The Dragon Circle

By Elaina J Davidson

How do you lift a weapon against someone you once loved?

Valarians prepare for winter. Many died in summer, more will succumb to the cold. While waiting for the opportune time to strike, Margus secretly begins a different kind of campaign: soul snatching. Having lost his army, he now rebuilds it with the souls of people in despair after the violence of summer’s confrontations.

Torrullin steps blindly into Vannis’ final prophecy. It brings him a great gift; it also leads to terrible betrayal. In the aftermath there is a change in the Valla Dragon’s place of residence, and Saska abandons Torrullin, leaving him in need of diversion. Belun of the Centuar is suspicious of the strange vanishings and it drives Torrullin offworld to find a ward against soul snatching, to end Margus’ reign of terror. He enters the forges of flame, and the man who emerges is reformed of fire to unleash annihilating heat.

Uninvited, Torrullin enters the Dome of his Guardian father, Taranis, employing a darkened doorway most Guardians believed inoperative, to become the harbinger of final days...

The Dragon Circle completes the forging of Torrullin Valla. The ambivalent Rayne’s tale began in the shades and shadows of a prejudiced world and moved into flame and fire, and now a new future unveils ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elaina J Davidson
• Release date: Mar 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310682476

Elaina J Davidson

Elaina is a galactic and universal traveller and dreamer. When writing she puts into words her travels and dreams, because she believes there is inspiration in even the most outrageous tale.Born in South Africa, she grew up in the magical city and surrounds of Cape Town. After studying Purchasing Management and working in the formal sector as a buyer, she chose to raise and home-school her children. She started writing novels around 2002, moving from children’s stories, poetry and short stories to concentrate on larger works. She lived with her family for some time in Ireland and subsequently in New Zealand. After returning to South Africa, loving the vibrancy of Africa, she upended her life again and moved back to Ireland, her soul-home.Come and get lost with her!

Book preview

Prologue

UP IN THE highlands of Pendulim, in a cave behind a waterfall, in a time that is now, then and between, a wizened little man hunkered before a massive iron cauldron scarred with age, dented from emotional thumps, and burned black from fires great, small, smoky and magical.

Smoke continually wafted into his eyes, stoking the flames of irritation. This temperamental fire played foul with his mood and his health.

From his abdominal sac he drew his well-scored firestone and flint, and proceeded to work them, tongue trapped between his teeth. Sparks flew, but none landed where he desired them to. After nearly biting through his tongue and then cursing under his breath, he hunkered closer and tried again.

Finally - why did life plague him so - the wood took to decent flame once more.

At last the salted water in the cauldron warmed to his liking and he commenced tossing vegetables into the concoction. Rough chunks of potato and carrot. Sliced onion and turnip. Chopped celery and parsley. Leeks, corn, some barley, tomatoes. He added dried herbs and spices, and leaned in to smell.

Lovely.

Lifting the huge ladle, he stirred. The delicious aroma wafted into the air to fill his cave with homeliness and welcome. He nodded to himself. It would be a wholesome meal, a nourishing broth, perfect to welcome weary travellers.

He clucked then, smacked his forehead, and the ancient ladle thudded against the rim of the cauldron. He almost forgot! Where was his mind this day? Had he knead flour and yeast for the fairies, then?

Shuffling over to the ovens behind him, he placed huge hunks of risen dough within. A good soup required the freshest bread. Time enough remained for everything to simmer and bake and for all to be ready at the same time. Excellent. His guests would be hungry, and a good host ever ensured a hearty meal to satisfy.

Arli smiled and rubbed his small, wrinkled hands together. He wondered what it was Torrullin Valla would teach him, and what it was he needed to share with Torrullin Valla. Always one relied on the principle of mutual beneficence. Life worked like that, did it not?

Oh, this was something to look forward to indeed. Life had been too staid for some while now …

… no wonder he forgot his own name sometimes!

Part I

DRAGON’S BREATH

Chapter 1

Genius and insanity are engraved together on the same face of a coin.

~ Awl

Valaris

HE NO LONGER possessed an army. His symbiotic Horde succumbed to the Guardians’ symbiosis enchantment. It was a terrible manipulation; a body received a soul and a soul suddenly possessed a body, a melding they sought desperately to repudiate. More surrendered to summer’s annihilating weather. The few who survived both symbiosis and weather died in the Western Isles by the Enchanter’s hand.

