The Echolone Mine (74 page)

Elianas leaned
against the statue. “You have seen him try?”

“I have seen
him succeed. I change past and future by telling you this, because
my freedom from this long and pointless wandering depends on it.
All you have to do is discharge your wings now, before he is
released, and all shall be as I promised.”

“What does he
do with my wings?” Elianas asked. He did not for a moment
doubt.

“He becomes
something you will hate. There will be no love left. I have
deliberately brought about a war between titans to bring you to
this place where you may release your wings safely. I shall use
them in the strengthening of the barrier, and thus remove all
temptation.

“Elianas, this
is not altruism, this is a selfish thing. I want to go. I desire
that you both see and know what I have seen and known. If it took a
war to make this happen, then I do not apologize for it, but,
friend, for you are friend, you must choose and you need to do so
now.”

His wings were
familiar to him, and it was something personal he shared with
Torrullin. How was he meant to let go and let go without due
thought, without adequate warning and preparation? His gaze found
Tristan in the glass cage tied to the torture bed.

“Why is he in
there like that? He does not deserve it.”

Ixion glanced
at the bound man. “Forgive me, but know I shall use him to force
you to do as I ask. I shall torture him, and Torrullin will know
you did nothing to stop it. Tristan Skyler Valla is precious to
him.”

“In other
words, I have no choice.”

“You are able
to choose the simpler and less painful route.”

Elianas paced
away. He went to the glass cage. “How do I release them?”

“I am afraid I
do not know.”

Elianas swung
around.

“I am not
omnipotent, Danae. I have been a witness long and it has gifted me
certain powers of persuasion, but I know not what rules the real
kernel of your power. You must find the way. Only then will it be
worth anything.”

Elianas stared
at him. “How long do I have?”

“Minutes, my
friend. We must release Torrullin soon, for Valaris is about to
suffer. Elixir fights hard to break from his stone prison.”

Elianas leaned
against the glass and watched Tristan. Between devils and demons,
that was where he was, with no time in hand to think.

“I will do
it.”

Ixion seemed
relieved. Perhaps he thought Alhazen would fight harder. Perhaps he
did not realize Tristan and Valaris, in Torrullin’s mind, could not
be harmed. Harm either, and suffer the wrath of gods.

Elianas stared
at the stone statue. “Leave me. Return in five minutes.”

Ixion was
wary.

“I need
privacy to divest myself of my wings.”

“Very well,”
Ixion said.

He vanished
and Elianas sank to the ground wondering if he knew anything at
all.

In five minutes
Elianas wandered through lifetimes.

He viewed the
creation of his wings objectively, and then attempted to understand
how they aided him in realms and planes. He studied Torrullin’s
wings and gradually an image of dependence emerged. He earlier
flaunted a concept of freedom to Ixion, one where their wings
created truer beings, and now realized it was not true. They
required their wings periodically to believe themselves free, and
it was a form of dependence.

In the same
five minutes he again saw Lowen - the older seer - and knew she
told him the choice he made was the right one.

His wings were
less important than the battle raging inside the stone statue, a
battle that wreaked havoc in reality. Torrullin would hate himself
for causing unheralded destruction and would accuse Elianas of
fence-sitting.

Also in five
minutes he attempted to see beyond the obvious to how and why
Torrullin would desire his wings. What would he become, what was
this object of hate? Could he live with that? Or would he hate as
much over the loss of his wings as he would the one who removed
them? Was it even worth considering? Other factors of brinkmanship
already went beyond anything acceptable.

He gazed at
Tristan. The young Valla had a mighty future and deserved not the
ills of torture. He tore his gaze away, knowing his choice was
entrenched. It was not for Tristan, as it was not for Torrullin
either; he would divest himself of his wings because it was the
safest option, safest for him.

On his feet,
roughly equidistant between Tristan’s bound form and Torrullin’s
frozen one, Elianas raised his arms high and flung his head back.
His dark hair trailed downward and then his great Shadow Wings
soared out.

