The Master Mechanism

PROLOGUE

GHOSTS CRANED OVER HIS shoulder; he was certain of it. He felt the cold of dead breath upon the fine hairs in his neck; he heard the whispers of cloth against denuded bones, a sound much like chitinous scratching. On the edge of perception, he was aware of swaying shadows.

When he looked, there was nothing to see.

When he listened, utter silence pressed upon him.

When he held his breath, no mouldy sighs stirred the tiny antennae upon his skin.

Yet he was beyond certain ghosts watched him as he carefully created new words from old ink upon ancient parchment. He hoped the watchers were his ancestors. Benevolent witnesses to his task, perhaps present to aid him in finding the perfect verses.

The words needed to record not only events, but also the emotional state inherent in the timing. He stared into the distance beyond a candle flickering in the night breeze, to see other miniscule amber flames, some far, some near. It helped him not at all, serving merely to underscore how swiftly stanzas eluded him.

Gazing down, older words reached out to him, recorded by the many scribes of his bloodline before him, the verses calling to him, whispering insights, revealing to him an answer. Perhaps the ethereal watchers visited this night simply to draw his attention to the words he now viewed. Maybe they were present to tell him it was not yet an auspicious time to add his thoughts as lyrical images to the expansive legend contained within parchment pages older than time itself.

Yes. Something remained undone in the wideness of Time, and it needed doing before he would be permitted to complete his marks upon the ancient material.

He sensed his guests depart. A sense of satisfaction wafted around him, validating his insights.

Sighing and shifting in his scratchy homespun robe upon an unforgiving wooden bench, he gazed into distance once more, wondering when Torrullin Valla would act in such a manner as to finish what he started the moment he drew his first breath.

My Lord Torrullin, I await you. My words are for you.

Part I

MASTER MANIPULATOR

Chapter 1

Listen with ears and heart and then take the time to dissect the new information. Do this whether confronted by a family secret, a friend’s confidence, a stranger’s unwitting slip. Do this especially thoroughly when you are surrounded by your enemies. All has meaning; your task is to find the straight in the twist. Only then might you act in a manner to solve an issue.

~ Book of Sages ~

Somewhere

SEVEN CHILDREN PERCHED ON a mottled granite slab, cross-legged, hands relaxed on knees, entirely unmoving and expressionless. As if formed from waxen rock. All wore scarlet, silken tunics that shivered, folded and snapped in the breeze, the only movement. Also the only sound.

Unnerving indeed. Torrullin crouched before them, scrutinising each in turn. All were blonde and blue-eyed, all boys. Flawless skin. Angelic perfection. Uncanny.

Where was this? Moments ago he sat on a log under a canopy of trees with Elianas and Teighlar, about to have a picnic lunch, and now he was here. How? Why was he alone? Where was Elianas?

You must activate them.

Torrullin glanced up as the birdman stepped in beside him seemingly from the ether, and he frowned. How had Quilla suddenly appeared?

Activate? I do not understand, Torrullin murmured. "Where is this and why are you here?"

He noted how he and Quilla, like to the living statues, threw no shadows. A sun glared from on high, and thus there should be definitive marks on the ground, but he could not now deal with that strangeness as well. He faced the children again.

Deal with the matter at hand, Torrullin. Activate them.

His heart thudded once. Fine. The matter at hand. This matter then. Elianas and Teighlar, perforce, needed to wait. Activate them, you say. Are you suggesting they are manufactured?

Manifestations.

Torrullin rose and stretched. I hesitate to ask, birdman.

Quilla smiled. And yet we shall not leave without solving this mystery.

Leave from where, Quilla?

The birdman lifted his chin. Here.

Fine, my feathered friend, keep your secrets, but tell me this. Manifestations of what or who, and how is this perfection even possible? Torrullin waved in the general direction of the statues. I have never seen a real child this unflawed.

It is unnatural, isn’t it?

Quilla.

A shrug shook the birdman’s tiny form. "I do not quite grasp the how, but as to what? For it is what. Quilla looked up at him, squinting in the bright light. These are voices trapped in form, unheard voices - more correctly, unheard messages."

Which implies thought, people …

People long passed on, having left behind messages so important they have manifested in the guise of youthful angels. Before you ask why the angelic state, because even a man dead to every feeling will pause before this perfection, and thus there is a chance he will stay long enough for these voices to be heard.

Torrullin stepped closer to the children. Reaching out tentatively, he touched the hand of the central boy and, when nothing happened, rested his fingers there, closing his eyes. Faint resonance, he murmured moments later, and removed his hand and opened his eyes. Not alive, but not dead either. How do I activate them?

I assume Elixir needs to listen.

A baleful stare speared the feathered being. I hate it when you do that.

I know, Quilla laughed.

Listen, Torrullin muttered, and hear. Important messages? Damn it, you know how paths alter when something untold is made tangible.

Yes. And yet here we are.

And we shall not leave without solving the mystery, as you say. Curiosity gets us into trouble every time, and still we grab the cathron by that tail.

Quilla quirked an eyebrow.

Swearing under his breath, Torrullin folded down to sit in a cross-legged manner to mirror the boys’. He did not say more and Quilla did not interrupt the process either. Absolute silence descended, broken only by faint breath, and the only movement was sweat tracking lazily over cheeks.

Both were spooked when the seven angelic manifestations abruptly slapped palms against chests. Their hands froze in that lifted position.

Oh, my, Quilla breathed out. He cleared his throat. They are activated.

Torrullin stared at the central figure. I have not done anything yet.

The feathered being closed in. Perhaps it is proximity.

And perhaps it is dumb luck, Torrullin countered. Whatever it is … He paused and the skin of his face pulled tight. I hear something. He stopped again, before glancing up at the birdman. You are right. They whisper of words needing sharing, a set from each. He laughed under his breath, a forced sound. In order, left to right.

Then you need listen; I shall wait without interruption.

Torrullin sent him a glare and faced forward.

MY NAME IS UNIMPORTANT, listener; I am a vessel placed and no more. Please do not speak; your task is to listen. We begin.

