The Kallanon Scales (4 page)

It was early
evening and ominous rumbles filled the air.

The twins
would likely relax their grips on their minds, the storm’s
interference would shield them, according to their thinking.
Correct, but the shielding would not exclude him.

Quilla showed
Lycea in and retreated as the heavens opened. He muttered about the
weather calling for libation.

“Torrullin? Is
there a problem?” Lycea queried, coming closer, dressed in old
boots, breeches and a huge coat. She grimaced. “I was outside
checking the grounds against the storm, found two kittens
half-drowned in the fishpond.”

She still did
things herself. Some things would never change. “How are you?”

“We spoke the
other day. What is wrong?”

“Many
things.”

She drew
breath. “I’m sorry about Saska.”

He rose to
lead her to an armchair at the fire, snapping the waiting logs into
blaze. She was lovely, her dark hair bright, picking up the fire in
its wavy depths, and her amber eyes sparkled with life. Fine
crow’s-feet crinkled when she smiled, the only sign of approaching
age. Fifty-eight in human years, she would not age as rapidly as
her human counterparts, being also half-Valleur.

“Nothing to
say? Then why send for me?”

“I have a lot
on my mind. Forgive me,” he said.

“That is true.
How are you really?”

“Lost without
her.”

She leaned
forward and took his hands. “You still love her.”

Torrullin
smiled, squeezing her hand, withdrawing his a moment later. He
leaned back, closing his eyes. Unlike him, she put a wall up
between herself and her boys. She lavished love on her babies until
they were three, showered them with affection and time, but that
gradually changed. The wall went up stone by stone after each
incidence of violence, insubordination, lack of respect and
repudiation, until she chose not to think of them.

“The boys?”
she prompted.

“Partly.”

“Why? I have
no authority over them.”

“I shall
announce I aim to raise my Throne.”

She paled. “
Before
their Coming-of-Age?”

He told her,
leaving nothing out. When he was done, she rose and poured a glass
of wine with shaking hands. She took a gulp and stood there with
her back to him. He understood it meant she needed to take her
courage in both hands and look into the eyes of the son she
repudiated.

“Why do you
need me here? You know how I feel …what could happen.”

“You need to
know. Even if it brings you pain.”

She swung
around, her fingers white on the glass. “I can take the pain,
Torrullin, that I have lived years in. It’s atonement that scares
me.”

“I, too, shall
have to atone.”

“You loved
him, both of them, I cannot claim that.”

He nodded.
They coped differently and there was no right or wrong in it.
However, he could hope for forgiveness, whereas she may never
receive it. “I have to call them now.”

Taking a
breath she returned to her seat, sipped at her wine, and stared
into the fire.

Lightning
flashed accompanied by roaring thunder.

Rain pounded
the Keep and the temperature dropped. There was no howling wind to
add impetus, it would be over by morning, but tonight it contained
them where they were. No one in the Keep could transport through
its energy. The boys could not run. He could not have chosen a
better time.

Torrullin
relaxed in his armchair and closed his eyes.

Tristamil.

He sensed his
son snap into awareness and saw where Tristamil was. Alone in his
bedroom tinkering with a broken radio Shep Lore gave him.
Technology intrigued Tristamil, but he seemed to get nowhere.
Unfortunately, from the radio’s point of view, he relied on
sorcery.

Father?

Your mother
and I require your presence in my study.

Something
wrong?

I shall
explain once you are here.

He saw
Tristamil frown and replace a part on his bed. He withdrew to find
Tymall in the dining chamber eating vegetable soup, a book open on
the side.

Tymall.

Tymall’s spoon
clattered into the bowl, splashing broth over the book. With a
muttered oath, he reached over to wipe it clean with his arm.

Father?

More concern
over the book than his father’s unexpected communication. Torrullin
could not help smiling. He instilled in his sons a love of
learning.

Your mother
and I await you in my study.

A family
conference, is that it? Is Vannis there? This should be
interesting.