He was now utterly alone in his quest. Even his partner in wickedness, the dara-witch Infinity, surrendered her long life to Guardian strength, leaving him without support. He was utterly alone, yes, but he was not about to surrender his quest.

Victory, therefore, required something incredibly special.

Then he found it. The perfect dungeon.

The absolute perfection of it inspired a new path, the discovery of that something special.

Weeks of crawling through dank caves and filthy tunnels to emerge bloodied and soiled finally offered up this extraordinary gift.

Margus swiped mud-encrusted hands over an even filthier tunic, eyes manic with anticipation. He had outdone himself; this was unqualified genius. The cavernous space, buried deep, was impossible to find, and utterly soundproof.

The perfect place to bind souls.

Poetic justice. The perfect revenge.

THE FIRST WAS a young woman. He found her curled up for the sleep of oblivion in a hollow within the roots of an ancient tree.

Valaris of the present remained drenched and was difficult to traverse. It separated Valarians not only in circumstances, but also in geography. Many wandered alone across wastelands, hoping to find others, searching for aid. Others simply abandoned presses of people to wander off into isolation, the better to deal with grief, the loss of hope.

A perfect set of factors for one seeking anonymity. In these early stages of setting new plans in motion, he did not desire to inadvertently trip over a sanctimonious Guardian or two.

The young woman was starving, near death. On her own, she would not last a day more, and there was no one in the vicinity to come to her aid, not that he cared whether she lived or died. It was a matter of the simplicity inherent in her weakness, for he was out of practice. The time since his previous reap until this, while not long, had leeched from him the energy and focus required. She was therefore the perfect first victim.

His little trial run.

She was also young; he had discovered youth lent a torn soul certain strengths, such as the fires of despair igniting swiftly to burn with intense heat, and that heat led to a terrible need to unleash hate.

Margus knelt beside her and brushed her fair hair from her cheek. So sweet. So perfect.

An instant later, she screamed.

Then she was eternally silent.

HE FOUND OTHERS. Many wandered in isolated places, aimless and hungry; several had given up trying. For some hope was dead, never to be resurrected. They were no more than walking dead. Most were alone, although a few straggled together, their desperation making fools of their efforts. They were men, for the most part, but he stumbled over a number of solitary women also.

It was a truth he encountered few children; either they were too weak to wander and died were they lay, or they had succumbed in uncountable numbers in summer. Children, as souls, were inefficient anyway, and he thus ignored them when he did find them.

He was selective with the men and women. He tracked those alone, unmarked by others, and chose them young, and he took them only when near death, injured, or wholly lost.

Thereafter he ferried each soul to his perfect place, a matter of thought over distance, and immediately commenced their training. For the most part this initially entailed keeping them trapped in the abysmal lightless dark. He permitted them a mere hour of light per day. It enraged them beyond the ability to measure.

Seven now, bound to his cause.

In a sense he returned to them purpose. Useless and helpless before he came upon them, they now possessed something to strive towards, a goal. One could call it hope, if one desired a label. How their silent screeches sounded akin to music when he doused the single candle; how entrancing that a soul screamed through the spaces of worlds.

He chose well. Not even a rumour of a whisper escaped his dungeon. Once more soltakin would touch Valarians, but this time death would come to them from their own. Poetic justice indeed. Something special, of a kind to set an enchanter upon a path to darkness.

Chapter 2

Time is relative, a measurement all feel as something unique, sometimes heavy, occasionally feather-light. Strive for lightness, because time is never ours to measure.

~ Earth sage

Valaris

VALARIS’ FULL MOON, Dark Moon, New Moon, came, passed. Redlef, the first month of autumn, saw the waters recede. Everywhere there was destruction. Little remained to succour the survivors. The sacred Valleur sites able to offer relief to the desperate remained cloaked; one did not tempt the devil twice.

Belun of the Guardians requested supplies from other worlds, and for weeks numerous and varied ships hung outside the space-warp, while the Centuar, Sagorin and Siric ferried supplies to the planet below. Other nations on other worlds gave unstintingly, and the Guardians of the Dome worked themselves into exhaustion. Once the ships left, the shield insulating Valaris was restored, but of Margus there was no sign.

