell
after spell to disable or dismantle it, and was forced to
surrender.

All the while
Tristan hung in his bindings.

Elianas cursed
and walked a distance away, hoping to find clarity or inspiration
when viewing a problem from afar, but when he viewed said problem,
he found himself so drawn to the statue that was Torrullin, he lost
cognizant thought for a time.

Sitting beside
the statue, his head sank into his hands. The amber hue behind
closed eyelids darkened under the covering of his flesh and then,
lo, colours began to flash there, as if he viewed a private waking
dream.

He stiffened,
and carefully cupped his hands tighter to reduce the remaining
light and to intensify colour, and concentrated in that manner,
shutting the listener out there from sharing the images behind his
lids. He was not a seer and was not much of a prophetic dreamer
either, yet he knew this could only be construed as a vision, or
someone tried to communicate with him. There was everything to gain
in following the images and attempting to understand them.

Elianas
lowered his head, ostensibly in helpless weariness, and gave every
ounce of his attention to what moved behind his eyelids.

The image that
had startled him into an awareness of something beyond the ordinary
- a series of flashing colours resolving into a bird in flight -
swiftly deserted his view when he concentrated. He saw the glass
cage with Tristan an indistinct form trapped inside it, but the
glass was not transparent, it was a bizarre rose hue much like the
light in Grinwallin’s Crucible Chamber, and inside the air twisted
as if currents of vapour moved within.

He swallowed
and pressed his sight to go deeper. There was a wand in the mist, a
hand swirling it around, and hand and wand moved the air to obscure
Tristan. The rose-hued glass darkened apace. He forced himself in
further, only to have everything obscured. Swearing silently, he
shifted line of sight to find other images, and they came fast and
numerous.

Torrullin, his
eyes wide, stark and frozen.

Tristan, blood
dripping slowly from cracked lips.

Teighlar,
kneeling on the steps leading up to the portico. Teighlar
crying.

He saw Quilla,
long-time companion to the Enchanter, flying across the skies of
Luvanor, his wings fluttering.

Lowen - gods,
Lowen. The Xenian was already old in his vision and still
beautiful. She wagged her fingers at him across the divides of
time, realm and his lack of seer’s talent. Lowen, if he could watch
her carefully and for long enough, would have something to share.
She, no doubt, had a vision in her time and place, and knew not to
doubt it.

After Lowen
there came four swift images of flight. Again there was Quilla
flying and then a spaceship hurtled silent through a star-speckled
vacuum, and shortly after an image of a flock of birds - Ephnor,
sentient birds - took on patterns in their particular sky. The
fourth image was especially pertinent. Two giant Shadow Wings.

He dropped his
hands from his face as the images ceased with Shadow Wings.

Elianas sat
for a long time in stillness, deep in thought.

Gradually an
aware image emerged - the kind created with intelligent reasoning -
and the more he examined what he saw, the more sense it made.

He realized
every move and thought in Lethe had an effect on Reaume, therefore
on the reality they accepted as home.

Elianas
realized something else too, and smiled.

Let the games
begin.

He said
without bothering to raise his voice, “I am ready to deal.”

A man appeared
on the featureless plain, a fair distance away.

He was more
than mere man, but it remained a solid way to describe him. He
wandered casually nearer while Elianas awaited his arrival. Elianas
prepared for the confrontation by rising to stand behind the statue
of Torrullin. He understood Torrullin was in no danger; he and
Tristan were the expendable ones.

The man
approached and as he did so his features became clear. He was a
generic, Elianas saw.

This was a
being that had taken on the most normal and regular features of a
human to seem less threatening. It meant he could walk where he
would not be suspected. He was of average height, which made him
shorter than the three men under his control, and average build -
muscled, without being the he-man type. He walked with an even gait
and was slightly heavy in his steps as if to show he was calm,
reasonable, normal. His hair was at shoulder length, and a rich
brown, a bit untidy. His eyes were hazel, his mouth friendly with
regular lips. No doubt his teeth were white and even, and there
were freckles across the bridge of his nose. His hands were large
with manicured nails. He wore plain breeches, and a cotton shirt,
the sleeves rolled up. A pair of sturdy boots clad his feet.

He came to a
halt on the other side of the statue and smiled easily. Indeed,
white, even teeth.

Elianas
inclined his head. “How am I to address you?”

The man
considered. “Call me Ixion.”

In mythology
Ixion was regarded as the father of the Centuar, among other
things. “Ixion. A strong name.”

“Thank you.
Perhaps I should change it; folk are wary of strong names.”

“They denote
strong personalities?”

Ixion smiled.
“Something like that, but this is not about me, Elianas Danae.”

A rueful twist
to the Danae’s mouth. “No, it is about Torrullin.”

“Very good,
and faster than anticipated.”

“I had
help.”

A tiny
hesitation. “The Xenian seer. She is remarkably gifted.”

Elianas
shrugged and waited.

Ixion reached
out to stroke Torrullin’s stone cheek and then stroked his hair.
Elianas shuddered, but bore it in enforced silence.

The man knelt
to peer into that stone gaze, and said, “He is strong, he continues
to astonish me. Even now he fights to break from the stone. I
wonder, though, if he understands his struggles brings earthquakes,
tidal waves and avalanches to many vulnerable worlds in Reaume. It
is
Elixir who struggles hardest. How he tries to deny
it.”