They were
beautiful.

A Siric held
glory in wings, a Centuar arrogant style, and many other races
likewise proved their worth in wings, some feathered, others scaled
and others more leathery, while a few were mere decoration, a
prettiness that was useless.

The avian
species, naturally, used their wings as a necessary tool, and
beauty and prettiness was immaterial to that, and therefore was
their beauty the greater.

Elianas’
wings, as Torrullin’s, were something unique. They were created by
personality, by will, by power, by desire and by necessity. They
were there to be utilized and were thus beautiful in practicality.
They were beautiful too in the power their creation implied. Yet it
was in substance where true mastery lay, therefore true beauty.

Shadow Wings
were exactly that, shadow. They were not tangible, yet could be
seen. They were not real, yet could beat the air and be felt in the
movement of disturbed currents. They were because they had been
made in the imagination.

Wings of
power.

Elianas
flapped his wings out, held them wide, and for a brief time the
whole of all universes held a collective breath. In his hands then
lay great power, the clay to shape every future … and he turned his
back on it.

He released
the will for ultimate control, not in a desire for safety, but out
of love. Those wings flapped once more, a mighty beat of air, and
then they separated from him, lifted slowly away from his shoulder
blades, and his face twisted as he felt them go from him. He
watched them flutter upward independent of him and he saw Ixion
return waving his arms. He saw the generic man grip those mighty
intangible substances and manipulate them into shapes that cannot
ever be described in words, nor should be. He knew those shadows
were being utilized as a barrier between Ariann and Reaume, yet
could not find satisfaction in the knowledge.

All there was
for him then was the wrenching of eternal separation, the pain of
loss.

It would not
ever leave him, the sense of loss.

He put his
back to the sight of Ixion doing his magic, and fell to his knees,
head bowed.

How had he
separated them? Which power enabled it? He fell further forward
until his forehead rested on the damp grass and rocked there. Love.
Would Torrullin understand, would he know, would he agree or would
he be disappointed, unhappy? Gods, did it matter? It was done and
whatever Torrullin thought had no bearing.

Time passed
then he knew nothing of.

Freedom must
be paid for, whether by blood or terrible understanding. Freedom,
true freedom, cannot be borne by weaklings.

Book of
Sages

Lethe

T
ristan opened his eyes, and knew himself
released.

He stepped
away from the device he was sure was an instrument of torture and
approached the glass barrier. As he reached it, it dissolved and he
could step beyond as if it had been a mere figment of the
imagination.

Time had
passed, he felt, an intense period he would not know of. He was
blinded for more than one purpose, he was sure, and his certainty
was borne out when he saw Elianas kneeled in the grass as if dying
slowly inside.

He took a
breath and looked around. Beyond Elianas was a man - the one who
bound him - and beside the strangely normal man was a stone statue,
a statue that looked remarkably like Torrullin. He shivered. It
was
Torrullin, all gods.

Tristan strode
forward, flexing his arms and fingers to restore circulation and to
test inner strength, and called out, “Elianas! Are you all
right?”

The dark man
raised his head. His eyes were empty. “Tristan?”

“What happened
here?”

Elianas pushed
to his feet. “It does not matter now. Reaume is safe. We will be
leaving Lethe soon.”

Tristan
frowned and closed in. He came to a halt before Elianas. “Talk to
me.”

Elianas put a
hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Sacrifice, Tristan. It is done
now and we can go home and deal with the consequences.”

“Your
sacrifice?”

“I believe
so.”

Tristan
studied him and knew there would be no more. “Was the sacrifice the
reason we had to come?”

“Only partly,
thank god.”

Tristan
nodded. He transferred his gaze to Ixion and the statue. “And
that?”

“Meet Ixion,”
Elianas muttered. “Wielder of titans and prisons.”

Tristan strode
over. “Why is he a statue?”

Ixion inclined
his head. “Tristan Skyler Valla, you are as impatient as the Danae,
and as blind, too.”