Redlef gave way to Haerfell and with it came the Autumn Equinox. The first polar winds blew; winter approached.

Morinnes Mountains

MIST HUNG IN the trees, muting early birdsong. In the enshrouded silence the crackle of the fire echoed, a hollow sound those gathered around it for warmth ignored. Hands periodically stretched to the blaze.

It has been nine weeks, Taranis muttered. Where can he be?

Torrullin replied, He has not abandoned Valaris to her fate, not yet. Somewhere he watches for us as we watch for him.

Taranis frowned his frustration. We cannot sit around idle and wait for Margus to show himself. Enough with this, I say. We have other priorities.

Vannis’ arm draped around Raken and periodically he massaged her arms. They were reunited two weeks ago when the evacuees in the Dome were returned, and every night since had been steamy. Now he simply tried to keep her warm in the frigid air.

Raken blew her coppery hair from her eyes and murmured, Much needs doing before it snows.

Taranis nodded. Another ship orbits off the warp, Belun told me this morning. They have come with supplies to see Valaris through winter. Belun and Gren ferry in as we speak, and Aven and Senna are in charge of distribution …

Do what needs to be done for winter, Torrullin interrupted. He had heard every point made about Margus and the approaching cold season too many times. He stared into the flames as if seeking answers there. The inactivity did not sit well … and now he offered to continue the frustration. I will watch and listen.

Lanto spoke up. Do you know what day it is? This is Autumn Equinox, traditionally Harvest Day. I guess there is nothing to harvest, nothing to celebrate. I don’t like this Valaris.

Stay focused on the positive, friend, Taranis said.

Lanto grinned. I have a few choice tales to relate around fires!

You will get your chance on Bards Day, Taranis smiled. Folk need stories to warm them though winter.

They were at the source of the Galilan, Gasmoor and Ren Rivers, a camp at the foot of the Morinnes, beside a mountain lake. A temporary camp gradually became semi-permanent. It possessed height, was largely protected from the elements and it was accessible. Also, the watch could radiate out in equal proportion in every direction. It was the perfect vantage.

Shelter was heavy-duty tents from Xen III. They did not offer much in the way of privacy, but definitely kept the elements at bay. Everywhere on Valaris, similar shelters went up.

Torrullin was ever in situ, observing, listening. Taranis came and went, as did Belun. Vannis spent most of his time in the camp, although he now left from time to time to enjoy secluded time with Raken. Saska and Lanto appeared as duty called and released. Other than Belun, all were currently present.

Lanto’s smile slid away and Torrullin prompted the man.

It occurs to me Margus has to be peeved, you know, seeing folk this industrious. They disregard him, putting the past in back, going onward. As it should be, but it must really annoy him. None of it worked, at least not in the way he envisioned. That’s scary.

Vannis said, And when desperation is this high, it’s an opportune time to finish it. Why does he delay? Why hold back now?

Saska, busy with tea, straightened to hand out mugs of the steaming brew. Cold hands curled around the warmth.

Margus prepares one final effort, she said. Something different. He needs to catch us unaware, a big event, something we cannot anticipate. I think he waits until we are complacent.

Torrullin blew into his tea. The resultant steam warmed his nose. He knows I won’t be complacent.

But he won’t end on an anti-climax, Vannis said.

He won’t, no. Part of his arsenal is psychological, and he is good at it. I shall keep the watch. The Q’lin’la are on lookout also. The rest of you prepare for winter.

He tied his hands, for watching was doing nothing. Torrullin did not like this Valaris either.

Galilan

BELUN, CENTUAR LEADER, glorious even in humanoid guise, his colours of preference gold and silver, stood arms akimbo in the square where the humans of Valaris erected the Relief Centre. This was Galilan, the capital city, and attracted the majority of the survivors. In other cities and towns, the relief centres were smaller, easier to manage. Here it was hard work to keep up.

This particular building was sound, he thought; it would serve well to keep stores fresh for lengthy periods.

Belun stretched. His shift was over and not a moment too soon; it felt as if his back was on another planet, not here with the massive bales of flour he just delivered. Before that, sacks of rice.

Sir, a timid voice whispered, from somewhere below his armpit.

Belun looked down.

It was a lad of around fifteen. It was tough to guess a human’s age, because they grew too swiftly for their years to make sense to him, but this boy had to be around fifteen years old. Thin and pale. Not that anyone carried extra; hunger had pared Valarians down to bone and skin.