Before Time was measured there was chaos. All was random and nothing was known. Naught was fixed and the laws of science possessed no bearing. Or thus you of the present believe. Understand this; there is still chaos, and all remains random, for such is the way of immensity. Science, in your age, proves the need for unpredictability. If all was measured and fixed and explainable, this realm and others would not long survive. This immensity of time, energy, matter and vacuum requires chaos to survive. Do you understand? Chaos is the spark of life.

You seek a way to live with it and thus you measure and investigate and record and hope for solutions in unpredictability. It is not wrong. Your questions engender chaos and thus life is sparked. Challenge is a spark. Answers lead to more questions.

Always question, listener, but listen also to the silence. Many answers lie in silence. Silence, in all time and realms, is the one true beat of perfection. Tick, tick, time moves to the beat. To end Time, scream into silence.

I am done.

WHAT IN THE NETHERWORLD does that mean? Torrullin thought as the boy on the far left abruptly slumped forward. Stone slumping? Nothing in this scenario followed the laws of science.

He understood about all existence needing chaos, but sensed also there was a larger message on offer.

MY NAME IS UNIMPORTANT, listener; I am a vessel placed and no more. Please do not speak; your task is to listen. We begin.

I am here to remind you of the singing stones. Because you hear me, you have heard also the tales stones are able to tell, their secrets and their prophecies. Have you listened well, man of time? The true measure of sentience lies in the building blocks of mountains, in the smooth orbs in ancient watercourses, within the mighty boulders that defy all wind and water to remain ever steadfast upon the plains of worlds. Yet, in all that randomness, there is one stone that was, is and will be. It came first and it will be last. Find it if you seek peace.

I am done.

GODS. The second boy folded and Torrullin was unmoving. This was a morass of information - where were they leading him? Was it for him or would any listener have sufficed?

MY NAME IS UNIMPORTANT, listener; I am a vessel placed and no more. Please do not speak; your task is to listen. We begin.

Long ages have we waited here in this space residing only in the sorcery of the true undead. You must be the product of a life undimmed eternally by death, or you would not hear us. There will be few of your kind and always you will be drawn together. Like to like, for immortality requires witnesses and only others of your kind have the ability to be there.

Long ages ago another undead understood the need for a witness. You have now become the witness for it that placed us as vessels in this space. There was nothing and no one in the time of the Original and now the words and ideas of that time are no longer lost.

The Original fashioned the first stone, became the beginning and therefore also the end. Do not mistake it for godhood. The Original was not God in any form of the faiths of past and present and can never claim to be Mother Universe. The Mother is omnipresent, was then and will be after breath has fled in all spaces. Yet, by virtue of measurement, the Original stands in Time akin to a god. To know it, to undo its presence, hark to the words of the companions here. Be wary, however, of your point of origin; be certain of your expectations.

I am done.

IT IS MINE TO DO, then. A life undimmed eternally by death.

Torrullin did not blink as the third boy fell face first into the dust. He shifted his gaze to the central figure of perfection. Inside, resonance shuddered his every atom.

MY NAME IS UNIMPORTANT, listener; I am a vessel placed and no more. Please do not speak; your task is to listen. We begin.

A timedancer is one able to bridge the flows. A timedancer cannot die; he, she or it simply becomes something hard to hold and view … and hear. They will name our kind as Timekeepers in the fullness of the ages and perhaps the term describes us to a greater extent than dancer is able to.

Yet dancer is what we are. We shuffle on the boards, and we pirouette on the points. We leap into space and return with a flourish to sweep into grace or stillness. We do this upon the beats of silence, and we do so upon the thumps of cacophony, the music of realms. The first beat was silent; the second so thunderous worlds shuddered into being.

How, you ask, and I, Original, employing this mouthpiece of silent words, shall answer. I created the means to dance; I fashioned a clock. I commenced the measuring of chaos and thus forged the path for those who would come after. For you, listener. Do you understand? At this point in your long ages others whisper you are akin to a timekeeper and you shake your head in denial. You are such. The choice lies before you whether to take up the mantle. It is a lonely road, know that.

I am done.

TORRULLIN PINCHED THE BRIDGE of his nose. Every word, he now understood, was relevant. Had not a man claiming to be the new Timekeeper stepped from a crucible only days ago? A man claiming also to be his grandson, Tannil Valla?

The central boy flipped backwards, and his heart thundered as he shifted his attention to the next form of angelic perfection.

MY NAME IS UNIMPORTANT, listener; I am a vessel placed and no more. Please do not speak; your task is to listen. We begin.

Blood flows sluggish when metabolism is curtailed, and stones possess no metabolism. Place your ear against a rock, however, and if you know how to listen well, you hear blood race within the confines of particles so dense it requires extremity to break it apart. Have you seen a stone shatter, listener? It would be a remarkable lack on your part if your answer is negative. Assumption, therefore, informs you have viewed the phenomenon.

Have you, however, seen the stone’s life force bleed away swiftly? A river of death. Have you heard it scream as its blood vanishes into the dust of destruction? Assumption informs in this you may still be lacking. Return to the stones of your birth, aspirant keeper of time, and shatter the rock. Watch. Listen. And discover the miracle. Discover also the horror of nightmare.

I am done.

TORRULLIN FROWNED. STONES OF his birth? Valaris? Or Akhavar? Why? What was the grand ideal these messages attempted to impart?

The fifth boy stiffened into rigidity, hands clenched into fists.

MY NAME IS UNIMPORTANT, listener; I am a vessel placed and no more. Please do not speak; your task is to listen. We begin.

When realms harked to the advantages in measurement, a means to instil order from chaos, others followed the Original and became known as Timekeepers. Always there is a Timekeeper. Every Timekeeper possesses a name unique to set the ages of that name’s mastery apart from others. It is rule, listener, true royalty. Perceived as both royal and godliness by those far lesser.

Some rulers are benign and gift peace and prosperity, and others are cruel and bring forth war and suffering. A Timekeeper is no different. Some are benign, others not. Understand this - chaos requires both. Chaos permits all. Yet order is there also, hand in hand with a good man and a bad one, a great ruler and a tyrant. Order resides in a name. Control resides in a name. When a Timekeeper freely divulges a name, control passes to the one it is gifted to, but when a Timekeeper forces his true name from another, control remains his. Here is the codicil; control may remain with the Timekeeper, but freedom is yours.