Torrullin
broke contact. It was rare that the four of them were in the same
room together. Tymall’s remark had been derogatory, but that was
normal in this dysfunctional family. Should he summon Vannis as
Tymall’s comment suggested? No. Vannis would still their
tongues.

“Father?”

“Enter,
Tristamil.”

He came
inside, as tall as his father, and as lean and strong. He, like his
brother, inherited Torrullin’s physique. His skin was golden, his
hands broader, more like Taranis. Their hair set them apart, from
not only filial blood, but also Valleur norm. A dark auburn - their
mother’s - streaked with bright gold. The gold was Valleur, but the
contrast was arresting.

Tymall
appeared and Torrullin bid him enter. They were identical but for
dress. Tristamil’s nose was slightly longer, his cheekbones more
prominent, while Tymall’s were broader, differences unnoticed upon
casual inspection, and when both were in motion one would not tell
them apart.

“Come.”

They
approached and glanced at their mother. She stared into the fire
and did not acknowledge them. Torrullin wanted to shake her, but
common sense prevailed. Nothing he said now would alter the years
passed, and parental disunity at this critical point would not
help.

Tristamil wore
blue, his brother grey. Both wore knee-high black leather boots and
had a sword strapped on. The scabbards were identical, a gift from
their father, with similar silver hilts protruding. The blades,
too, were a gift. Lycea was aghast, and it led to one of their rare
arguments.

His gaze
lingered there. “Remove your swords.”

Both swiftly
set them aside. Torrullin rose and divested himself of his, sliding
it out of reach across his desk.

“Pull those
chairs closer.”

Torrullin sat
and waited. He noted how nervous they were. They thought it was
about Saska. The four of them now sat in a rough semi-circle about
the amber blaze. Outside it was dark with intermittent flashes of
brilliance.

The stage is set,
Torrullin
mused.

“Greet your
mother.”

Lycea turned
to look at her sons. “Tris. Ty. You are well?”

“Thank you,
yes, mother,” Tymall replied for both of them, as Tristamil
nodded.

Neither
actually greeted her, yet Torrullin let it pass.

“Is something
the matter?” It came from Tymall. He pushed streaked hair from his
face.

Tristamil
murmured, “Father, about Saska …”

Torrullin
raised his eyebrows.

Tristamil
cleared his throat. “We are sorry she left.”

“It took a
summons before you could express sympathy?”

Tymall said,
“We didn’t know what to say. We are sorry.”

“Or fear,
Tymall? I know what happened.”

They merely
stared at him.

Fear kept them
away. “One day soon we shall address the subject of my wife, and I
shall have reparation for what happened. That is not why I
called.”

Both
slumped.

“Something
else is wrong, other than in my own household. This morning I heard
tidings to alter our lives in a profound sense. Before I can begin,
I need tell you that I love you. I erred when you were in your
mother’s womb.”

It was the
first time he broached the subject and looks of alarm flitted
across the two younger faces.

“Father …”

“Tristamil, allow me to finish. We have skirted the issue
since the day of your third birthday. I have avoided it since the
day you were born, and for either of you to come forth with the
truth meant a revealing neither of you were prepared to endure. I
do mean
neither
of you, for this day I understand it is exactly so. You are
twins. You exist together, you fall and win together. I acknowledge
that the mistake was mine. I should have recognised both of you. My
excuse has been that I fought for the survival of our world, it was
an accident, one babe was behind the other, and it was impossible
to know. Lies, for I am the Enchanter …”

“Unfair,
Torrullin!” Lycea spoke. “Being Enchanter was new, and you weren’t
as entirely Valleur as you are now.”

Tristamil
said, “You are more Valleur than Vannis most of the time.”

“Conservative,” Tymall murmured. “Very Valleur.”

“Do not
side-track me. I assume responsibility. Moreover, I let it be,
compounding, thereby, the original mistake. I should have sat you
down before to thrash this out.”

“Is that what
we’re doing?” Tristamil queried.

“Because of
Saska?” Tymall asked.

