The Kallanon Scales (2 page)

Nothing I want here, too many memories.
She lay down, gaze touching on the little wooden Buddha from
Beacon, the large jade shell from Canimer, her homeworld, and other
arresting items on display. Too many memories.

Shifting her
gaze, she watched the pale woven hangings move in the breeze …

Torrullin’s
tread on the stairs awakened her.

She started
dragging a sleeved tunic on to cover the welts, and jumped from her
skin when his warm hand arrested her attempt at concealment. She
emerged from clothing to look into his grey eyes.

Panic. Hers,
and his.

She tossed it
aside and went to the window, staring blindly over the beautiful
valley.

“Saska?”
Torrullin’s voice was behind her, close. “Is this why you didn’t
come?” He took her hand and ran his fingers up her arm, his breath
in her neck. She snatched it back. “What happened? Why could you
not come to me for help?”

“It doesn’t
matter, Torrullin. It is done.”

He moved away.
She turned to see him sit heavily on the bed.

“The
boys?”

No, one boy.
One man. “I am fine, do not worry.”

If he knew
which son, Saska doubted not the young man would beg for his life
this night. It was in his eyes, the need to punish.

“How?” He
realised her injuries lay behind the beating they inflicted on each
other yesterday. “What did he use?”

“A whip.” She
swallowed and went to him, kneeling on the carpet to take his
hands. “My love, leave it.”

“He will kill
you.” It was the first time he admitted it aloud. “I will send them
away.” His expression was bleak.

“That will solve nothing.” Saska took a steadying breath and
loaded it with all the courage and conviction she could muster.
Tightening her grip on his hands, she said, “Torrullin, look at
me.” His expression was distant, in retreat, but he focused.
“
I
shall be
leaving.”

“I am
accustomed to that now.”

A knife
twisted in her heart. “I am leaving permanently.”

He yanked his
hands free to ball them into fists. “Saska, no, I will not allow
him to drive you from your home, from me. We can get past
this!”

She placed her
hand on his knee. “As we got past others? The next one may be my
swansong.”

“They will be
gone in two weeks.”

She stood with
determination and returned to the window. “This marriage has
suffered enough.” Silence. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.
“I deserve never to look over my shoulder, Torrullin. Please
understand.”

“You are not coming back …
ever
?”

She swung
around and froze. It was as if someone bled life and colour from
him.

“I will fight
this,” he whispered.

Her heart
lurched, gladdened by his willingness, but it was beyond that. Her
voice failed her, and she swallowed and tried again. “I leave
because I fear for us.” She crossed the space and drew him close.
“I love you more than life, you know that.” He held her to him,
face hidden in her chest.

“Don’t go.”
All his power, and yet this he could not change. That power was
hers alone.

“I must do
this.”

He released
her and stood. He paced, and each step brought anger closer. His
eyes darkened with every step.

She did not
want him angry, but maybe it was easier.

“I cannot do
this alone!” he blurted.

“You already
are. No-one can help you with those boys. They drive what is good
away from you. Soon there will be no place for me, Torrullin.”

“Never!” He
came to a halt.

“You are lying
to yourself. Do you want me to say I will return when you have
dealt with the twins? Do you want an ultimatum? How long do I wait?
I love you too much to ruin what is left.”

They faced
each other, breathing hard.

“Just like
that?” he demanded, disbelieving.

“I thought
long and delayed this moment many times.”

She reached up
to touch his face. He flinched, and hauled her into his arms.
“When?”

“Now.”

“Goddess, not
now.
You have thought; I am shattered in moments.
Please, my love, not
this
moment. One more night. You and me against the
world.” His hold tightened.

A minute
longer made leaving harder. A whole night might undo her
completely.

“Give us a
chance to say good-bye. I am begging, by god.”

It would
change nothing, except to hurt more, but she could accept added
pain, yes, to say farewell. Tears coursed over her cheeks. It was
all right now to let him see them. They had one more night.

“One more
night,” she whispered into his ear.

