The Dreamer Stones (10 page)

“But the boy
hadn’t forgotten.”

“No, the boy
held onto his childish hatred, for it prepared him to face the
difficulties as they arose.”

“You loved
your mother, Torrullin, more than you hated her.”

“I know.”

“Then let it
go.”

“How does this
figure in losing innocence? Hate is not innocent.”

“Hate is pure
and you were very young.”

His face
twisted. “I buried it, which means I knew it was wrong. I judged
her when she awaited the time I’d be ready for the truth. I felt
guilty. Knowing a wrongdoing indicates underlying innocence, does
it not? I had a will to do right by her … and never did.”

“Do so
now.”

“Does that not
sharpen the blade of the innocent, Lowen?”

“It makes you
worldly-wise, and where is the innocence in that?”

“World-weary,”
he said, acknowledging her words.

In laying bare
underlying emotions, feelings he believed dead, he would lose much
of what made him. He would be different, self-knowing, not an
innocent. A glimmer of understanding regarding the purpose of this
journey began to shine through the cracks. He would know himself
and no longer hide behind indecision. It really sucked.

“I like my
secrets, I find.”

She smiled. “I
know.”

“I’ll be
different.”

“I know.”

“You will know
me.”

“Maybe.”

“What about
your secrets, Lowen? I don’t know you.”

“You’re
procrastinating.”

Grey eyes
locked onto blue. “Not really. Answer me.”

“I am not
Elixir.”

His head
jerked aside, his eyes narrowing. “How do you know that?”

“I’ll tell you
another day.” She broke the contact by force of will. “Please,
Torrullin, I said too much. Do what you need to do to go home.”

He was in
trouble. This woman was his nemesis, of that he was now sure.
“Fine. How?”

“Ask her
forgiveness?”

“How?”

“Are you not
the One who may enter other realms? Go to her. Ask her.”

“Aaru?”

“It is not,
after all, forbidden you.”

“Gods, Lowen,
how can you know?” The words were intense.

“Not now,
Enchanter. Go. You’ll return despite your wish to remain with your
son, for to leave me here will be your greatest evil, and you are,
as yet, incapable of such calculation.”

Torrullin
stared at her. All the subtexts laid bare, and she did it calmly
and with certainty.

He turned
away, his mouth dry.

Aaru. Yes, he
would go, but not to ask forgiveness of Millanu, but to get away
from this woman for a time.

Closing his
eyes he pictured the doorway Tannil opened in Grinwallin, and went
through, vanishing from one realm into another.

Chapter
Nine

“
This is
untenable. Change it.”

Healer to
soldier, a refugee camp

Marcus
Campian, Electan of Valaris, sat hunched over his desk, feeling old
beyond his years.

First it was
the Mayor of Galilan, then Farinwood. A coincidence, but no longer
so. The mayors of Tetwan, Saswan, Two Town, Winnish, Gasmoor,
Barrier, Luan, Actar, Mintor, and Linmoor were all dead. One after
the other and still the reports came. The smaller towns, the
northern cities. By morning Valaris would be leaderless.

By morning he
himself could be dead.

Now they
railed against the Enchanter for his absence. First he was blamed
for the disasters, and now that it was known he was offworld, he
was blamed for inaction, as a coward, untrustworthy. The man could
not win, no matter what he did, what stance he did or did not take,
Marcus thought.

He heard the
raised voices of the crowd on the road, come to protest the
murders, demanding justice. Wives and kids were fatherless tonight,
they shouted and he could do nothing. The television was full of
sensationalist reports, creating more havoc, stirring the populace
to what amounted to revolution, and considering they were almost
leaderless, who would reason with them? Himself? Before he too
succumbed? He did not know what to think, never mind do.

His
trustworthy companion of many campaigns, Mr Jackson, entered. In
his hands, another report. “Moor,” he said, placing the news face
down on Marcus’s desk.

He moved to
the door, but Marcus stopped him.

“Stay, MJ.
There’s no need to monitor - we know what’s happening.” Marcus
sighed, rose, and pointed to a chair. “Sit, old friend, and let us
pass this terrible night together.”