“No Ty, not
over Saska, but know this, she told me nothing. Had she come to me
the day you two crawled home at death’s door, I would have finished
the job. One of you will prostrate himself at my feet. The other I
shall thank for saving the life of the woman I love.”

Silence
reigned.

“This
discussion is not to thrash out what should have been, although I
hope for a measure of the truth.” Torrullin paused to scrutinise
expressionless faces. “It is proper that the truth be known, given
what comes next.”

“Baring the
soul is a double-edged sword,” Tymall murmured.

“Yes,”
Tristamil agreed. “Your candour is noble, but you hope for more
than a measure of the truth this night.”

“He needs to
know unequivocally who wields the power of darak,” Tymall
clarified.

“Because
greater evils approach,” Tristamil added.

Torrullin
rose, seeking distance. He lifted the decanter of brandy from the
counter, and paused. He swung, smashing it to the ground. “Saska
was right, one of you knows evil.”

“Of course she
was right,” Tristamil said. “You should’ve listened to her.”

“Are you
trying to goad me?”

“I am trying
to understand what is happening here.” Tristamil rose, ignoring his
brother’s warning glance. “The question is, why now? You need us
revealed. You apologise for an error compounded twenty-five years.
Why?”

“To bring one
of us into the fold?” Tymall said.

Torrullin drew
breath and let it out inaudibly.

“No, idiot!”
Tristamil said to his brother. “That would result in the denial of
the other. Even if we know nothing else, there is one thing we can
rely on, our Enchanter father loves us. Is not that the reason one
of us pretended? One of us needed that unconditional love. He does
not want to deny you or me, for he loves us both.”

Tymall and
Tristamil locked gazes. Lycea retreated to a corner where she
listened in foreboding. Torrullin had frozen. Never had he heard
this honesty from them.

“Tris, you are
wrong in assuming only one of us needed it. He gave us what a
father should and for one of us to turn traitor on a brother would
eventually have lessened one of us in his eyes.”

Tristamil
whispered, “Is ours a symbiosis?”

“Yes, and the
riddles will go on until we are revealed.”

Tristamil
murmured, glancing at his father. “That is why we are here, for
this is easier.” Tristamil inhaled, exhaled. “You are about to
uncloak the Valleur Throne.”

Tymall
stilled. “Is this so?”

Torrullin
found his voice. “Yes.”

Tymall burst
out, “You left it there deliberately not to know us! Is it our
Coming-of-Age? You think we won’t tell the truth?”

Torrullin
paced forward. “I know you will not tell the truth. Life will
continue in this netherness.” He came to a stop. “Perhaps I have
loved you too well. I blinded myself.”

“It was and is the only constant in our lives. Do not
ever
think you did wrong
in that!”

By all gods,
it was good to hear. “Thank you, Ty.”

“One of us
learned to love you, father,” Tristamil said.

Torrullin
stared at that son. “Truth?”

“Absolute
truth.”

“Tymall?”

“My brother
speaks true.”

“I am
blessed,” Torrullin said. His eyes fixed on Tristamil. “Tell me
who, son. Please, so I may recognise this great gift.”

“I cannot,”
Tristamil whispered, looking away.

“Ty? Surely
you can see the freedom in knowing?”

“Forgive me, I
cannot,” Tymall murmured.

“I do
not
want to discover the truth on my Throne!”

“You hope for
clarity before you sit on it,” Tristamil muttered, running a hand
though his hair. “Where is the urgency?”

“Sit, and
listen,” Torrullin said, crunching broken glass underfoot. A strong
smell of brandy wafted. With a muttered oath, he waved the debris
away. The smell remained. He sat. “Before I begin, do you agree
your word is your honour?” They nodded warily. “The Darak Or had
honour. Did I tell you that?” They nodded again, even more
cautious. “Thus, if I ask for your word, no matter the state of
your souls, you would be honour bound.”

They glanced
at each other.

“Say it!”

“Our word is
our honour.”

“Thank you.” Grey eyes bored into twin sets of grey. “You
will give it to me now, without reservation, or I give
my
word I shall maim the
one who does not, irreparably, and continue to love him
unconditionally.”