I am done.

THIS BOY, SECOND FROM last, slumped forward as well. These were the insights to aid in foiling a monster, he realised, and no doubt it would become clearer with due thought. Ha, he hoped so. He hoped as well that Tannil was not a monster because … no, now was not the time to delve there.

One message left. Torrullin moved his head to view Quilla to see the birdman studying the boys with a thoughtful expression. Inhaling, he faced the final child.

MY NAME IS UNIMPORTANT, listener; I am a vessel placed and no more. Please do not speak; your task is to listen. We begin.

Mine is a message of hope. Mine is a message of despair. In hope there is despair, and in despair hope. A witness is imperative for the telling of events into future time and yet a witness can remove the ability to act freely. Your witness is your equal, is he not? Your witness curtails you, does he not?

True destiny lies only in separation, listener. True destiny is personal, without witnesses. The Original knows this. Can you state his destiny was the creation of a clock? That is not a secret, after all, for here you are, the witness. What, therefore, was his true destiny, the event no one anywhere across all time is aware of?

Friend, is it not perhaps your fate to find that same anonymity? Hope is attaining it; despair is leaving your witness behind. Hope is striding through time with your companion; despair is your failure to attain destiny. Choose well. I am … no, I am not done. A final prompt; hark to sacred space. It is denser than the strongest stone, it bleeds profusely. It reveals only truth.

And now I am done.

TORRULLIN’S HAND LIFTED TO his chest. Sacred space. The heart. Seat of all emotion. As the final boy crumpled, he bent his head to stare at the bright earth. Elianas. Sacred space. Witness. Hope or despair?

He looked up when Quilla cleared his throat.

Can you tell me, Enchanter?

A shake of his head ensued. Not yet. Maybe never.

An explosive breath erupted from the birdman, and then an arresting arm wave followed. Look, Torrullin, at how they lie. They collapsed in such a way as to form a word. Do you see it?

He could not care, for too much roiled in his mind, but he rose to stand beside the birdman and studied the forms. Yes, he supposed one could read their twists as glyphs, but why be bothered? Only an anal mind would seek such depth of nuance … and one could not call Quilla anal. The birdman noticed portents because it was his speciality; because he could see, he thus did.

What word do you perceive?

Quilla frowned up at him. You do not see it?

I have not the energy for unravelling, Quilla. Just tell me.

"It says Rivalen."

Torrullin stared at the forms anew. Yes, that was what their twists suggested. What does it mean?

The Square of Round.

A laugh erupted from his dry throat. Nonsensical.

Unless a Timekeeper seeks a name.

Torrullin’s head jerked downward.

The birdman smiled up. Sounds a bit like the mathematics of an ancient clock, does it not? Rivalen, the round square.

Torrullin’s attention snapped back to the row of inanimate boys. Gods, there was the true message. Was that it? If he named the one calling himself Timekeeper, freedom would be his. Did that mean freedom from Elianas also?

He stared down at Quilla again. You should not have told me. I do not want this information.

A frown flitted across those innocent features. I do not understand.

Never mind.

Torrullin, do you not see? This is why I was summoned here. To read the name.

If name it is, Torrullin muttered. Where are we exactly?

Here, and Quilla waved and vanished.

Chapter 2

Find a path through the maze or you are eternally lost.

~ Awl ~

Sanctuary

The Villa

ROSE SAT OUTSIDE IN the manor garden with Teroux, her thoughts far away. His golden hair moved in the breeze, occasionally brushing her cheek. She held his hand, absently stroking. Clouds moved in the higher wind, but the lake was smooth. Birdsong sounded both near and far off. Beyond the periodic flash of feathers, not much else was active. Her thoughts roamed ever further.

This is our home, right? Teroux asked, his tawny eyes uncertain.

It shook her, for it was the first independent thought he had offered. For days now she had been at his side continuously, praying for a spark to show, for a sign he knew her still. His memory loss was encompassing, according to the best healers at the Mariner facility, and yet she hoped he would recognise her.

She focused immediately, her free hand tucking strands of her fair hair away behind her ear. Yes, this is our home.

And we are married, you say.

Rose drew breath. Maybe this time he would understand what it meant.

He did not. What is married?

Lowen answered for her, to her relief, as she approached from behind them with a loaded tray, having heard Teroux’s question. Ice clinked in crystal goblets. Married, Teroux, is holding Rose’s hand and feeling comfortable while doing so.

He blinked owlishly at her. If I hold your hand, are we married also?

No. We would not be comfortable. Lowen set the tray down on the low garden table.

When she straightened, Teroux held his hand out to her. It was steady, his fingers slightly curled. This was another independent act. It boded well.

Take it, Rose said in a strangled voice.

Drawing in a somewhat shaky breath, Lowen lowered to sit beside Teroux on the bench they shared, and gently took his hand. She offered no words and did not attempt to stroke the way Rose had been doing. She merely waited for him to react. Rose waited also, her expression guarded.

After a few moments Teroux withdrew his hand, and said, It does not feel right.

Rose shifted to him with a hopeful gaze. Teroux smiled.

Perhaps something of what lay between them from before everything changed was now returning. Tears hovered on Rose’s lashes as she took her husband’s face in her warm hands.

Lowen left them to it and wandered down to the lake.

BRIGHT SPARKLES, SILVERY FISHES. Reeds flecked green and brown reached up to the heavens, sawing in the light wind, and insects flitted amongst them in winged silence. It was a good day on Sanctuary, neither too warm nor too cold.

Lowen glanced over her shoulder once to see Rose and Teroux with their heads together; excellent, a new start there. She had expected it to take much longer for their connection to return. She wandered further along to sit on a trunk where she would not be visible to them.

There her thoughts fractured. She recently discovered it was difficult to hold onto a thought long enough for it to lead to an internal discussion, even if that ‘discussion’ led to trouble. The chatterbox inside her head that she sometimes was forced to deal strenuously with when under stress was too silent. There were simply too many decisions to make for any single one to take root. Yet it needed to begin, this process. She could not hide at the villa forever in the guise of helping Rose and Teroux.

One by one, then.

Do I need to separate Torrullin and Elianas?

Yes.

Why?

Because I am the only one able to do so.