He turned to a
hidden cabinet in the bookshelves behind his desk, drew a bottle of
expensive brandy from its dark depths, and poured liberal
measures.

“You know, I
never thought any of this would happen. I heard tell of an old
legend that the Enchanter would return, but it wasn’t to be in my
lifetime. Peace was good, wasn’t it?”

“We only
realise what we had when it’s gone. And now no one remembers peace
was due to the one they now blame.” MJ sipped at his drink,
savouring it. Good brandy.

Marcus tossed
his back, tasting nothing. “You sound as if you admire the
Enchanter.”

“I do, and he
also frightens me. He has an aura of raw power about him, like he
could walk through fire - I suppose he could at that.”

“He’s the
reason we’re sitting here like this,” Marcus said, refilling his
glass.

“Maybe, but
he’s also the reason there was peace for two thousand years. Do we
take that away from him? It’s unfair.”

“You’re too
much the romantic, my friend.”

“Have you seen
the Valleur recently? They’re everywhere, doing everything in their
power to help those dispossessed and hurting. Good people, Mr
Campian. I can’t believe they are the lie others believe the
Enchanter to be. How can they think one thing, he another? No, it’s
that other who is the lie and someone should come out and say so.
The Enchanter needs us behind him and we need to know who the true
enemy is.”

“For months
now there’ve been hints …”

“And
hints
guised himself as Torrullin and did evil in his name.
That’s wrong. The father should not now be blamed for the son. It
needs to be spelled out, Electan. Someone should go on air and tell
our people Tymall is the enemy and his father seeks a way to end
it.”

“They will
still blame Torrullin.”

“Will they? Or
will they look inside and know how hard it is for a father? Even if
the son is evil? I think we don’t give our people enough
credit.”

Marcus smiled.
“You have strong views.”

“It needs
done.”

“He asked that
we say little about his son.”

“That was
then.”

Marcus
inclined his head. “Maybe you’re right, and maybe we make it worse.
Whatever, proactive is better than waiting. Set it up. Full news
coverage. I’ll speak to the nation.”

MJ nodded, set
his glass down, and hastened to his own office.

An hour later
lights blinded Marcus.

It was past
midnight, but sleep would come to few. Valarians were awake and
most had their televisions on. Darklings, fires, ice fields,
murders, imminent starvation. Sleep was elusive.

Marcus cleared
his throat. He had not bothered with fancy get-up, but permitted
the briefest makeup session, mostly to tame his wild hair. A slight
shadow dotted his chin.

“Folks, it’s
late, but I too find sleep escapes me night after night. Mr
Jackson, you know him well, told me tonight it’s time we realise
who the real enemy is, and I have to agree. I don’t like that we
undermine the good that is the Enchanter, and think the record
should be set a-right before our anger overcomes our reason.”

He drew
breath. “Torrullin isn’t an easy man to know. He is as complicated
and mysterious as his title implies. To find him, however, in the
ways that count, we need only look at his people. Are the Golden
not our friends in these trying times? Have they not done as much,
if not more, as we ourselves have? Who watches the skies for
darklings and then warns us with time enough to hide? You know me,
folks, you know how xenophobic I was, and yet today I am honoured
to know these beautiful people. I consider myself blessed to have
known one Valleur. How blessed am I to know many? Are they not the
reflection of the one they revere? How can we think these people
love a man who would do us harm? Is that not a contradiction?”

Marcus paused
to sip water. “Torrullin isn’t our enemy. He saved our world, not
once, but twice already. He engendered a two thousand year peace.
Is that the work and the mind of an enemy? Are you aware, in the
entire universe, we are the only people to deny him? Nowhere else
is he cursed. What do we know they do not? Or what do we think we
know so uniquely we differ from an entire universe? How arrogant
are we? Or, my friends, how blind? Is it not just easy to blame
one? A few days ago we loved him and for good reason. Why do we
deny our hearts now? He hasn’t changed. We are changing and I think
not for the better. Do we want to continue as we were before he
came? Open your hearts again, now, and when I return in a few
minutes I’ll tell you who the real enemy is.”

