The Kallanon Scales (74 page)

“Torrullin!”
Taranis called. “Where are they off to?”

Torrullin
steadied frayed nerves. “To bury Neolone.”

Vannis
murmured, “A Kallanon burial. It is fitting. It is his right.”

Torrullin
exited onto the terrace. The gloom was too intense and the snow too
swift to discern movement on the plateau.

Taranis
approached. The revelry now was muted, although it could not be
completely subdued. Somewhere Matt laughed.

“I wish I
could ease it for you,” Taranis murmured.

Torrullin
pinched his nose. “I am holding it in by the slimmest thread.”

“I see that.
Are we all right, us two?”

Torrullin
managed to smile. “Was it Lowen?”

Taranis
laughed. “Indeed! A wise lady!”

His son’s
smile widened. “I must have her tell me a few home truths as
well.”

They slapped
each other’s backs and stood a while in rare companionship.

A while later
Vannis stood before Torrullin. “What comes next?”

Torrullin
scratched at his head. “I need a bath.”

“I do, too.
What comes next?”

“A number of
things.” He felt better. Clean, clear air, no Murs, Dragon dealt
with and about to be laid to rest. Taranis, in his way, helped.
“Word must go out to Atrudisins that their world is safe.”

“Caltian
contacted Creed.”

“Then we need
bend our minds to succour.”

“It will be
done. This is not what I am talking about.”

“I know, but
they remain issues, particularly with winter on the doorstep.”

Vannis
sighed.

“Fine. Once we
have witnessed Neolone interred with due ceremony, it is time for
Tris and I to leave Atrudis.”

“You aim to go
it alone with Margus?”

“Tris will be
with me.”

“And me.”

“Folk here
need you more. They rediscover magic and it is not enough. Further,
I refuse to grant Margus leverage; we know how he uses those I love
against me.”

“I do not like
it.”

“You think he
won’t use Tris? The lad is untried.” This was from Taranis.

“Tris is bound
to Tymall. Whatever the situation, I cannot hide him anywhere.”

“He would not
stay hidden,” Tristamil said, entering the conversation.

“There it is,”
Torrullin said.

“Well, we will
see who stays and who goes,” Taranis muttered.

“Before all
else I must destroy the Taliesman. Then attempt to call to Saska.
Teighlar will live again.” That was said with determination. “She
is close, but waiting.”

“These roads
are complicated.” Taranis shrugged.

“Bartholamu
tells me there is no tranquillity for us.”

“Bartholamu is
occasionally endowed with a wisdom that astounds me.”

Torrullin
barked a laugh. “Quiet, for pity’s sake, he will not appreciate
what you imply.”

Taranis
grinned. “Fortunately he knows me too well.”

Torrullin
gazed into the snow-clad landscape. There was no sight of the
Kallanon. He drew breath. “Her Majesty will call when they are
ready for the ceremony. There is time enough to deal with the
Taliesman.”

Vannis said,
“I am sitting this one out. The only time I would now fight for a
Valleur tool is for the Oracles.”

“And the
Throne?”

“I dare anyone
to try that one.”

Torrullin
glanced at his father. “Will you bear witness?”

“It would be
an honour.”

“Tris, you
need attend.”

“My Lord,”
Caltian prompted. “I am Creed.”

“Yes, you are.
Come then.” Torrullin bounded down the stairs into the swirling
snow.

The four were
swallowed by the weather.

Grinwallin
Forest

On the third
tier was a gate in the wall facing north that led them outside of
Grinwallin and into the forest.

The near
darkness of the day was multiplied a hundredfold. It was oppressive
under the old trees and all four eschewed words. There were unnamed
rustles, some disjointed, some with rhythm, but none dared dwell on
the source.

“Son, how far
do you intend to go?” Taranis asked in a subdued tone.

“Not far. I
have no liking for this place either.”

“Spooky,”
Tristamil muttered.

Torrullin
chose an invisible path through the forest that led gradually up,
and the way became increasingly slippery. Muttered curses
accompanied reluctant footsteps.