Sir, you’re a Guardian, right? Can you help me?

Whatever you need, son. Belun cleared his throat. This suffering would get the better of him before long. How he would love to wring that idiot Margus’ scrawny neck …

My friend, sir, he’s missing.

Ah. Poor lad. So many missing. So many dead.

He was here this morning, the lad said quickly, probably reading the scepticism in his eyes. We were scavenging for rope in the outer ruins and I went one way, Jamy another … and he never came back.

Belun cleared his throat again. How terrible. The boy probably fell into the river, having no strength to prevent a stumble.

I checked the river. Jamy’s bigger than me, a strong swimmer.

Maybe the boy went and got himself lost. This he could help with. Belun touched the lad’s shoulder. Show me where you were. They started walking. What’s your name, son?

Thomas, sir.

THERE WAS NO sign of Jamy and between them Belun and young Thomas accomplished a thorough search. Beyond the ruins was open ground and beyond that the graveyard. Someone hurt or worse would be immediately visible. The poor youngster probably did fall into the swift Galilan River.

Belun left the distraught Thomas with other friends and headed towards the Relief Centre, searching for Aven. He heard the old man before he saw him, shouting at Jalle Senna.

… can’t give your beasties to others, idiot! Aven’s tone was one of frustration.

By Aaru, man, the Centre needs able minds! I’m not that sick! Senna’s tone was pure irritation.

What seems to be the matter? Belun said, his big voice causing both men to jump.

Aven had lost most of his hair now, although his white eyebrows bristled as always, and Senna’s length of grey mane, caught untidily together with a piece of dirty twine, emphasized his leanness.

Deflating first, Aven said, Belun, if it’s not your size and colour that intimidates, it’s certainly that voice.

Belun grinned.

Jalle Senna, leader of the Mantle after Torrullin abdicated the responsibility, said, I have a slight head cold, that’s all. He wants me to quarantine myself.

Belun lifted one great shoulder. Folk are weak; he is right.

Aven squinted at Senna, vindicated.

Senna rolled his eyes.

Aven, I’m looking for the list of missing people, Belun said.

A sad sound erupted from the old man. That list is too long and still incomplete. If you’re looking for …

I’m not looking for someone already on it; I need to add another name.

Senna frowned. Who?

A youngster. Probably fell into the river this morning.

Aven put a hand to his chest. We can’t afford to lose even one now. He waved at Senna. "I’ll show you; he is removing himself from presses of people. Senna sneezed then, and Aven glared at him. See? This will spread."

Just go, you stubborn old coot, Senna muttered.

THE LIST OF missing was pages thick. It was sobering to see. Beside it lay the list of the dead, as hefty. Belun nearly screamed his frustration at the heavens. He would love to pull that creature’s toenails out one at a time, very slowly …

Pen it there, Aven said, pointing at a space below a red line on the upper page.

Why is there a line?

"Below that line are the ones reported missing after the water subsided. We think they succumbed to situations other than summer’s drowning, but death still needs confirming."

Belun nodded. Yes, that made a certain kind of sense. He inscribed Jamy’s details, and paused there, studying the names above the new label. A shiver passed through him then.

There were six names, and all were below the age of twenty. Each one went missing when alone. Events not witnessed.

It did not feel right.

What is it? Aven said.

One expects the old and infirm, Aven. Belun noted the locations marked as places of disappearance.

It’s sad, yes, when the young die. The future dies with them.

Belun nodded and thanked the old man, leaving him to other duties of relief, and walked away. His shift might be over, but before he sought rest, he would nose around a bit.

Chapter 3

A soldier does not lie.

~ Unknown

Beyond the Rift

FOURTEEN ELDERS SAT in a rough semi-circle under a glaring sky. Sweat poured off them and hairy blue flies droned around every drip of moisture. Hands constantly swatted, heads shook back and forth. Expressions usually blank pulled askew in grimace.

Sitting cross-legged in the arc, also battling flies and heat, were Camot, war leader, and Augin, soldier. Both men were once members of the Palace Guard on Ardosia.

When Augin returned from Valaris with news of Torrullin, heir to the Throne, it set tongues to arguing. When he revealed he swore his Valleur oath of loyalty to Torrullin Valla, the Elders commenced debate on what to do with him, sometimes loudly aired, other times whispered in huddles.