Elianas
inhaled, hoping he curbed the appearance of shock, and pressed one
leg against the statue. He hoped Torrullin would sense the support
and cease struggling.

Ixion
straightened. He gazed at Elianas quizzically. “You astonish me
also.”

“Really. How
is that?”

Ixion smiled.
He lifted his right hand to Elianas’ face, but the dark man
flinched and stepped out of reach. “That, Elianas; the reluctance
you have within you, it astonishes me. You cannot allow people
close.”

Elianas
glanced down on Torrullin as statue, but did not say anything.

“Torrullin is
your only exception. Had it not been for the Valla, you would have
surrendered to the demands of time in the first age; your
connection is strong and it is highly useable also.”

Elianas said
not a word. He had learned sometimes the best weapon was silence;
others often felt the need to fill it and then said more than they
would have.

Ixion gave a
smile, aware of the ploy. “You said you are ready to deal.”

Elianas
inclined his head.

Ixion laughed.
“Where will silence get you now?”

Thus the
Danae, seeing it was time to take control, commenced the dealing.
“You have no control over either of us when we are Shadow Wings. In
that state both Torrullin and I are closest to the real men we are
without sorcery and power. We are free of every controlling
influence, except the hold we have over each other. It seems there
is no way the hold can be broken.”

“Interesting,”
Ixion murmured, eyes narrowing.

“I think so,”
Elianas nodded. “It is that hold you seek to manipulate.”

“And what deal
are you offering?”

“In exchange
for Tristan’s freedom and Torrullin’s release, I shall swear to
remove his Shadow Wings.”

Ixion was
silent a long time. He paced away, then returned, and paced away
again, twice, three times. When he did come to a halt, it was with
an enigmatic expression.

“You have
misunderstood, my friend. I do not want his wings clipped or
removed.”

Elianas licked
his lips. He blinked. “You want mine.”

“Allow me to
tell you a tale, dark man of the Valleur, and then perhaps we can
deal properly. Allow me to take you back a fair time and a fair few
realms and planes. You have heard of the Kallanon, no doubt. They
are not the focus of this tale, but an example of how travelling
back and forth through time is able to influence futures and
pasts.

“The Dragon
Neolone is a prime example, and one you are linked to. He left his
universe for the one you know and then travelled forward in time
following prophecies until he knew where the source of the One
began, and went back to deal with Nemisin. Thus was the mighty
symbiosis that has governed the Valleur for many ages born.

“But Neolone
was not the only Kallanon to manipulate time and prophecy, was he?
Queen Abdiah radically changed Torrullin’s future after the Atrudis
War simply by pointing out his options. We could argue he in fact
chose the future written in obscurity somewhere, and Abdiah was
merely the instrument.

“My point is,
moving back and forth does affect time. Travelling realms, planes
and universes, the spaces, these affect self also, future and past.
Somewhere along the way the self actually splits. Torrullin, as you
well know, is in danger of fragmenting. You, however, have the
singular and unique advantage of a periodic death; this prevents
you breaking into little pieces, little slivers of self.

“I am such a
sliver, Elianas Danae. My real self has travelled realms and time
far more and longer than you can imagine. I have been back to the
time when every space and universe was still unborn. I have
witnessed the birth of a universe and I have seen and felt the
holiness of Time as the truest sentience. I have gone so far
forward I have seen the Great Contraction commence, the pulling in
of all spaces, the approaching end of everything. I have seen that
it is not an end, and I have gone beyond to experience the newness
beyond all that you know, suspect, calculate and guess at.

“And along the
way I saw and learned and felt and knew. I saw Elixir, I helped
make him. I saw you and, yes, I helped make you. Why? The answer is
so simple, it is no answer. I helped make you because you must see
what I have seen. What I have seen should be shared. Do you
understand? Do not speak yet.

“Elixir was
written; I did not create him from imagination. Torrullin would
have Become purely by being in the embrace of time, as you would
have become Alhazen. I simply eased the way and helped you
understand your powers for you to know you must impose certain
limits upon yourselves. Neither power is particularly safe, is it?
I stayed behind as a sliver to broker this deal. This, Danae, is my
final service to the spaces you inhabit.”

Elianas
muttered, “I thought I knew, but I am way off track.”

Ixion
shrugged. “Actually not; this is about wings and flight and this is
about control. Not mine, but certainly about control and
choices.”

“I do not
understand.”

“I thought you
might not. Allow me therefore to be the one to present to you a
deal. There is room for negotiation, of course.”

Elianas rubbed
at his face with one hand. It had gotten away from him; Lethe had
gotten away from all of them. “Speak.”

Ixion studied
him. “I am able to strengthen Lethe as a permanent barrier between
Reaume and Ariann. Accept my terms and the battle is over. Whatever
happens here afterward will no longer impact on your precious
reality. If you accept my terms I shall leave also, and no longer
have influence, power, control or even generic form to aid me. I
shall dissipate and this sliver will eventually fade beyond even
its own recall.”

Elianas
inhaled. “And in return?”

“Shadow Wings.
You must release them.
You
must release
yours
.”

“Thus you do
want them.”

“No, Elianas.
Torrullin
wants them. You cannot allow him to take them from
you; you must release them before he is able to understand he is
able take them.”