The Kallanon Scales (7 page)

Taranis tapped
his chest and murmured, “Do me one favour and keep it at that
length, all right?”

“You know me.
Let’s find coffee and decide how to approach your messages.”

Happy to get
away from Saska’s presence, Taranis led the way to the kitchens
below. Torrullin followed, aware of his feelings. His father still
loved his wife.

Time, it
seemed, had not lessened that dilemma.

While they
waited for coffee to brew, they sat at the huge kitchen table. The
hour was early.

“There is
symbolism in your dreams. I would suggest the Gates, but it may not
give enough clues.”

The Three
Gates were three islands off the southwest of the continent, a
freestanding arch upon each. These were the gates to dreams, one
for past, present and future respectively. It was a Valleur sacred
site in daily use.

“They may aid
recall.”

“Recall isn’t
the problem.” Torrullin was silent, and then, “The Throne could
help.”

“You want me to sit on it?
Me
? As I recall, you dared not do so
when Vannis was Vallorin.”

“There are
exceptions, particularly for times of war. A chief counsellor has
the power in the absence of a ruler. I will deputise an Elder to
that end.”

“I am no Elder
and I am not Valleur. This is about more than dreams.”

“We gain two
objectives in doing it now, one being your recall and clarity. The
other concerns the twins. I want you to have power over the Throne.
I want you to have power over my boys if anything happens to me.”
Torrullin had not looked away and he did not now.

Taranis
blanched. “What are you expecting?”

“I prefer to
be prepared.”

“Why not
Vannis?”

“Vannis
doesn’t need the Throne in his life.”

“There must be
others you trust.”

“Not with the
lives of my sons. Taranis, there is historical precedence for exile
of an evil twin, even for sanctioned murder. If my people cannot
decide who to save, they may kill both, and I would prevent
that.”

Taranis was
horrified.

“We discuss
here the continued and peaceful existence of the last of the
Valleur. Wouldn’t you sacrifice one to hold onto it? When the boys
were born, Vannis offered to end the unrecognised one’s life before
he could breathe. In many ways that was the right decision.”

Taranis stared
at his son, who held his gaze with great calm. The brewing coffee
burped into the silence and Taranis used it as an excuse to break
contact.

He poured the
concoction, bringing it back to the table black and sugarless.
Neither drank it that way, neither noticed.

“Fine. I
accept the responsibility,” Taranis said.

“Thank you.
Why are you reluctant?”

Taranis
sipped. “I don’t trust them. I love them, yet many times I don’t
like them much either. The feelings, I assure you, are mutual.”

Torrullin did
not refute it.

“What are you
really asking of me?”

Torrullin rose
to put honey in his coffee. Standing at the counter, he said, “I
know them, Taranis, and I can end this uncertainty. I choose not
to.”

“You have to,
for all our sakes, including your own!”

“Hear me out,”
Torrullin said, returning to the table. “They are in symbiosis and
they exist because of it. They are the two halves of what I am.
Enchanter and Destroyer. Each has inherited a part.”

“That is being
simplistic.”

“Agreed, but
it holds. There is a place for both of them - there has to be, or
fate would not deal this hand.”

“Torrullin …”
Taranis began, adopting his reasoning tone.

“Wait. If one
is removed, the other will become what was taken away.”

“You cannot be
sure of that.”

“I am both, I understand the symbiosis within, and therefore
I see it in them. I exist because of lumin and darak, as do they.
If I was to expunge Destroyer, I would lose
all
my power. Thus, if one of my
boys was to die, the other must assume what is lost to maintain the
duality I am.”

Taranis
swallowed. “And if something does happen to you, gods forbid?”

“The Enchanter
continues in two separate personalities. That is not arrogance, it
is reality, and necessary at this crucial stage of Valleur
re-growth, even if they cannot see it.”

“How do you
resolve this? You cannot place a symbiosis on the Throne after
you.”

Torrullin
shrugged. “Perhaps exile is a future option. I have a thought on
how to delay declaration of an heir, which I shall implement at
their ceremony. At this stage they require maturity and the Valleur
must be kept guessing.”

