The Dreamer Stones (11 page)

Marcus looked
off camera at MJ. Drawing breath, he stared into the hearts of
Valarians again.

“It’s
unprecedented that I speak without going to commercial … you’ll
agree my words, from my innermost heart, should not now be
interrupted. My friends, we’re suffering catastrophe, we’re in pain
from the loss of loved ones, our beautiful cities burn and we face
starvation. I know this, but I tell you now turning from the
Enchanter places our very souls in mortal danger. If we deny him,
we are for Tymall. We are for the Dark! What is physical ruin
compared to that?”

Tears slid
over his cheeks and he made no effort to wipe them away.

“Tymall is our
enemy, not his father. Yes, you may argue the Enchanter is
ultimately responsible for this, he gave life to this son, but a
father doesn’t stop loving a recalcitrant child! When your sons
come home from a dirty prank, do you turn your back or do you
attempt to help him see the error of his ways? You don’t stop
trying, not until he’s gone from your influence, and even then you
pray for him, you hope for him, and you love him. Such is this.
Torrullin did all in his power and tried repeatedly, and then the
day came Tymall was beyond him. Don’t blame the father for the son;
rather help the father be strong enough to stand against the son,
knowing he loves this boy in his deepest heart and every strike
against that boy hurts deeply.”

Marcus paused,
wiped his cheeks and lifted his glass to drink. The cameras did not
waver and no one uttered a sound.

“We need to
choose for our souls and choose this night. And having chosen, we
mustn’t be swayed by calamity, whatever the degree. I choose
tonight to stand for Torrullin and in my heart I’ll carry the
sympathy for his soul.”

He sighed and
leaned forward again.

“He is damned
no matter what he does, no matter how he chooses. Do nothing and he
is responsible for the vengeance of his son. Kill Tymall and he is
damned for murdering his blood. Perhaps, by supporting the
Enchanter, we may remove the impetus of Tymall, who knows? Perhaps
we may be instrumental in saving the Enchanter’s soul. Imagine, my
friends, the glory in that. Choose tonight where you stand. I urge
you to choose the Enchanter.”

Marcus sat
back.

The cameras
clicked off one by one. The lights switched off. And in the
resulting silence, there was soft applause.

The desk lamp
glinted off wet cheeks, shining eyes, and Marcus and MJ knew they
won a profound victory that night for the Enchanter.

Chapter
Ten

They will love
you. I swear it.

The
manipulators in politics

The place was
almost deserted and, while she preferred it, she knew it would soon
be time to leave also.

There was no
future here.

Not for her.
And not for the babe.

Fay rubbed her
stomach. It was flat, unchanged, but inside everything was
different. Her child. Tymall’s child.

She wandered
over the dry landscape aimlessly, listlessly picking out landmarks
with tired eyes - purple mountains in the distance, the cairn of
rocks, an ancient monument to something now forgotten. Lost, like
this world. Like herself.

With
Torrullin’s help, she deliberately put herself into Tymall’s
clutches. Partly it was to find and rescue Saska, and also Margus,
but mostly it was to prevent Tymall unleashing his fury on the
Vallas. She forced Torrullin to help her, and when he came for
Saska and Margus, she forced him to leave her where she was. With
his son.

What she had
not bargained for was this attraction. It led to sleeping with him,
with kinfire in bed along with them, and that led to this growing
babe.

She stopped,
her calves aching, the exertion of distance. She looked behind her.
The fort, unholy place, was rendered minute by how far she came,
hills rising over it in grey-blue splendour. Nearer was her
darkling guard, only one now that Tymall decided to trust her. Her
lips drew back in a grimace and she looked ahead. Where would she
go anyway, carrying this child?

When she first
came to this forgotten world there were tens of thousands of
darklings, and now they were gone, unleashing terror.

Why did
Torrullin not return to wipe them out?

She hated the
thought of what they did on Valaris as she wandered her solitary
road here. She understood Torrullin put her first in his thoughts
in not returning, her, Fay, the traitor - and she did feel like a
traitor, despite her claims - but was her safety worth the hell now
visited upon their homeworld?