No, Lowen. Why must you separate them?

They need to function as individuals.

Why?

I do not know!

Did not Tarlinn tell them they need to function as a team?

Yes! And yet …

How will you separate them?

Sex?

Not enough. You need …

But she knew what she needed. She hoped she had made the right choice, chatterbox or not. Lowen scrubbed at her face. By all gods, who had given her judgement in this? Many would be hurt if she followed this path, including herself. Still, action was by far better than waiting for something to happen.

Luvanor

Grinwallin

ALIK BENT OVER MASSIVE tomes, every muscle aching from sitting too long at a desk. Building page by page alongside her right hand were her study notes. She hoped Mikhail on Sanctuary had time to concentrate on studying also, but his situation could not be her focus at this point. She looked up, bleary-eyed, when a shadow fell over her.

I did knock, Lowen smiled.

I wouldn’t hear a thunderbolt right now. Thirsty? I could use a drink. Grinning, Alik stood up with a groan, stretched - her joints cracked audibly - and led Lowen to the kitchen while pulling her red hair into a ponytail.

She was comfortable in her mother’s house now, and had made her peace with her mother’s death, but she missed that Kylis, the man who investigated the circumstances of her mother’s passing, could no longer visit. He became a good friend and now he, too, was gone. Kylis was on another journey, probably still tracking royalty. She smiled to herself as she thought that. Kylis probably tracked ancient Luvan royalty in the realms out there.

Retrieving colourful tumblers and a decanter of amber liquid from a cabinet, she headed to the table where Lowen already sat. She poured. Drank. Poured again.

So, it’s like that, is it? Lowen laughed.

Yes. Every word on those pages begin to transform into inky worms. Need a break, my brain is about to explode. Alik sipped more decorously and scrutinised Lowen, noting her dark hair was somewhat windblown. Why are you here?

Lowen shrugged and focused her incredibly blue eyes. I’m merely checking in. Teroux and Rose have finally made a connection and do not need me around right now. She offered a sheepish smile. I guess I simply needed a friendly ear.

Is Teroux’s memory coming back already? Alik frowned. Lowen, I doubt it is possible and especially not yet. He needs months of therapy and still there is no guarantee.

Alik the doctor,’ Lowen smiled, and then spread her hands. It’s not memory; it is more that he begins to act like himself, feel the way he did before. At this point they are mere glimmers, but Rose needs something, however small, to go on hoping."

Alik nodded her agreement. Have you seen Mikhail on Mariner Island? Is he studying, do you know?

She, Alik Sirdann, and Mikhail Bannerman were medical students together at the Thisseldrum campus, but both were removed from there before they were able to sit for their finals. A special dispensation from the dean allowed them to do so in a few days, hence her punishing study regime.

From what I have seen of that young man, he will do extraordinarily well in his finals. He is doing fine, Alik, Lowen murmured, and so are you.

That’s good. I miss him. We studied better as a team.

Would you like to work on Sanctuary with him?

Red tresses flicked as she shook her head. I would like to open a Healers House here in Grinwallin. Besides, Mikhail loves me; better for him to go forward without seeing me every day.

Lowen nodded, asking, Do you love him?

Once I did, maybe, on Thisseldrum, but even then, I knew longevity would be a problem in a relationship. I can probably deal with it, but Mikhail will eventually become disillusioned when he can no longer keep pace with me. Alik shrugged. Longevity is a problem, period.

Lowen sighed. I hear you.

Alik stared at her, hands clasped around her drink. Is that why you chose to accept a return to mortality when given the chance?

In a nutshell.

Do you regret it?

LOWEN STARED INTO ALIK’S glowing emerald eyes, feeling as if the woman had placed twin spotlights upon her too-complex life. Looking down to avoid that scrutiny, she lowered her head to the table and murmured, I regret it, yes. It was the first time she had admitted it to anyone, especially herself.

Alik remained unaware of the greater nuances that had shaped so many lives before she entered the arena. You know great sorcerers, Lowen.

I do not dare approach them with this. They will know I am again immortal, and they might grasp how it came to pass. This secret needed to be kept; not her renewed status, rather the method to attaining it.

Why not? Alik asked. If you regret it and they are able to help …

It’s complicated, Lowen interrupted.

Well, then ask Elianas and Torrullin to help you.

She did not respond. To speak of those two was to admit they had gifted her the return to immortality. A shiver raised the hairs on her arms.

Alik frowned, attempting to understand. Or are they too close to this?

Ha. One reason. Yes.

Which one do you love, Lowen? I saw you on Sanctuary with Torrullin - some kiss that was. And thereafter the incident with Elianas at the Palisade when he kissed you. It confuses me.

Love? Both. Neither. It’s complicated, as I said. Lowen studied the younger woman. I have seen how you look at Elianas and who can blame you? The man is perfectly edible. Stay away from both of them. Firstly, I will really take issue with you over Torrullin …

Sounds like a choice.

Maybe. Torrullin will use you, Alik, beware. Elianas is kinder, but he cannot give his heart.

Why not?

Complicated.

Elianas isn’t kinder, Lowen. I thought you understood that.

Silence followed those words. It was an insightful remark. Are you innocent, Alik? Lowen finally asked, having realised Alik was correct. Elianas smiled more, but he certainly was not kinder. It was the kind of insight an innocent would garner.

I’m not sure what you mean.

Soul, heart, spirit.

Depends on your criteria. Alik rose abruptly, a peculiar look in her eyes, something akin to mistrust. I need to rest now to be fresh for tomorrow’s stint at the books. It seems you could do with downtime also. You are most welcome to stay, and we can talk more tomorrow.

Swirling her tongue over her teeth, Lowen nodded. Rose and Teroux needed more time alone. Thank you, she murmured.

The Dome of the Kaval

TRISTAN SKYLER VALLA STOOD at the console of lights in the Dome, one hand resting upon Knowledge. He attempted to gather a sense of the information Elianas received and subsequently imparted to the console upon the man’s first visit to the Dome’s Gatherers’ Circle.

Belun, in Centuar guise after sleeping upstairs, ambled over. He transformed into his humanoid form as he moved, in order to utilise his speaking voice. There is nothing to find; I have checked.