Marcus smiled
at the camera and they went to commercial.

“Very good, Mr
Campian,” MJ called out.

“Are you for
real, Mr Campian?” a young cameraman asked.

Marcus smiled.
He had reached one, right here in his office. It was an outstanding
start.

“Every word
you hear is not only truth, but comes from my heart. I was
distrustful of this whole Valleur invasion, but no more. I had to
see to believe, I’m afraid, and, well, I saw, I believe, and
Torrullin is a good man. He is a father in trouble and he needs our
help …”

“Ten
seconds!”

Marcus cleared
his throat, winked at the young man, and faced the camera.

“Have you
taken a few moments to examine your hearts? Your conscience? Does
it tell you to turn on one who healed for you? I don’t think so,
but let me say here, I understand. I too was distrustful before;
we’re only human, are we not? The time has passed when we should be
influenced from one extreme to the other. We need faith. In
ourselves, in our ability to tell good from bad, and we have the
humility to admit we are in error.”

Marcus paused,
sighed, and leaned forward.

“Let me tell
you a story, my friends. A tale of a father and two brothers. A
familiar tale through the ages. Two boys grow up in a loving
environment and their father loves them very much. They are
beautiful children, bright, mannered, and well liked. But they are
in constant competition; in fact, they hate each other. They behave
before their father and while he suspects there’s a problem, he
can’t tell who is to blame and will not lay blame in error. He
chooses to love them equally, without condition, hoping his love
will reach them and help overcome their hatred of each other. He
may have succeeded had it not been for another, an outside
influence who egged one brother on. You see, it was a case of good
versus evil. One brother was good, the other not. They knew each
other, but their father couldn’t tell the difference. He is blinded
by love, and is loved in return for that very reason.

“Is he a bad
father? No, he is the ultimate father in trusting in love to change
the course. But he is wrong in the end. One brother fulfils the
promise love brought him, but the other denies it. The father
chooses - he has to, for not doing so denies the son who is a
shining example to all that is good and true in life. How can he
trample that? He can’t, but in choosing he begets the hate of his
other son. Sound familiar? We all know families where one, male or
female, won’t grow into the promise shown in childhood, despite a
loving, stable upbringing.”

The Electan
stared fixedly at the camera.

“Folks, you
know I speak of Torrullin and his twin sons, Tristamil and Tymall.
A loving father, two beautiful boys. One grows up to be the Light,
the other is misled into the Dark. But, let me underscore this, he
had every opportunity to turn away from it, until in the end his
father chose to turn from him. I can’t but feel sympathy for
Torrullin. Tristamil became a wonder to behold and his father
adored him. He was Vallorin Tannil’s father, and in his son the
Light lives on. But Tymall is another matter entirely. He swore to
revenge on all that is good. His revenge, which none of us will
fathom, for the dark has no logic, encompasses all his father
stands for.

“The Valleur.
Already Tannil’s mother and her husband are murdered by his hand,
and he has sworn to kill every member of that family, including the
young ones. He wants to turn even the Golden against their
Enchanter, but thus far hasn’t succeeded. He has kidnapped Tannil’s
sister Fay and we should pray for that poor woman’s soul.

“The humans.
Specifically, us, here on this world. The other part of his father,
for we forget sometimes Torrullin is half human also. That is why
we suffer now in the vengeance of Tymall. The Guardians, our
Immortal police, have been decimated until only two survive. The
Dome of legend is nearly beyond recall. And, in the end, his
ultimate revenge, his main goal is to turn his father to the darak
path, not to have a companion on his lonely road, but because he
will then deny everything the Enchanter achieved.

“He is a
sorcerer of great power and took on his father’s features and
created havoc for us all over Valaris. When you saw the Enchanter
behind the freezing ice of the Vall, it was Tymall. When fish and
fowl died, leading us to starvation, it was Tymall. He unleashed
the Darkling Horde on us. Every calamity is to be lain at his feet,
for he seeks to deny his father’s achievements. Can we permit that?
We’re doing so in denying the Enchanter now. The evil son wins this
war.”