“Quiet!”
Torrullin whispered. “I cannot hear!”

“Hear what,
for Aaru’s sake?” Taranis asked.

“The trees.”
His tone implied it should be obvious.

“Well, that
makes sense,” Taranis muttered.

“Shh,”
Tristamil shushed. “The trees reveal the path.”

Torrullin,
ahead, sent a smile over his shoulder, and went on.

“And that is
comforting?” Caltian asked, eyes darting.

Torrullin
halted, head cocked. He turned right, the way levelling out
again.

Moments later,
they teetered on the edge of a sheer precipice. Caltian uttered an
oath and sat untidily. Not even Neolone had frightened him this
much.

A huge chasm
yawned wide to the next mountain rising sheer into the mists and
was filled with swirling cloud and pelting snowflakes. The bottom
was lost to sight. It felt like the edge of the world and familiar
things were absent.

“Father,
please, I am freezing,” Tristamil complained, teeth chattering.

“Surely you
don’t mean to toss it down there?” Caltian managed.

“This is a
good place,” Torrullin said.

“Your
definition of good leaves much to be desired,” Taranis rasped.

“The chasm
will absorb the impact.”

“Impact?”
Caltian echoed.

“Ye of little
faith,” Torrullin intoned with a cold smile. “Come, would I
deliberately bring you into danger?”

“And your
definition of this place is what exactly?” Taranis returned.

“Please,”
Tristamil whispered.

Torrullin said, “Tris, as a bearer of the Light, undoing evil
is something you may be faced with in your future and therefore you
are here to be instructed as well as witness.” Torrullin hunkered.
“You think it simple to undo evil. You trust in the Light, a great
thing, but it is difficult to undo an evil and requires a
superhuman degree of concentration. Power becomes secondary and
you
must
know
that. Evil has a way of twisting back to do harm upon its
destroyer, and your will is the only factor that counters
it.”

“You make it
seem easy.”

“You have
never seen an undoing, son.”

“Your
confidence …”

“I am over six
thousand, so, yes, I have the confidence and it does appear simple,
and it never is. Hark to the teachings of your staid old father …”
and the father smiled to put the son at ease.

“You are a
lucky man, Torrullin,” Taranis said. “You have had the
opportunities to teach your son.”

Torrullin
lowered his eyes and did not reply. He rose. “Let us be done. It
gets colder by the second.”

“Amen,”
Caltian said, rubbing his hands under his armpits. He refused to
look over the edge. He had not realised he had a fear of
heights.

The Taliesman
rested in Torrullin’s left palm. His searching gaze traced every
curve, every depression, every artistic curl - this he would enter
into the Valleur Oracles, for it was time for Valleur history to be
updated. The little golden Dragon within its circlet looked nothing
like Neolone, was but a stylised depiction of the creature it was
meant to represent, yet it and its master were intimately entwined
and it was difficult to look upon the rendering and not see Neolone
there.

Nemisin and
Neolone, indivisible forever. That would not change.

He stretched
his hand out over the precipice and began to chant. The language he
employed was incomprehensible to the three witnesses. These were
the words of Nemisin.

“
Milart crun eart
- from evil I release you -
milart tolari eart
- from good I
release you -
crun me pentari
- evil will perish -
ca
torali me srivort -
and good will survive
-
milart crun eart.
”

Repeatedly,
building rhythm.

Taranis
reached out and hooked a hand into Torrullin’s breeches, the
swaying filling him with disquiet. Torrullin’s eyes closed and he
was unaware.

Tristamil was
ashen. He could not know the words and could not possibly realise
how simple the invocation was, yet he sensed the power, the brute
will, the growing climactic point, and his gaze fixed upon his
father’s face.

Understanding
for his father’s warning bloomed within. It was not in the words;
it was in the thought that aeons ago brought about power to
literally move mountains and move invisibly through the spaces of
worlds.

A shiver would
pass through the entire universe.

Caltian
clutched at his knees, shaking. Fear was a welcome reminder to
courage and caution, yet this was new, other. This was undoing and
could not ever be natural.

He gaped and
Tristamil gasped.