Tristan pulled a face and stepped away from the dais.

Belun continued, When the Dome was damaged in the place of confrontation, I sensed energy was leeched and energy was also loosed to repair the breech. Tristan, I am a creature of sorcery and that makes me part energy, correct? I used that connection to read Elianas as he expended his vitality in the repair.

The Centuar wandered to the ogives and ambled along the perimeter, halting at every arch to look upward. He meandered back to the pristine white floor that was the Gatherers’ Circle, and stood there staring up at the generic ceiling of the present. Due to the quarters installed overhead for the Kaval, yesteryear’s mosaic artistry would be hidden from view had it still existed.

Tristan waited him out, sensing the Centuar needed to make a point, something relevant.

Before the mosaics of Taranis’ time, there was transparency overhead, much like it is now for the accommodations up there. Now it is crystal, but then it was leaded panes of obsidian. When Tristan lifted an eyebrow, he added, The glass substance created by swiftly cooled surface magma. Tristan nodded and Belun went on. "Despite the dark aspect, one could clearly see the stars when looking up. My point, though; the entire Dome is constructed of igneous rock, the building materials of Elianas’ time. He may claim he erected this Dome for Torrullin, but he built also something lasting because he needed to endure, like to the pyramids on Earth, the great sundial on Mon Unon, the Valleur sacred sites …"

You are saying Elianas is the Dome.

No, Tris. I am saying the Dome is a manifestation of Elianas. Perhaps a failsafe, in order to endure.

Tristan frowned. Perhaps, but why is it relevant?

The Centuar eyeballed him. You tell me, Kaval leader.

Valaris

Menllik

HIS NAME WAS HALON, and he was sworn in as one of three new Elders during the conclave at the Keep the day before. Him, Artorin and Khy. Artorin hailed from Akhavar’s ranks, Khy from Luvanor, but he, Halon, had been visiting Galilan - Valaris’ capital city - when Menllik was utterly annihilated. Nuked, as the humans said. He was thus the sole survivor of a city wholly destroyed, the sole choice for an Elder from Valaris to fill the required fourteen for this world.

Halon stood at the edge of the enormous black scar in the earth where once a city rang with noise and music and laughter, where once buildings of great beauty embraced a golden nation.

Here, alive now in memory only, he was born. Here he had been taught by his elders and the Elders, and here he had played pranks on his friends and generally made mischief as he grew to adulthood. Here, too, he had fallen in love. And here he had lost the only person in the entire universe who mattered to him. Her name was Sunling and she would never again cast light into darkness with her extraordinary smile.

Life was not worth living.

Why, then, had he accepted the duty of Elder? Because, all gods help him, it gifted him the power to seek justice.

Behind and around him a tent city squatted on the edges of the destruction. A low murmur of many voices sounded, along with the occasional exclamation. For the most part, scientists from Xen III were encamped here, come to aid the stricken Valleur.

Halon grimaced. They sought to heal this land, to create anew the fertility that would allow the Valleur to raise a new city. Noble of them indeed, but in his opinion this scar should remain, a mute and continuing accusation to the reality of the power plays between those who did not give a damn for others. The powerful included Bannerman of Beacon, General Horatio, and Torrullin Valla. Two of those were now dead. President Bannerman died in a nowhere realm, as did his psychopathic war leader. It meant the one remaining needed to stand as proxy when justice was served.

Torrullin Valla was as guilty of this atrocity as were those who sought to manipulate the weak to their own ends. Torrullin Valla had to be made to see the error of his ways. He would ensure Torrullin Valla stood as proxy.

Halon gazed up at the blue, cloudless sky overhead, allowing his thoughts to find freedom in the beauty and space there. Careful planning, that was what was needed.

HUNKERED IN THE SHADOW of a tent at the western edge of the encampment, another watched the lone figure standing where the poison in the earth began. He knew of the conclave and thus the man’s risen status.

Valleur were fortunate, he mused, in possessing added biology that permitted them to breathe less than wholesome air. The ability came to that figure’s aid now, as it did to him here in the shadows. The humans from Xen III were forced to wear strange gear to cope with the atmosphere of this region. It would not be long, though, before it changed; he overheard the scientists discussing a time frame and the efficacy of their chemicals. A day, two, and the air would be clear enough for Valaris’ human leaders to enter with offers of aid also.

None of that featured; he was more interested in what roiled in that figure’s head out there. The man, newly sworn in as Elder, sought justice for what had happened here. He sought justice for the terrible death of the woman he loved. Justice, however, was but a tiny nuance removed from revenge, and already the man thought of causing harm in some form to Torrullin Valla.

Halon was a man able to be used.

Chapter 3

Tracker, hunter, guide, scout, huntsman, spotter, trailblazer, navigator, pathfinder, the same? Or are they different?

~ Tattle’s scribe ~

Avaelyn

Healer’s Facility

TEIGHLAR LICKED HIS LIPS of the last lunch crumbs and rubbed his hands to clear them also. That was outstanding, as always. Glad I came, if only for your treats. He grinned at Elianas, the one who had prepared the picnic lunch. So, why have you two summoned me to this rural discomfort?

Torrullin blinked as if something had surprised him. He gazed around, his expression guarded, before his shoulders unexpectedly slumped. Swallowing, he murmured, To discover what Alexander Diluvan knows.

Elianas frowned. Torrullin, what is it? I have the distinct impression you believe you were somewhere else.

Torrullin closed his eyes briefly, before reopening them onto the forested realm of the Healer’s Facility. He shrugged. "I was somewhere else. A vision, I think."

And? Elianas demanded.

I need to examine it first. Teighlar, it is time to talk.

The Emperor spread his hands. I already told you everything.

Elianas, after studying Torrullin’s expression a moment more, said to Teighlar, You lie. He repacked the lunch basket, leaving a flask and mugs out.

As Elianas proceeded to pour measures of his Fenu blend, Torrullin added, Tannil tells us you possess knowledge of something that binds the then and the now, Teighlar, and that creature is about to go to war with all of us. I say we have to uncover what you uniquely possess there in that head of yours. Whether or not you are comfortable with sharing.