He sagged with
relief, in hope, and pulled her closer.

Saska left at
dawn, leaving Torrullin in dreamless sleep, her last sight of him a
man peaceful, the lines of strain smoothed over, a small smile on
his lips.

He thought to
hold her longer, but the tenderness and connection of the night
would change nothing in the days to come.

She was
gone.

Feeling numb
isn’t quite the same as being dead, friend.

~ Tattle

The Keep

T
orrullin sat in his study watching
storm clouds.

They promised
a show later.

“Torrullin.”

“Go away,
Vannis. I am not in the mood.”

“Enchanter.”

“Quilla,”
Torrullin growled. “Leave me alone.”

“We need your
help,” Vannis said as he entered. He was dressed for inclement
weather and his golden hair was tied away from his face.

“Not
interested.”

Vannis
approached the huge oak desk. “Snap out of it, kinsman. This dark
mood isn’t healthy.”

Torrullin
turned grey eyes on him. “Why?”

“To live
again, my friend,” Quilla said, approaching also. The tiny bird
creature projected sympathy.

“To what
purpose?”

“For Aaru’s
sake! How can you go after her if you don’t get off your
self-pitying butt and sort your problems out?” Despite Vannis’ tone
his changeable eyes were blue, which entirely belied his words.
Blue, the colour of sadness.

Torrullin saw
the paradox neatly packaged for him, and stood. “I await the
Coming-of-Age. Maybe who and what my sons are will be clearer.” He
rounded his desk and his visitors saw his sword strapped on. He
shrugged. “Did she tell you what they did to her? Matters come to a
head; I do not trust my sons.”

“Only one,”
Quilla pointed out.

“I don’t know
that.”

“Lift your
Throne,” said Quilla, who saw the Valleur Throne as a threat in the
magical realms. It was thus a major suggestion.

It remained
submerged after the battle with the Darak Or as Torrullin desired
life to find normality without its influence. Later he was
reluctant to cope with the enigma. When Vannis once intimated the
Throne would aid in piercing the veils surrounding his sons, he
exploded. He would not subject a child of his to that kind of
test.

Quilla
preferred it submerged, yet now advocated he use it.

Vannis said,
“Your stubborn nature cost you your wife. Stop fighting this, it
goes nowhere. Anyway, you will need that seat for an entirely
different purpose.”

Torrullin’s
eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

“You had
better sit down and listen,” Vannis said.

Torrullin
stood in the centre of his study surrounded by books, object d’art
and paintings. His favourite chamber, barring his small library,
and it was a prison. He slept here, if one could call nodding off
to jerk awake sleep.

Here he picked
at his food, and for a place usually busy with life at the Keep it
was a silent zone, with only a woman from the kitchen bringing
meals at designated times. He shunned life, and life retreated to
give him space. Not even his sons put in an appearance.

Although he
would fight the Throne issue, perhaps it was time to re-engage his
mind. He moved back to his chair. “Dragging me back into the world
is not your sole mission this day. Lay it out.”

Quilla
motioned to Vannis, who took a chair before the desk. As Vannis
spoke, Quilla paced, feathered head cocked.

“This is
potentially explosive,” Vannis said. “You are aware Kylan seeks to
uncover the mystery of his parents, with Kisha’s support. He asked
what you knew a few years back.”

“I couldn’t
help him.”

“Kylan told me
after, how you had this look, one that was meant to warn him
off.”

Torrullin
murmured, “They were murdered. I sought to spare him. He found
out?”

“He used the
Mantle signet ring, the one that gives him unlimited access to the
archives.”

“He discovered
the reports.”

Vannis nodded.
“Now he wants to know why.”

“The trail is
dead, especially in view of the floods. You think the Throne will
assist? You ask that I go through that, for this?”

Quilla ceased
pacing. “Wrong conclusion, Enchanter. The Herbmaster uncovered
clues. It is what he found that brings us here. Talk to him.”

“You have my
attention.”