The gold
melted, ran into Torrullin’s palm lines, invaded his pores.

Taranis
motioned severely when Tristamil made to speak, and gripped.
Torrullin was unaware of anything now but the chant.

He shook his
hand.

Fine drops of
liquefied gold scattered into the chasm.

He opened his
eyes, continuing to chant, his gaze upon his hand. He swayed, his
hand heavy, like stone, wanting to drag him over, pulling at
him.

Taranis, grim,
held on.

Another would
have fallen, another would have dragged the other with him, but
neither man was ordinary.

“
Te crellir
unmoren
!” The shout echoed across the
valleys for sals.

In the Great
Hall everyone froze. On the plateau, the Kallanon looked to each
other knowingly. Vannis, alone on the terrace, covered his face
with his hands.

Te crellir unmoren.
The power is
unbound.

The last of
the melting gold vanished into the chasm and Torrullin fell back.
Taranis caught him.

A blinding
flash erupted from the depths and a deep bellow, akin to a wild and
livid tornado, lifted into the silence. The air tore, the ground
quaked, the trees shuddered, and the snow altered descent to spiral
outwards, and then it was over.

The power was
unbound.

Finally, it
was sundered.

A prophecy had
been undone.

“…
and now
we lay him to sleep …”

~ Lament

Plateau

I
t was true dark by the time Abdiah
called.

The Kallanon
excavated a great hole north of the stairway and lined it with pale
boards. Nearby a massive convex mirror repelled the snow
bombardment; it was the means, also, to the supplies required to
prepare the grave.

Neolone lay on
his side, face turned and propped with fine gold wire to gaze up
towards the stars, to behold freedom in the vastness of space, a
sight denied him as the weather deteriorated.

An oval cage
fashioned in silver waited. This would be fitted over the Dragon
once the reverences were spoken and thereafter a solid wooden lid.
Turf would be carefully re-laid. Only those who were there would
know the final resting place of this Dragon. It was the Kallanon
way.

Abdiah began
to speak.

“Neolone was
Kallanon and is to be sent on his way with respect, for such is the
way of good and evil in our realm. Although we knew him not, we
knew of him. He was a mighty Dragon among the mighty of our
history. This Dragon was power. We can do no less than afford him a
place in our lengthy tale, our descendants will know of him
also.

“He came from
a time when we delved magic and our realm was younger. He was sent
out to find the Q’lin’la, our teachers, to persuade them to return.
If he succeeded, our tale may have evolved differently. He failed.
In his failure, he found he was alone in a hostile realm unable to
return home. It sounds innocent, a just reason for his subsequent
actions, but we know him for what he was. We are thankful he failed
to find the Q’lin’la and we are thankful he never returned to
us.

“And, by our
actions here in Neolone’s adopted realm, we hope to apologise for
his influence on an unsuspecting race, the doom he brought to them.
In his bid for freedom, he again failed, and for that every soul
everywhere should be eternally grateful. We shall learn from this,
as will others and, as we lay him to rest, we revere him. Neolone
was and is always Kallanon.”

Abdiah fell
silent and another spoke.

“Your name was
well chosen, Dragon, but your time has now ended. Somewhere another
Timekeeper breathes and we hope his or her destiny will prove the
exact opposite of yours. May you find rest.”

And
another.

“We are
thankful you are buried here, Neolone. It is fitting, for this was
your realm longer than the one you left, and it is fitting, for in
dying here you will not find the means to rebirth. In every way,
you have breathed your last. Mighty Dragon, we hope in all faith
you do find peace.”

One by one,
the rest of the court offered benediction.

“May your soul
be free in the Light.”

“We pray the
Dark holds you no longer.”

“Rest,
Neolone, rest into eternity.”

“You will not
be forgotten.”

“Farewell,
Great One.”

Then Vannis
spoke.

“The House of
Valla thought they knew you, Neolone, but in reality the time spent
in visiting each Vallorin was too brief. What we knew was more
legend than truth. You were a part of us across time, a symbol of
good to our people, even as we knew it was not so, and for that we
thank you.