A shrug erupted from the Emperor, a swift shoulder movement. Fine, I hear you, but I shall only say more when Elianas explains how it is he is weaponless in these dangerous times. He patted the empty scabbard at his own waist. I was on my way to see Alik when you called; my daughter does not like weapons. He stared pointedly at Elianas.

The dark man left off screwing the cap back on to the flask, lifted his right hand to flex his fingers and held, an instant later, the unmistakable length of metal and magic that was the Lumin Sword. He, in turn, stared at Teighlar.

I thought you relinquished that in Nowhere, Torrullin said after a moment, his voice hoarse.

It remains a part of me, Elianas responded.

Man, worlds should bow to you. You are dangerous. Lumin Sword, Shadow Wings, Warlock accruements, and a name that is a word of power. Teighlar maintained the staring contest with the dark man.

Elianas rose and held the legendary sword out to the Emperor. "You once kept this safe in Grinwallin’s crucible. Do so again. I have relinquished it. It will not harm you; take it."

Teighlar did not move.

Casually dropping the blade at his feet, Elianas went on. As for Wings; I have no Wings. Torrullin is able to confirm that. He sat and reached for the flask. Having dealt with it, he passed around filled mugs. The Danae word of power is mitigated. It may now be employed in a manner lumin kindred will applaud. He sipped with evident pleasure from the hot brew he cupped in both hands.

Really. Torrullin stared at him, his coffee untasted.

Much that was hidden saw the light in that nowhere space, Torrullin, so, yes, really. Skynis repented after Kalgaia, and it has reverberated. Elianas shrugged and glanced at Teighlar. As for Warlock accruements; I am still working on them.

Silence ensued. Torrullin and Teighlar looked at each other, and then Torrullin lowered his gaze to his hands and Teighlar stared at the sword at his feet in fascination.

The Senlu Emperor set his mug aside and reluctantly retrieved the blade, sighing when the contrary object did not react to his touch. It had been known to do so. Exhaling again, this time an extended breath, he proceeded to sheath it at his waist and then tried hard to ignore its presence. To that end he seriously sipped at his coffee, looking at no one in particular, at nothing precisely. Folk should destroy the dangerous object, in his considered opinion.

Your turn, Emperor, Torrullin prompted.

Silence. A nod. And more silence.

It is time, Elianas said.

Another nod. I know it is. This then. Again, Teighlar lapsed into stillness. It took another prompt from Torrullin before he started talking, haltingly at first and thereafter with ever greater confidence.

"Understand this. The tale I am about to unravel for you I have pieced together from various sources and cannot thus be certain of accuracy. Me, a creature who imagined a people. How much is imagination and how much is wishful thinking? Yes, Alexander Diluvan was abandoned by a pathfinder in the mists of time. That pathfinder took swiftly to the skies again when it became known the world those aboard had hoped to settle was about to be inundated. Loss of life, after all, was estimated as total. The inundation came to pass, of course, but only later.

The world was Orb, its inundation history now accepted fact, and is today known as Sanctuary. One day soon the people of Sanctuary will need to prepare for comprehensive evacuation, but you already know this. You are very aware inundation is a fact of life and time for that world, an unstoppable event, unpreventable history.

He sucked at his teeth. To move on. Alexander Diluvan was abandoned, not by accident, rather because he was the product of two races. No one desired a hybrid aboard for the long journey home. Had there been no reason to abandon Orb, someone sometime would probably have felled him and buried him in a shallow grave. No, hear me out; I do not require sympathy. Understand this; part of the agreement made before the pathfinder departed home territory was to ever keep the two races pure, to maintain the bloodlines, but it was a long journey and … anyway.

Mists of time, Teighlar? Torrullin said.

A ghost of a smile appeared on the man’s naturally pale face. Yes. Mists of time.

Torrullin had remarked on the discrepancy before. A pathfinder in the mists of time when technology only came ages later? Perhaps now the Emperor would be more forthcoming. How?

"A technological civilisation in the beginnings of this era. If you two looped back, is it such a stretch that others did so as well and thus were we born technologically advanced? There is much we cannot fathom and yet we live with the mysteries. You will readily admit that your Adagin and Ixion are not of your genesis period, and in the time before them there was one known as the Original. Someone who was genuinely first, perhaps? Torrullin, what?"

Torrullin had made a sound on hearing ‘Original’. Never mind. Continue. He ignored the look Elianas turned on him.

Teighlar went on. Be that as it may. A long time ago, an advanced world rotated its giant telescopes up to the stars and discovered other planets, and others. Another race. They found the Valleur, my friends. They discovered Akhavar in the sights of mighty lenses.

He snorted at the disbelief on display before him. You Valleur are so arrogant, were even then, and believed yourselves alone and unique. For a time that was true and in other loops it was no doubt fact, but next door to Akhavar in this era there was a world inhabited. It was not the Q’lin’la or the Thinnings who sundered the isolation of the Valleur, and it certainly was not the Kallanon Dragon Neolone.

Torrullin sighed.

Elianas was unmoving.

"Fortunately, technology equalled intelligence on that world. They saw the Valleur first and swiftly understood the dangers; they made no contact. Technology breaks, does it not, while sorcery cannot. Err on the side of caution. Then one day a group of intrepid Valleur youths, offworld to practice sorcerical transport, happened upon a similar youthful group of stargazers on a mountain top. Imagine the surprise.

"Youth enjoys change, though, celebrates the newness of ideas, and they started talking rather than instantly bristling for a fight. They discussed everything from technology versus sorcery, a cold world versus a hot one, to politics, farming, culture, art - you can imagine. A host of topics, nothing in depth upon that first coming together.

Of course, they wanted more of the same. Only those set in their ways need denounce others different from themselves as enemies too dangerous to know. They understood, however, their elders would be horrified and thus kept the secret. Father to son, mother to daughter, many generations, until numbers alone would eventually have revealed them.

What changed it? Elianas asked.

Your bloody Nemisin became Vallorin, and the secret was swiftly no longer underground. The collaborators chose to abscond, hoping to start fresh elsewhere, hoping to continue what had become far more than a youthful secret many generations old. By then they were true friends and learned from each other about life, about how to celebrate difference, how to create new thought, bouncing ideas off each other for the benefit of their own societies. It worked for them; why end it because politics demanded it? Teighlar lifted an eyebrow. A conundrum familiar even today, not so?