What Augin revealed about the situation on Valaris - and his actions there - amounted to treason. Augin swore allegiance to Dantian of Ardosia as Valleur subject and Palace Guard, but, truth was, that Vallorin was now dead, and they hid here in the Far Reaches to escape his murderer. Torrullin Valla was very much alive.

It did alter matters.

Opinion regarding punishment varied. Logically, the oath of loyalty would either transfer to the heir, or would revert to the Valla they regarded as Vallorin of Valaris - Vannis. Augin insisted Torrullin was the heir. While not yet formally declared, truth was, Torrullin Valla would one day soon be Vallorin. They, the remnant, would bow. If his words and insight were true, and the Elders saw no reason to doubt him, then how was his anticipatory oath treason? They went back and forth with nuance, and now the time for decision had arrived.

Augin’s fate lay in the hands of nuance.

The man’s face was devoid of expression, and he did not move despite the host of flies plaguing him. Beside him, Camot flapped arms, and silently prayed the Elders would be merciful. Augin was a good soldier, an outstanding scout. To lose him would mean losing one of his best. There were a mere nine of Ardosia’s Palace Guard remaining, and Camot was loath to make that eight. He had already spoken eloquently on Augin’s behalf, which placed him in the line of fire as well. Not that he would lose his head, but he would lose their trust.

Beyond the two men, the Valleur host sat silent and watchful in the heat without complaint. If one could call three hundred-odd a host. Whatever decision they made now was a statement upon the choices they would follow into their future.

Pretora, senior Elder, lifted his left hand, fingers splayed. The fly swatting ceased. As he dropped his hand, he said, We have decided to ask that Vannis pass final judgement.

An almighty cheer erupted from the Valleur. It meant they would make their way to Valaris, to Vannis.

Camot started clapping. A good choice!

Augin smiled, hand over heart.

Pretora lifted his hand again. Quiet, please. We have decided to send Augin back to Valaris to determine the timing of our arrival. He fixed his tawny gaze on the soldier. Gather as much intelligence as you can safely do and return to us with options. Meanwhile, we shall gather what strength we may here, in the event we are summoned to battle.

Augin rose and bowed. This time his smile threatened to split his face. Summoned to battle. The Elders were prepared to enter a war if Vannis demanded it. He punched the air in triumph … and the Valleur roared acclaim.

Valaris

SEVENTEEN SOULS. Margus scowled in his private space, tapping fingers in rhythm upon one tense thigh. Seventeen was too few, and the culling proceeded too slowly. Every foray into this world of humans needed careful preparation, because the Guardians materialised without warning. The do-gooders drove him insane with their unpredictability. Torrullin radiated a watch hard to hide from; it meant he was ever on his guard.

He needed something more. Truth was, he required unassailable leverage. What form such leverage would assume escaped him in the present.

Morinnes Camp

DURING THE NEXT three weeks Vannis, Raken, Taranis and Saska appeared for brief stays in the camp, usually leaving after a few hours uninterrupted sleep.

Lanto hiked off to Luan, a town on the west coast, and stayed to help people there, as they once helped him. Kisha and Kylan were in Farinwood, Kylan’s skills as Herbmaster sorely sought. By all accounts, their romance continued to blossom. Belun came, went, and seemed bothered by something, which he did not see fit to share. Aven visited infrequently, and much talk marked each occasion.

Torrullin was occupied after all, in planning, in communication, in stroking frustrated minds. He barely controlled an impulse to demand that someone, anyone, smooth away his frustration.

Lycea stayed away. He had not seen her since the evacuees returned, and understood why that was. She was in Galilan with Shep Lore, the two of them the last survivors of the Vall habitat. She assisted with temporary shelters cobbled from the brick and stone of the ruins of the city.

He should see her, put the spectre of attraction behind him, but was afraid of what else he would find in Galilan. His mother, his sister, his home, what remained of Rayne’s life. He was afraid to find only death.

Vannis and Torrullin discussed the merits in uncloaking the sacred sites, and concluded they would continue to wait. It was a tough choice, but at present Valarians coped. Both men hoped matters would come to a head before true winter set in.