“And maturity
will be garnered by remaining together.”

Torrullin gave
a lop-sided smile. “I need to be wise, Taranis. Am I? Will I make
it worse? All I know at this point is that we will see this
prophecy through, and until then I aim to delay revealing. After?
The decision must be mine, or yours, not the Valleur in
general.”

“Will you tell
the boys?”

“I have
to.”

“They will
kill me.”

“If they
understand you are there as buffer, they will hark.”

Taranis was
not as sure. “Will you tell me who is what?”

“Once I have
spoken to them.”

“And they will
know also?”

Torrullin
nodded.

“Another
symbiosis,” Taranis understood.

“One that may
protect us.”

“Will it
protect the Valleur? Valaris? Wherever darak turns his gaze?”

“Lumin will
hold evil in check, as he has done for many years.”

“You are
burdening him, Torrullin.”

“I know, but
he will understand, and the other has not completely turned. It may
get easier.”

“That is being
hopeful.”

“Perhaps.”

Taranis
sighed. “We deal in hope.”

“Makes the
universe turn.”

“Love does
that.”

“Love is a
kind of hope.”

“And what does
darak do for lumin, Torrullin? Surely there should be mutual
benefit?”

“It makes him
a good leader. It strips him of what remains of his innocence.”

“And that is a
good thing?”

“No Vallorin
has been an innocent.” Torrullin finished his coffee and rose.
“Come, let us to that seat. I would sit on it with only you as
witness, and then it is your turn.”

Taranis
drained his own cup, rose slowly.

He wished he
said no.

Taranis came to
rest beside Torrullin when he halted before setting foot to the
dais, looking ahead.

Torrullin
stepped onto the dais and approached the seat.

It was a
simple chair made spectacular by its priceless alloy, had rounded
armrests with a straight, high back.

Torrullin
turned, face expressionless. He stepped back swiftly and sat. The
Throne glowed, and then the glow transferred to its occupant and
was gone. Torrullin’s eyes took fire, hands clenched to the
armrests.

He leaned back
for maximum contact, and his tunic burst open to reveal the blue
Dragon on his chest, and it leapt in joy, in recognition, a living
extension of the Vallorin.

Taranis was a
little awed, a lot shocked. This was his son. Millanu’s son. A
Valla, more than an Agripson. What power to the Vallas, by god.

Torrullin
closed his eyes, savouring the resurgence of power, thinking
nothing, asking nothing, feeling renewed, knowing welcome and
recognition.

This was pure
and did not judge, did not expect and did not instruct. This was
Nemisin’s Throne, from then to now, unbroken.

He laughed
aloud. Yesterday Vannis put the fear of the Goddess into him when
he intimated the Throne and his visions of the dark one were bound.
There was no knowledge of that here - merely the sense of having
come home, full circle.

He opened his
eyes. Freedom. To know so much without asking. He sobered. A
prison. To know so much without asking.

Around his
grey irises blackness hovered, the sign of Destroyer arising, part
of it and accepted by the Throne. His sons had never seen that part
of him.

Taranis
understood then how it was Torrullin raised them without
discrimination. They were him. He understood why he was asked to
stand in Torrullin’s stead. Love was a powerful force. Love was a
kind of hope.

Torrullin
gazed down. “I am able to control both my natures, as they control
each other. Fear no more.”

Taranis
nodded. It was not a father who spoke, not Enchanter, not
Destroyer, although all were present. The Dragon had spoken.
Nemisin. Torrullin. Finally together. It was as it should be.

Torrullin
smiled. “Come. Sit.” He vacated the Throne and gestured.

Taranis knew
the Valleur tales of death to intruders, and sat before he could
think too much. Torrullin commenced a soft enchantment, but he was
deaf to it, feeling the power in the seat under him, understanding
at last the magnetism of the Vallorin, sensing how his abilities
increased.