Torrullin nodded.

A lengthy journey commenced, and they discovered Orb, only to be forced to leave again. Teighlar shook his head. They returned to their homeworld because they had neither the experience nor the supplies to venture further out. It was empty space in those times. Owning a space-faring vessel did not necessarily translate as expertise. Their homeworld was at war when they re-entered those skies, and Nemisin, I believe, heard someone had been left behind somewhere. We cannot know with certainty, but their world …

Name it, Emperor, Elianas snapped. Cease the theatrics.

Elianas, I wish to explain first.

Elianas straightened. Something is about to change for us, regarding our perceptions. This is why you assume the long route.

Teighlar dipped his head. Indeed.

Something close to the word ‘Danae’, Torrullin murmured, staring at the Emperor.

Teighlar huffed in exasperation. Such impatience from the two of you does not leave one with space to properly clarify. Yes, the homeworld was known as Danaan. The dark Valleur, the Danae, made contact upon a mountain top.

Elianas was unmoving for long moments, before he hung his head. "Danae is not ‘dark kind’ as we have always believed, but ‘traitors to Danaan’. It was the kind of curse that crossed all barriers, even that of time."

"Unfortunately. Nemisin, I believe, annihilated every Danaan. He needed Valleur to believe in Valleur supremacy."

"Why do we not know of this?" Torrullin asked of Elianas.

"It happened on this timeline, Teighlar said. Perhaps around the period one of you forgot everything and the other vanished into a golden seat."

That makes no sense. Nemisin was a full Enchanter by the time Elianas and I vanished. If he had a race on his doorstep to employ as a device of threat to supremacy, why did he invent the situation on Orb? Why go forward in time to find the people you had imagined? Using, of course, the rumour of someone left behind to point the way for him. Unless …

"… he annihilated the Danaan before he became Enchanter, Elianas said, snapping his fingers. Remember Valen’s father, Torrullin? A soldier who succumbed in battle, was a hero to the Valleur, and yet Valen came to us to ask how it could be so when no battles had ever been fought on Akhavar. Nemisin summoned a unit into the Apnor range around the time he ascended the Throne, a fledgling Vallorin with a giant chip on his shoulder, and Valen’s father was commander. No one returned, and it was given out that the unit did battle with … He frowned. What did he call it?"

Djinns.

Right, and no one knew what that was and assumed they were creatures of the underworld inadvertently released in a Valleur spell.

Torrullin grimaced. Valen did not believe a word of it, but what was he to do? We, at the time, thought it possible.

Having called forth bizarre entities ourselves. Elianas offered a sheepish grin.

Nemisin did not then possess the unassailable power base he craved; he thus annihilated even the spectre of threat, thereafter using what he learned on Danaan as foundation for the Orb situation.

Elianas returned his attention to the silent Senlu Emperor. Your longevity stems from your Valleur genes; that was how you were able to survive long while building your palace and imagining a people to alleviate your loneliness on another world.

Teighlar rubbed at a cheek, agreeing with the statement. He then focused on Torrullin. When we spoke about this before, I did not know. Much of what I have revealed to you now came to me - well, we had a lot of time to think in those goddamned dungeons in Nowhere. My mother was the Valleur, but I do not recall her name or even a smell that goes with her presence in my life the first years. My father was a historian. He told me of the accidental meeting on the mountain. He paused, swallowed. Xander Diluvan was his name, but he died on Orb, a snakebite. I guess his passing made it easier for my mother to leave me behind.

Valleur take the long view, Elianas said.

Teighlar’s blue eyes sparked. Is that so? Well, fuck that.

Torrullin leaned forward to grip the Emperor’s wrist. Focus, my friend. We cannot undo the past.

Ha!

Torrullin shook him. Focus, and hear this. We three bring the threads together. You mentioned Original …

Teighlar, about to explode, blinked instead. Yes.

What did you mean?

The Danaan named their creator as Original. Akin to saying ‘God’ or ‘Supreme’.

"Yet you spoke of him in the same breath as Adagin and Ixion. You said ‘first’. You believe the Original was, in fact, a timekeeper. Perhaps the Timekeeper."

Slowly Teighlar nodded. I believe so, yes.

Elianas shifted to study Torrullin. Clearly you believe thus also. What do you know of this Original?

The vision earlier revealed him.

Briefly, Torrullin explained the images of seven boys with seven messages, expressionless and monotone, and then continued.

"Amongst conflicting revelations, there was this: many answers lie in silence, to end time, scream into silence. I am thinking it refers to empty Danaan. The true measure of sentience lies in the building blocks of mountains. There is one stone that was, is and will be, find it if you seek peace. There, I believe, is the first indication of a timepiece and it is made of stone. The Original fashioned the first stone, became the beginning and therefore also the end. That confirms the timepiece as a stone and reveals the first Timekeeper. In fact, a boy spoke these exact words: I, Original, employing this mouthpiece of silent words, shall answer. I created the means to dance; I made a clock. I commenced the measuring of chaos and thus forged the path for those who would come after."

A stone. As a clock? Teighlar interrupted.

The building blocks of the time, my friend. Akhavar is all stone and Grinwallin was imagined using stone - need I say more?

And you think this clock is the master mechanism and it can be found on Danaan, Teighlar said.

Elianas, having carefully watched Torrullin’s stoic behaviour, abruptly surged to his feet. Grabbing the basket, pitching flask and mugs in, he said, I think there is something you need be made aware of before we go on. Follow me to my study. He swivelled on his heels and vanished.

What now? Teighlar whispered.

Torrullin ran a hand through his fair hair. Damned if I know. Only one way to find out. Come.

Avaelyn

Monklicopin Dwelling

THEY FOUND ELIANAS HURLING scrolls and flinging parchment, muttering at a rapid pace under his breath. Elianas collected maps, star charts and ley-line sketches. All types and of all ages and eras. The entire one wall of his study was a system of pigeonholes, every nook crammed full. It was the worst filing system in the universe; to date he had not yet laid hands on a map he sought in a first attempt.

Seeing his face, the force of the concentration there, Torrullin decided not to tease, as he so often had. Teighlar, mercifully, said not a word.

