The Nemisin Star (26 page)

The pale king
drew a shuddering breath. “No wonder he ran directly to Lian.”

A shaft of
light pierced the gloom of the night-like atmosphere of the opulent
chamber and Torrullin turned his head to the window to see the sun
rise … spectacularly. The large window gave a panoramic view and it
drew him like a magnet. He rose, intrigued to see the planet from
the safety of within. Long moments passed and then Ophuls stood
beside him.

“Beautiful,
isn’t it?”

“Wondrous,”
Torrullin returned.

The grey world
of rock was transformed. Every crevice seemed afire, and lakes of
amber floated tantalisingly real out on the ancient flood-plains.
Old riverbeds appeared to flow fast with liquid gold. The almost
familiar rock piles of yesterday were revealed as great birds,
golden and sleek with marvellous wings of burnished copper.

“I have never
witnessed a more unexpected revealing,” Torrullin added, and meant
it.

“It surprises
me morning after morning without fail. I am ever awake at this
early hour to experience it and every day it is new. A mere ten
minutes and then all returns to stark and bright, but those ten
minutes are well worth the torture of this place. This sight is
what keeps me sane.”

Torrullin was
in total rapport with the man beside him. Testing, he murmured,
“There are other worlds.”

Ophuls was
silent for a time. “Look at us. We are an evolutionary abomination.
We adapted to what fate dealt here and can now no longer stand
under a sun, and we are ugly to boot. No man or woman would enjoy a
new life filled with ridicule.”

“Ugly is very
subjective, Your Majesty.”

“It is an
opinionated universe,” Ophuls retorted.

Torrullin
laughed. “Granted, but you have not seen ugly, I think.”

The king was
not amused. “We were like you once. There are books of paintings,
photographs, sketches of what we were. We have hidden those, for to
look on what was once our reality is painful. To those of us who
have looked, we know what it is we have become. We shall not leave
here, ever.”

They stood
then, two different men, but similar in that both were possessive
of demons, and watched the sun spectacle until the surface reverted
into the stark landscape. Sighing as if a great gift was summarily
removed, they returned to the sitting area.

Torrullin
broke the loaded silence first. “Who, and what, is Lian?”

Ophuls leaned
back, clasping hands behind his head. “Lian is the First Priestess.
She is good at what she does. Unfortunately she is young and
therefore highly ambitious. I suspect that young woman aims to
wrest rulership from me or, more accurately, my daughter. I suspect
she will bide her time until I am gone, for she will not permit me
the gift of return.”

“Is she
related?”

Ophuls smiled
sourly. “I see you know the meaning of the blood. Lian is my niece.
She believes I killed my older brother, her father, for kingship.
It was an accident, my oath on it, but she refuses to hear. For a
priestess she is particularly unforgiving.”

“They often
are.”

“Indeed. She
doesn’t believe in God, I think, only in the power of return. She
told me directly that no true God would allow a cycle of rebirth,
that it is a wholly engendered state achieved by an ignorant
sentient race. A blasphemy!”

Torrullin did
not reply and was stared at.

“I asked that
you speak freely,” said Ophuls.

“I agree with
her. How can a soul ever find rest if it is doomed to return to the
vagaries of life, form and influences good and not so, time after
time? Surely death is the ultimate release? And, if you believe in
the Afterlife, there is nothing to fear from death.”

Ophuls said,
“You are a reincarnate.”

“I am.”

“Then why do
you need us?”

“My state is
self-inflicted and unaided. I know nothing of the mysteries. I seek
to understand.”

“Unaided.
Either you were very powerful before or exceedingly stupid.”

Torrullin gave
a grim smile. “Both.”

“You have
learned, I assume, from that stupidity. You are young; why seek the
process again, even if aided?”

“You
misunderstand, Sire. Out there reincarnation is rare and nobody can
tell me how it works, the process, the requirements. That is what I
am after.”

“But you
should know.”

“Fine, here is
the truth. I am a sorcerer and I reached for rebirth through magic,
not a physical scientific process, and I did it entirely alone. I
am immortal and after six thousand years and a seventh rebirth, I
am as ignorant of the way as I was the first time.”