“Go to Kylan,”
Vannis said. “You do not want it within these walls.”

Torrullin
shared his gaze between his tormentors. “Can it wait until after
the boys’ Day?”

“You cannot
afford to wait.”

“Vannis, I
have enough on my mind. If you want me to leave the Keep, maybe on
some fool’s errand, I need more. Spit it out, or get out.”

Vannis
straightened in his seat. Quilla stood behind it, marginally taller
than the backrest. Dread settled cold in Torrullin’s stomach.

The Valleur
kept his voice low. “This information speaks of a twenty-five year
anniversary, and it could be sheer coincidence, granted.” Vannis
raised a hand when Torrullin snorted. “There is something else and
this cannot be. I speak of a blue and green sword.”

Torrullin’s
chair toppled. He leaned over the desk. “Where?”

“Not actual
blades. On paper, in black ink.”

“How long have
you known this?”

“Since this
morning. We came directly to you,” Quilla said.

“Torrullin,
say no more on it. Go to Kylan,” Vannis added.

Gods, the
future sat hot and heavy on his doorstep. Alarming and welcome
simultaneously, for the present could not be borne in current
guise.

“He is at the
Well,” Quilla murmured.

“Shall we?”
Torrullin vanished.

The Great
Forest

During the time
of Margus, the Well of Crystal Sound was a place of meet and
strength.

The water
rejuvenated, concealed from evil. Kylan built his and Kisha’s home
on the edge of the clearing. Young when they fought alongside
Torrullin, the childless couple were now middle-aged.

Torrullin
arrived alongside the Well to find them seated at a table near
their rustic home. He dipped his hands in the water, feeling the
frisson of corrections, and gazed around.

There the old
grave, covered with forest flowers, the mortal remains of gruff
McSee. There he, Aven, McSee and Lycea exited the Forest that first
night, the start of the game of Universe.

He shook it
away. Memories like that invariably led to the Pillars of Fire.

Strolling nearer, he still found it strange to see them age
while he was not a wrinkle older.
Many
lives I have had, and now it is different. These are true friends,
and one cannot bear the thought of losing them.

“Kisha,
Kylan.”

They looked
up. Kisha’s blond hair was paler, her face showed laugh lines, and
it was lovely. Kylan’s hair was streaked with grey, but his green
eyes were undimmed.

Kylan said,
“Welcome. It’s been a while.” He gestured to an empty seat.

“Forgive me, I
have meant to come.”

“Don’t fret,
we understand.” Kisha crinkled her attractive eyes at him and
fetched a pitcher from the patio.

The Herbmaster
was serious. “We’re both sorry about you and Saska.”

“Thank
you.”

Kisha rejoined
them and poured three glasses of iced tea, saying, “There is a
storm brewing and I’ll be glad when it breaks, this heat drives me
crazy.”

Torrullin
wondered where Vannis and Quilla were, and realised they would come
when he called. “Tell me.”

Kylan cleared
his throat. “I understand now. There is pain and loss in our past
and you felt I didn’t need this also.” Torrullin nodded. “Once I
knew it was murder, I wanted to know why, and Kisha agreed with
me.” He held his hand out and she took it.

Torrullin’s
heart constricted.

“We turned the
old Mantle archives upside down and then moved on to the Society of
Sorcerers. There is not much we haven’t paged through, and what a
wealth of information, despite floods and fires. Kisha found a
letter from my mother Merle to Thane, the one who was your
predecessor at the Mantle, the one who went on sabbatical.”

“And stole the
Medaillon.”

“Yes, him.
This letter was dated when Thane was still in Galilan. My mother
feared for my father’s life because he found something dangerous
not only to the Mantle, but also to Valaris. There was another
letter six months later in which she explained my father Cressel
had a map and a key, but she scratched out the word ‘key’ and
replaced it with ‘talisman’, and there had been another attempt on
his life .”

“Where was she
writing from?”

“Farinwood.”

“Before you
were born?”

“The first
letter, yes, but by the second I was three months old.”