Elianas
grunted. “You have shared, Ixion; now release him.”

“That I cannot
do. Torrullin must break free alone. You knew this, as you knew to
…”

“Quiet,”
Elianas snapped.

Ixion smiled.
“Very well.”

“Are you
done?” Elianas demanded. “If so, feel free to leave.”

“I aim to be
on my way soon enough,” Ixion murmured. “I need a word with
Torrullin before I go. I shall not tell him about your sacrifice,
Danae. He will know in his own way in due time or you will reveal
it as part of the on-going war between you.”

Tristan, about
to speak, stepped back.

A crack
appeared in the stone and unearthly light streamed out. Elianas
stepped in closer and put his hand boldly into that crack. A moment
after his other hand joined in and he began pulling at the stone to
widen it.

Ixion looked
on, amazed, and Tristan found he was afraid.

The stone
split wide with an audible cracking sound, like stone subjected to
intense heat, and Torrullin fell out onto his face. The stone
vanished and Elianas was on his knees, rolling the fair man onto
his back.

“What have you
done to him?” Tristan shouted, on his knees also.

Ixion
retreated, saying nothing.

Torrullin
opened his eyes and sat up. He gazed at Elianas first, reading his
face and emotions, and then carefully studied his grandson, and
drew a mighty breath.

“It is time to
go home.”

Elianas’ face
shuttered and he rose and walked backward without saying
anything.

Torrullin
watched him and then swung up. “My dreams were filled with
disaster. What happened while I was out?”

Elianas
grunted.

Tristan
pointed. “Ask him. I am more in the dark than you are.”

Ixion lifted
his shoulders, expectant.

“Ixion.”

“You
remember.”

“We met during
the Becoming; I remember.”

Ixion smiled.
“You can do most anything if you can conceive of it, right?”

“Yes, I
remember thinking that. I did not realize I spoke the words aloud
in coma also. Those words gave Declan quite a turn.”

“The Siric
understood better than anyone, have no fear. There is only one
other who would have understood more. No, not the Danae -
Llettynn.”

Torrullin
blinked. “Llettynn is still missed, yes. That Siric had a peculiar
power.”

“Torrullin,
let us go from here,” Tristan interrupted.

“Not yet.”

Ixion laughed.
“Elixir requires words as much as I do.”

Elianas cursed
and kicked at the grass.

Torrullin
flicked a glance at him, eyes narrowing in an unaware kind of
knowledge, and then focused anew on Ixion.

“You are a
sliver of a great being, you remained to aid certain individuals to
knowledge you acquired via the expanses of time, whether folded or
compressed or linear and otherwise. I understand and I even
understand why you seek to share. We are all of us creatures who
require the marking of a passing. What I do not understand is where
you source your power from and why you are not Elixir.”

Elianas folded
his arms and stood braced, defensively, and watched Torrullin as
the conversation unfolded.

“I am not a
great being, Torrullin, merely a witness to the greatness of
others, including you. I have learned salacious tricks along the
ways of time, largely by watching sorcerers such as yourself, but I
am not a sorcerer or not much of one. My power lies purely in my
ability to remember and in the willingness to share what I
remember. I would make a poor Elixir for I need stand back in order
to see and thus remove myself from the ability to fix
anything.”

Torrullin
nodded. “What is it you need to share?”

Ixion shot
Elianas a glance. “The Danae has been told.”

Torrullin
stilled. “And what did the Danae have to do to hear these truths
you wished to share?”

Ixion smiled.
“Those truths lie between you now.”

Torrullin
closed his eyes. “Elianas?”

“Ixion merely
confirmed something we already suspected. About what is beyond
everything.”

Torrullin
opened his eyes, but did not turn to look at Elianas. “That is not
quite what I meant.”

Elianas
shrugged. “Here, that is all I am giving.”

A nod
followed, which appeared fatalistic even to Tristan’s less jaded
perceptions. “Very well, we leave it to another time and place.”
Torrullin addressed Ixion again. “Reaume is safe?”