Torrullin
thought more of her than she did of herself.

Sighing, she
shuffled to a nearby boulder and lowered to its heat, not caring
that she smudged dirt into the costly gown. She hated everything
Tymall gave her; here, take this, you’ll feel better, forget what I
do to your family. He had not told her of deaths, and she wondered
if he would. Perhaps someone had already passed on and she was none
the wiser.

It was another
reason to leave soon; she needed to know. At least he could not use
her Valla blood against those she loved. That was a comfort, and
she tried many occasions to sway him from his set path … gods, she
hoped he heard her.

Then she
shuddered. Tymall would come looking if she left. Worse, she would
want him to find her. She was bound to him, and it was not a facet
of magic, it was a thing of her heart, her soul, her body. She
needed him. And he needed her. After that first time, frightening
for both of them, they could not stay away from each other. They
were addicted to the intensity kinfire brought to every touch.

Torrullin, you
should have come and wiped the slate clean, including this
miserable excuse of a life.

Now there were
the fruits of their coming together. A child. It was a boy, and
what lay ahead for him? How would it change her? Tymall? Their
relationship? Dare she tell him?

Dare she
not?

And then
Tymall was there, kneeling before her in the dust, taking her hands
and moving his thumbs over her palms, igniting trebac. She raised
troubled eyes, leaned forward and found his lips. Her hands came
up, drawing him close, closer, until, with a chuckle, he drew back,
the hunger in him matching hers.

“Fay, why are
you out here? It’s hot.” His voice was low to exclude the guard. “I
return to find you in the desert? What’s the matter?”

“I was bored
and cold in the walls … Ty, gods, send him away …”

“Here?” he
asked, but was unsmiling, reaching for her, drawing her atop him on
the hard, hot earth. “Go!”

They found the
quickest way to become one, the pleasure sharp, liquid,
intense.

And after,
“You’re pregnant.” His beautiful face still. His lids closed over
clear grey eyes before he whispered, “A son.”

Fay choked on
a sob. “Yes. Your son.”

His eyes
opened. “I didn’t expect this. Ever. A son. Mine.”

Tymall rose
and walked away, straightening his clothes. He understood what
drove her out into the empty silences. A child changed
everything.

He gave the
command on Valaris to attack, watched it start, and saw his
presence there was superfluous. His father’s reputation was in
shreds and fear ruled Valarians. Now it was time for them - easily
swayed, traitors to their own integrity - to start dying from more
than lack of food. The Valleur were fighting back, as expected, but
he had not expected the Enchanter to stay away. He returned here to
do reasoning on that issue and to see Fay, touch Fay.

This news he
had not thought to find waiting.

Fay found her
boulder perch again, sat watching him, sensing in him a struggle.
As it was for her, and she had crumbled before him, holding nothing
back. Would he crumble before his unborn son?

And then he
returned and kneeled again in the dust. This time he did not touch
her.

“Tell me you
will bring him to term. Tell me, swear to me, you will not harm our
son no matter what happens between us.”

As if she
could ever think that. She swallowed and stared into his eyes. “No
matter what, this child will breathe air and feel the sun on his
skin. I swear to you I shall never harm him … dear god, Ty! I
couldn’t harm him”

Tymall smiled.
“I know, Fay.” He touched her cheek with one forefinger. “I needed
to hear you say it. I wanted to see the love for him in your eyes.
He must be loved.”

He dropped his
hand, rose, and drew her up. His face worked with an inner
struggle.

“What is it?”
she asked, wanting to touch him, but he shied away.

His answer
nearly broke her heart. “Will he be his father’s son? An outcast
child? Full of hatred and revenge and evil? Does he inherit my
sins? Will I love him if he is not? Will I even love him? Can I? Do
I know how?”

“Your father
loved you.”

“Being what I
am, you mean?” His voice was self-mocking. “Yes, I was loved and
look what I am? Love changed nothing …” He cut it off, sighed, and
said. “My father loves me still, Fay.”

She denied
that. “No, he seeks to …”

“… kill me?
No. Do you not wonder why he hasn’t? I may be his equal in power,
but he has other personalities to create advantage. He doesn’t use
them. Why is that?”