Ophuls burst
out laughing. He slapped his thighs. “Magic? Those are fairy tales
of the imagination! Six thousand years, immortal? Who are you
fooling? Lord above, perhaps you are a danger only to
yourself!”

Torrullin
waited until the man’s mirth died away. “Most sentience,
particularly humans, which you once were, has trouble with
sorcery.”

Ophuls
swallowed his amusement. “You are serious.”

“I am.”

“A seventh
rebirth?”

“Yes.”

“If you speak
true, do you know what the seventh means?”

“I do, but I
discovered it
after
the last rebirth. It is a state of
knowing and I need no priestess to reveal it to me.”

“You
are
immortal. I do not know whether to envy or pity
you.”

Torrullin
looked away.

“You wanted to
be,” Ophuls realised, “but not this finally. These are the lessons
we learn, all of us, somewhere, sometime. To blindly enter is to
discover what we most wanted is also what we most fear. I cannot
say I envy you, but you are wasting your time if you hope there is
a reversal.”

Torrullin
closed his eyes, knowing then, in some small space in the back of
his mind - and soul - he hoped for that. “That is not why I am
here.”

“Good, for
Lian would eat you for breakfast. Why are you here? Why do you
require the knowledge when you cannot use it for yourself? Does the
sorcerer you claim to be desire a means to manipulate the realms of
re … dear God, that is it, isn’t it?” Again Ophuls laughed. “I
believe you are seven times born, if not the stretch of your years,
but I draw the line at magic.” A thoughtful look crossed his face.
“You need to prove it before I talk more about this.” He folded his
arms, his gaze challenging.

“If I prove
it, will you allow me to speak with the First Priestess?”

“Yes.”

Torrullin ran
a hand through his hair. It had been a long night, with many hours
of hiking before, and an even longer day on Valaris before that.
Weariness made mistakes. He certainly had not intended to reveal he
was seven times born. Weariness could cause magic to go awry.

“There is
ordinary magic, tricks,” and Torrullin snapped a book from the
coffee table into his hand.

“Legerdemain,
a parlour trick. Any quick hand can do that,” Ophuls murmured, not
impressed. “We have such artists here.”

“It is yet the
first step in mastering magic.”

“I do not need
a lecture.”

Torrullin
looked at him from under his lashes. “I am tired, Sire, and apt to
err, but tell me what would convince you and I shall see it
done.”

Ophuls
theatrically laid one of his seven long fingers along his thin
nose. “Let us see. What would convince me? Ah, I have it; my
recurring dream. Transform this chamber into a paradise of plants
and water.” Clearly he thought nothing would come of it.

Torrullin was
relieved. Q’lin’la magic. Song. Akin to the real illusion of his
Throne-room. Thank Aaru the man had not requested a shape change.
Shapeshifters were in a class of their own and it was a talent he
had not bothered to master. He even denied Belun when the Centuar
one day offered to instruct him.

He rose to
pace, aligning the melody while he gathered his will for the silent
song. “Watch the tree,” he said, pointing at the jewelled affair in
the left corner.

Ophuls’
growing grin vanished. The tree shivered briefly … and was real.
Green, with bright red fruit, and beyond it a waterfall erupted to
fall into a clear pool, and then sounds followed; the freshness of
splashing water, and the gentle rustling of leaves in a breeze.

Ophuls put a
hand to his mouth and dared not move.

It was indeed
as per his dream, and the paradox astounded him. He had seen this
come to pass in night time visitations, yet he had here, moments
ago, asked for it to be made reality.

What came
first? Seeing, or asking? He clutched at his armchair and looked at
it in astonishment. He encountered wood rather than fabric - he sat
in a worn rocking chair and under it sweet grass tempted feet into
nakedness. Without thinking he kicked his sandals off and squashed
his toes into the unfamiliar coolness. It was pure bliss and a sigh
of pleasure escaped him.

A massive oak
threw dappled shadows across his amber robe and he looked up,
afraid now to miss detail of this metamorphosis, and encountered
the glowing emerald of a newly-leafed tree, the rustling like music
in his ears.