Elianas glared at them as if they were intruding and then swung away to continue his search. Finally, he forged a path through discarded scrolls, holding one in each hand. One was clearly ancient, if its sienna hue was anything to go by, while the other was more recent, an ivory tone.

After clearing space on his desk, he unfurled them. Bear with me, he muttered, giving both men an irritated look. He jabbed at the older map. Era of the Dancing Suns. Nemisin’s time. Teighlar, take a look.

The Emperor leaned in, eyelids flicking as he raked the fading illustrations, before straightening in astonishment. I am amazed you have this. He elbowed Torrullin beside him and pointed. Danaan.

Torrullin bent over the scroll. It has no name.

It is Danaan, Teighlar insisted.

Elianas laid a finger on another fading sphere. No name either, but this is Akhavar. Same solar system, same patch of sky. Note that both worlds are ringed blue, which translates as habitable. The ancient mapmaker may not have known the names of these worlds, but he knew they could and possibly had sustained life. Fine, now this. He shoved the map aside to reveal the other, younger parchment. Era of the Dying Moons, our current time. He pointed significantly.

Both Torrullin and Teighlar craned.

Akhavar is marked as desert, uninhabitable, still without a name, Torrullin murmured. Obviously this was drawn after the Valleur left and before Saska worked her magic there.

Teighlar sighed moments later. Volcanic, goddamn it.

And that was, clearly, the point of the exercise, for Elianas said, An asteroid smacked into Danaan and activated the mother of all volcanoes. It suffered fire in this age, and remains a dangerous place. He sat in his chair and leaned back. Long after Nemisin passed, I went to that world. The Valleur named it simply Delx, an unmoving marker in the night sky when everything else was volatile. The orbits of those two worlds mimic each other. No reason for the name Delx, other than convenience. No mention of Danaan in records anywhere. It was a place to visit when loneliness got the better of me - long hikes. Delx was then a cold place; Valleur do prefer heat, except Torrullin. I discovered there appreciation for heat, but found also that the cold opens the mind and … never mind.

A lowered look from Torrullin answered to the unspoken thought. Clarity.

Yes. Elianas cleared his throat and went on. I trekked a fair bit. There was no one there, but I found signs there may once have been. Rocks gathered and piled to form pasture breaks, a few stone implements. Once a cache of coloured glass. I was intrigued, and commenced a more intensive search, and that was when I realised the extent of the volcanic system. Fire rings under the surface, some pretty active, others only appearing dormant. A few super volcanoes, of the kind able to annihilate all when unleashed. The presence of so many explained the cold, as contrary as that sounds. The ash, while sparse, did block a certain percentage of the light. Any one of those natural monsters could have destroyed the resident population or forced them away. It was to volcanic sites I thus went for further evidence of that civilisation …

He glanced at Teighlar, who stared at him intently, and thereafter frowned and looked away.

Torrullin held his breath.

I found nothing, except … Elianas licked his lips.

What, damn it? Teighlar demanded.

In a cave opposite the greatest volcano, the one serving to activate the rest when it blew its top after the asteroid impact, I discovered a smoothed vent, a tunnel of sorts. Lava flow, obviously, but on that side of the fire valley the flow had stilled for some while. Safe to enter, although filled with fumes. Beyond the tunnel I discovered a cavern of epic size and there I stood in awe looking over the shapes cold magma leaves behind, an inspiring sight.

Elianas tapped one finger on his desk and flicked Torrullin a glance. Teighlar huffed loudly.

You found building materials. Squares, rounds, arches, triangles and more. The Dome, Torrullin murmured.

Elianas grinned at him. Quick as ever. Then he was serious. "The idea for the Dome may have been conceived then, but actual planning began when I found the perfect keystone. A flat and circular stone scored on its upper surface to appear as a sundial without the raised angle in the centre. I thought it a sundial, in fact, although I also considered its resting place somewhat odd. Here was proof of civilisation and maybe it was hidden there for safekeeping, who knew? Not that a cavern within a dormant volcano could be safe, ever. It was only when I removed it into the glows outside that I marked the word set in place where one would expect the shadow device to repose. I had not only proof of habitation, which a written word is, but a sense of the age of a vanished civilisation. The word was another surprise, for it was an ambigram …"

Teighlar stiffened.

Elianas glanced at him. Eurue.

’Eurue’ is the Diluvan word for ‘First Original’, Teighlar breathed. Also Luvan and Senlu. A concept we have continued with throughout our history.

Therefore, Eurue is also Danaan for Original, Torrullin said.

The Emperor nodded, abruptly without the power of speech.

The master mechanism, Torrullin, Elianas pointed out. That strange stone is the clock.

And where is it now? Torrullin asked, and pinched the bridge of his nose, already knowing the answer.

It’s the Dome’s keystone.

Chapter 4

Weapons are varied in war, for war itself is as varied as generals. Whether of steel, stone or emotion, each has a place somewhere.

~ Mikhail Bannerman’s grandfather

Beacon ~

Luvanor

Grinwallin

LEAVING TORRULLIN AND ELIANAS in discussion about keystones and sacred ogives, Teighlar returned to Grinwallin. It was morning in the stone city and the air was fresh and bracing. He drew deep to fill his lungs with the smell and taste of his home, ever happy to return.

After long feeling trapped amid stone and time, unable to leave the precincts without the act of departure heralding an upheaval of sorts, he in the present preferred his city to any place and space in the universe. He understood it was because he now possessed the choice to stay or go; choice proved a powerful factor in the concept happiness, particularly when one knew what it meant not to possess it.

Before heading through the Great Hall for the day’s duties - one of which would be to go down into the mountain alone to the Crucible Chamber, there to store the Lumin Sword - he decided first to check on Alik.

The girl barely slept at the moment, believing she needed to cram years of work into cohesion in one week of study. She did not need to, but it was difficult to persuade her otherwise. Then, she was his daughter, and when had he ever followed the best advice?

He found her with Lowen in the handkerchief-sized garden in front of her tiny house; she steadfastly refused to take up residence in the royal suites. The two women sat with hands wrapped around steaming mugs, the first rays of sunlight grazing over their faces. Clearly, from their bleary gazes, they had a few