She paled.
“That was what he meant when he said you have power over him.”

Tymall
laughed, a twisted sound. “Yes. I know he loves me and can’t kill
me. Fay, can I be that kind of father to my son? Unconditional in
my love?”

“Do you love
your father, Tymall?” she asked, her voice quiet and rock-steady.
Torrullin was unique. She finally realised that. She was wrong
about the Enchanter and it took this evil, broken man before her to
prove it.

He looked at
her quizzically, sensing the change. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t
know.”

“I don’t know
either,” he said, coming to take her hand.

Together they
began the long walk back to the castle.

“I loved him
once, growing up. He was an extraordinary father - my brother and I
were fortunate. No favouritism, healthy competition, and he allowed
no one to denigrate us, always protected us, but without being
over-protective, allowing us independence. Perhaps, had it not been
for the Darak Or’s indwelling, I could’ve overcome the accident
that left me unrecognised in the womb. Later, I hated him. He beat
me like no man should beat his son - I murdered his father, I
understand, yet can’t forgive. Then there was Tris, Tris this, Tris
that, while I faded into the background. He let me die, even when
it meant his beloved Tris’ death also. Gods, I hated him for that.”
He stopped. “The last time I saw him before I killed myself, he had
the cheek to hold me, to tell me he loved me, and he knew, he
knew
, I was going beyond his reach. It had been
foretold.”

“And that hate
bore you through your own invisible realm. But now? Can you justify
holding onto it?”

His eyes were
expressionless. “I’ll not cease until I’ve either achieved what I
set out to do or am defeated in the effort. I hate him for other
things now. The invisible realm that made me this, knowing now he
let my brother go because Tris would land up in the realm of
eternal bliss and thus be safe, for being greater than what he was
before, for turning the Darak Or to his side, for having an
extended Valla family I’ll never be part of, for what he did to you
…”

He did nothing
to her, Fay realised. Anything negative she ascribed to the
Enchanter was of her doing, and she went from the flames into a
bonfire with his son.

“… so I hate
him.” Then, “And I love him.”

He stalked
away from her. Leaving her with the smallest glimmer into the
twisted psyche of a man so far off the road he could not find his
way back.

Yet, and this
really scared her, he was still at war with himself. Somewhere was
a tiny part untouched by evil and it was the part that loved his
father. Torrullin was Tymall’s only gateway to salvation, which, in
turn, could well be Torrullin’s own atoning.

Goddess help
them both, and her, and the child to come.

Tymall was in
the immense dining chamber when she made it in tired and
footsore.

He stared into
a tankard, not drinking, and raised his eyes to her as she
entered.

“You mustn’t
exert yourself so, not now.”

“I’m pregnant,
not handicapped,” she returned, sitting in a corner seat removed
from him. She drew an empty mug closer and reached for the
wine.

“No,” he said,
snatching it away. “You need to watch what you imbibe.”

“’Imbibe’.
You’re not serious?”

“About my
choice of word, or the wine?”

“Both,” she
sighed. Touchy. “Ty, I’m sorry. Perhaps I pushed too hard
earlier.”

His lips
twitched. “You bring out the best in me, did you know? Anyone else
would hit the floor dead for daring to question me about my father,
but you make me think about it and admit things I was unaware of.
Unfortunately, I don’t enjoy where it takes me, for I can’t afford
the luxury of indecision.”

“You
doubt?”

“No.”

“Then you’ve
lost nothing in admission. Ty, I’m really thirsty.”

He laughed.
“Any cravings?”

She smiled.
“Not yet. Are you happy about the baby?”

His hand
stilled in the act of watering her wine and then he passed it to
her, curling his fingers around hers as she took the mug from
him.

“If I’m
honest, this alters my plans. How, I can’t fathom, but it has to.
Any normal situation would change - this too. I need to think it
through.”

“You’re not
answering me.”

“I don’t know
how I feel. Happy? Should there be joy? These emotions have no
place; how do I compute them, know them, when I’m dead inside?”