A tear slid
over his cheek and then there was more and he wondered if his heart
could stand it. A carpet of daisies, white, pink and yellow, waved
invitingly in a cool breeze all the way to the water’s edge, and he
felt the gentle caress of moving air.

No matter how
long ago the loss, no matter how many generations passed, some
longings could never be wholly forgotten. Ophuls, sitting there
entranced, amazed and humbled, remembered the beauty of a sunlit
world as if he walked it the day before, and he knew he would
hanker for it with a sadness and passion the rest of his days.

He held his
hands out, fingers splayed to catch the breeze, and laughed,
enthralled, astounded, happy and free.

Sunlight
sparkled on the water, hurting his eyes, but he wanted it to go on
forever.

Torrullin,
watching in silence, felt a great sadness settle over him.

How they took
it for granted back home, when so many did without. Valarians were
more aware than most, having had their world essentially destroyed
not long ago, but time already began to gloss over the horror and
soon the day would come when a tree was just a tree, and no longer
a special friend to be cherished for its beauty and for what it
signified in the cycles of nature.

Valaris,
despite her past, was a fortunate world, and it had taken the joy
in this king to bring it home.

“I am able to
ground this permanently. Does the sun hurt you?” Torrullin lifted
his hand and friendly clouds covered the brightness overhead.

The pain
behind Ophuls’ eyes diminished, but he missed the orb of light with
passion. “Can you allow it out occasionally?”

Torrullin
nodded and the clouds passed away. The sun threw silvery rays to
the ground, lighting the pool anew, but more clouds waited to cover
it for a time.

He lowered
into the grass beside the king and lay staring up into the oak.

“Now I find I
am homesick,” he murmured. “The majestic oak, patriarch of all
trees. There is no greater thing of beauty or one as deserving of
reverence.”

A tiny bird
flew into the branches and put up an almighty scold and Ophuls
laughed, tears running unheeded over his thin cheeks.

“What is
it?”

“A sparrow,”
Torrullin smiled. “And that is a squirrel,” he added, pointing out
the furry rodent running along the branch above the king. “Those
are butterflies and those buzzing creatures are bees,” he murmured,
pointing into the daisy field.

“May I
move?”

“Freely,
Sire.”

Ophuls rose to
walk carefully to the water. At the edge he knelt to touch - it was
real. He immersed both hands into the cool depths and cupped some
to his lips and drank … and drank more, deeply. He stood and stared
into the water as if mesmerised.

Ten minutes
passed. Fifteen. Torrullin said not a word.

Finally the
king turned. “This is great magic. You are a powerful
sorcerer.”

“This is
necromancy, which is not about the dead as the term implies. It is
Creation, Ophuls, therefore of the highest order. A truly ancient
art.”

“How old are
you really, Torrullin?”

“I count my
years by the standard measurement as near six and a half thousand,
but I may be older. Much of my destiny is still hidden from
me.”

“You deal in
destiny?”

“And Fate.
Prophecy and Time.”

“You are a
God, then, to do this.”

“I am a man on
a shaded road and see not the end - that is all.”

“For you there
is no end.”

“Then there is
no beginning.”

“How do you
sleep at night?”

“Restlessly.”

Ophuls nodded.
“This can remain, you say?”

“If you desire
it.”

Ophuls looked
up at the slick crags over which the glory of the waterfall
tumbled. There were heights up there, spaces that could be
explored. “Oh, I desire it. More than I care to admit. Can this
marvel be achieved on a grander scale?”

“For many to
enjoy? A park? Perhaps a field or two where the young and young at
heart can kick a ball around? An evergreen forest where lovers may
walk and tryst? A wide still river where canoes can meander to the
sound of eagles crying? Waterfalls, lakes, the wonder of seasons?
Sun, rain, clouds, a storm or two? Like that?”

“Yes! For
everyone!” Ophuls hurried back to the shade of the oak. “I cannot
keep this to myself, that is a trap, but I would give you anything,
including safe passage out of here, all I own - name it - if you
could do this for my people.”

“I would do it
for that look in your eyes. I do not require payment for joy.”