It was warm
and welcoming. It soothed and agitated simultaneously. It revealed
and opened. It gave, led, strengthened, and corrected faults and
the whole was so comforting one never wanted to leave its
embrace.

No wonder the arrogance of the Valleur, this was real power.
Goddess, he felt
alive.

“Taranis.”
Torrullin’s voice recalled him.

He blinked and
stared up at his smiling son. “My god, Torrullin.”

“Indeed.”

Taranis drew a
breath. “Can I get up?”

“Do you want
to?”

“No.”

The lure. Once
experienced, never forgotten. Torrullin gave his hand to his awed
Guardian father, and Taranis grabbed it, a lifeline to sanity, and
pushed reluctantly free of the addiction, surprised at the host of
contradictions.

“It will
accept you now, any time.”

Taranis turned
to the Throne. “A craving, son, I could well do without.”

“You will be
fine, your heart is in the right place.”

“I hope
so.”

They stared at
each other with a new level of understanding, a greater connection
than in years, and then Torrullin ran a hand over the seat like a
benediction, and Taranis shivered.

“Please, can
we leave?”

Torrullin led
the way off the dais. Over his shoulder he said, “Think on your
dreams now.”

When in doubt,
act. Action frequently leads to decision.

~ Book of
Sages

Torrullin’s
Valley

C
abin fever drove him
outdoors.

He needed to
delegate to go forward and thus called a midday meeting beside a
river where the Keep was out of sight.

In addition to
the Valla men, there was Taranis and Quilla, Raken and Lycea.
Torrullin requested the presence of Shep Lore from Galilan, and
Krikian, a Valleur from Menllik versed in dream symbolism.

Shep Lore was
the sole survivor of the half-Valleur of the Vall Peninsula. Margus
sent his symbiotic Horde onto the wastelands of the north and
destroyed the race living below the surface in their technological
habitat. Lycea once lived there, but her life took strange turns,
keeping her from it until near the end, and thus Shep was the true
living memory of that time below ground. He appeared attired as
always in a voluptuous purple robe. Shep would paint the world
purple if it let him.

Krikian, regarded as young in Valleur terms, was nine
centuries old, born on Ardosia, the Valleur world beyond the Rift.
That Valleur habitat Margus too destroyed, and a mere three hundred
and sixty escaped. Those few survivors came to Valaris after the
Darak Or’s defeat.
Krikian
meant
Dream-catcher
; he was excellent with
symbolism and dreamers often appeared on his doorstep.

The man
reminded Torrullin of Augin, the Palace Guard from Ardosia who
became like a brother to him when they together went to Pendulim
for the warding of souls.

Krikian
possessed the same youth, the same certainty.

How he wished
Augin could do this new mission with him, Augin, unfortunately,
drowned three years ago while swimming in the stormy Western Ocean,
a dare that went wrong. Four Valleur lost their lives that day.

Raken’s face
showed fine lines and she no longer moved as quickly, but her
glorious copper hair was undimmed. Her fiery emerald eyes flashed
challenge. Torrullin wondered if Vannis would simply follow her to
the grave when the time came.

Lycea had
packed a picnic lunch and laid it out on a chequered cloth

“Torrullin,
when will it be smooth sailing?” Raken demanded. “I hoped, with the
boys become men, Vannis would remain home and we would spend the
last years wrapped up together.”

“I hoped to
find peace with Saska. I guess we are who we are.”

“Me and my big
selfish mouth.”

“You keep us
on our toes.”

Raken cuffed
him. “Seriously, how are you coping?”

Torrullin
shrugged. “I will live.”

“Saska loves
you. You two will sort it out.”

Raken was the
first to say something positive. “You think?”

She grinned
and touched his face. “Men. Always want reassurances. Yes, I
definitely think. You two will be all right.”

He clasped her
hand. “Thank you. I feel a whole lot better.”

“Good. Now,
what is going on?”

“Raken, the
romantic, and Raken, the realist,” Torrullin teased and she winked
at him. “I suspect it will get worse before it gets better, and it
will probably take Vannis away.”

“I’m going
with.”