Quilla informed Torrullin the deadline for the Q’lin’la Gathering was mid-winter, the day of solstice. After that, the Q’lin’la would revert to their bird guises.

It was time to act.

In leaving the camp, he set factors in motion. Action, after all, demanded reaction.

Torrullin went to Galilan.

Chapter 4

Men build cities, never quite understanding the potential for destruction contained within a press of dependent people. What a shame the lesson will not be learned.

~ Awl

Galilan

WEEKS OF UNSTINTING labour began to pay dividends in the once proud city of Galilan. Years of rebuilding lay ahead, but the city was again clean and habitable. Many trees survived and now served to soften the harshness of destruction.

The city was also unfamiliar. Galilan was a stranger.

Other centres laboured under similar circumstances, but for Torrullin his first sighting came as a physical blow. Here Mason Drew studied scripts in the archives and pursued many intellectual debates with his peers. Fundor the Foundling roamed these streets speaking to everyone from the lowliest beggar to the wealthiest merchant. Renos the pirate slipped in and out countless times. Rayne, last of his incarnations, was born and raised here.

It was gone. Only memories remained.

Torrullin drew in a deep breath, searching for something, anything familiar, the tiniest landmark, a scrap of colour.

Nothing.

The streets and thoroughfares, the market squares, the cobbled surfaces, those were in place, as were parts of the foundations, some walls, but all of it measured at knee height. Nothing stood out to draw the eye, to declare There! once stood a chapel or tavern, anything from known history.

He shook his head. It was time to look to the future as everyone else was forced to. Memories could not be taken away, but they had no place in the present.

A sea of dun tents made use of the solidity of foundations, and wooden platforms to guard the tents against snowfall went up everywhere. Someone clearly thought ahead. New buildings stood at knee-height also, and further a-field a number of roof trusses were evident. In the distance he noticed a new, complete building - had to be the Relief Centre.

This was the new Galilan, not the old.

Washing lines, rain tanks, and cooking fires dotted the strange refugee landscape. It was something he had not expected ever to see on Valaris. The great waves and floods Margus caused during his summer campaign caused this. So many died; the Darak Or had a lot to answer for.

It was noisy, children shouting and screaming in play; a glorious sound, but already the ache of a headache settled in. Weeks of inactivity at the Morinnes camp gave him the gift of silence, and he found he wanted to shout at everyone to shut up.

All was orderly and neat. The homeless - the previously homeless, he mused - were better off now. Those tents were more than they possessed before. A great society leveller had swept across the land.

Two, three months ago, Galilan’s population housed in this manner would have spread over the countryside for many sals. Now he noticed empty lots where children amused themselves.

He smiled upon hearing a dog bark - kids rescued their pets first. There were bound to be a number of cats and hamsters, canaries … and you are now rambling.

Torrullin made his way through the tent city, his feet automatically finding familiar routes. They remembered even as the eye disbelieved. He drew a few stares as he went by, but was unaware. A man in black, lean, seemingly fit, and so thoughtful, he had to be someone in authority. Wondering whispers trailed him, but he was unaware of those also.

As he neared the river, he noted the pier pilings still standing, which was just short of a miracle, and a group of young men industriously replacing the decks. Already a number of boats plied the water, loaded with logs and all manner of gear, items washed away and found. The boathouses were gone, but not for long, it seemed.

Torrullin was proud of every Valarian.

The Horde destroyed the Prism Park with its spectacular statues of light before the flooding began, Aven told him. The Relief Centre now occupied that space. As before, folk gravitated to the square, sadly for different reasons. Torrullin avoided it now. His feet drew him on, although his mind refused to acknowledge destination.

Finally, he stopped in the street and saw the house as it was.

The simple stone house his mother lovingly restored. The large picture windows open to the light. The small front garden flanking the road, the paradise she created in the back. Here he was brought, newly adopted; here Rees was born. Here Aven would deliver him after a session with the Mantle.

His heart hammered. It was gone. Of course, it was gone; what had he expected?

A few stones stacked in the corner near the remains of the eastern boundary wall were all that remained. He lifted his gaze to the tree further back. Rayne’s father built swings for his young children, and how high they went. Rees always won, for she possessed an unequalled fearless streak.

He looked at the tent under the tree, noticed a half-built snow platform, a cooking fire - in use - an old trestle table he remembered from the basement standing in the shade, a bench and buckets. He noticed also, the basement trapdoor, now exposed, stood upright.

Rayne!

Rees! Her voice pulled him around. She ran towards him from the street. Thank the Goddess.

She dropped her basket and flung into his arms. Crying and laughing, they hugged each other.

Mother? he eventually dared ask, his voice a whisper, and felt her shake her head. He tightened his hold, closing his eyes.

They drew apart and looked at each other, and he bent to retrieve the spilled basket - flour, eggs and carrots - and followed her to the trestle table. He noticed the neighbours on each side, in back and across the road, people everywhere, going about their business. Privacy was a matter of a neighbour’s respect.

You stay here alone? he asked, sitting on the bench.

No, brother, don’t worry. Jenna - you remember her - and her husband Leno, they stay with me. Her parents are alive and occupy their old lot. Jenna lost her little boy … Rees swallowed, and gestured at the basement. We’re hoping to get that dried out before the snow, and Leno will build a shelter over the door.

Are you all right?

She stopped and looked at him. It’s been tough, but I’m fine, and I’ll get through whatever comes next. The question is, are you? You disappeared and now you’re different.

We all are, Rees.

That’s true. No need to over-think everything, is there? Is it over, do you think? She shook her head. Sorry, how would you know?

Torrullin smiled wryly. Yes, how would he know? He had no idea what Margus was up to.

I hope winter isn’t too severe this year, Rees murmured. She sorted the groceries into airtight containers. The carrots lay to one side, for later use. Then she looked him squarely in the eye. Will you be staying?

He would be welcome, and she hoped he would, but he shook his head.

No, of course not. You’re probably helping old Aven and that crazy Senna. I saw them at the Prism - at the Relief Centre.

In a manner of speaking, Torrullin said.

I saw them, in a manner of speaking, or you’re helping them, in a manner of speaking?

He grinned. You know what I mean.

She grinned as well. Yes, idiot. Will you be in Galilan?

Not for long.

Are you involved in all this sorcery stuff?

In a manner of speaking.

She laughed, pulling a face at him, the kind only sisters dared make. Fine, I’ll leave it. For now. Sometime you’re going to tell me everything or I’ll force you.

He laughed too. You will never believe me.

I think I would, Rayne.

Rayne. How odd that was now. Rayne no longer belonged. Rayne had been someone else. My name is Torrullin. My birth name.

Her eyes filled with sympathy. Mother told you about your adoption.

He nodded, looking away. Another time he would tell her the truth.

You will always be Rayne to me, brother.

He nodded again and did not otherwise respond.

Not long after, he left, promising to come back. He would have conjured food and drink for her, but did not. She would expect him to do so for everyone, and he had not that kind of power. He did leave her tea and sugar he brought with him from his camp in the mountains.

SENNA ACCOSTED HIM the moment he was within sight of the Relief Centre, shouting out his name.

They appropriated bricks and stone to raise the huge storeroom and, although the completed building barely rose above head height, it was the most impressive structure in Galilan. Many pitched in to build, seeing the need for adequate storing and safekeeping.

Positioned before the building, there were sturdy tables, slanting awnings overhead, manned by various men and women. As Torrullin drew near heading towards the insistent Senna, he saw most had lists before them.

Lists of stores, lists for recipients of stores, lists of survivors, lists of new arrivals, lists for lot numbers, lists of the missing, lists of the confirmed dead - people milled everywhere, each intent on reaching one or more of those lists - lists for duties, lists of newborn … already the latter was long.

Torrullin shook his head in a mixture of admiration and disbelief. Valarians would indeed survive. Margus underestimated them. Margus would abhor that, as Lanto suggested. Saska was right, too; the Darak Or had something special in mind. How long before he put it into motion? Margus possessed long-term patience, but short term he proved impulsive.

Torrullin, my boy, you come as if sent. Jalle Senna clutched his arm and dragged him to a ramshackle shed on the other side of the store. Aven is ill. He wouldn’t allow me to contact you.

Torrullin frowned and pushed his way past Senna into the hut. Aven lay on a pallet on the floor shivering under a thin blanket. The dome of his head glowed feverish pink and his cheeks were twin spots of heat.

He put himself in quarantine here, says folk have enough problems, Senna whispered.

No need to talk as if I were not here, or dead! I got this from your sneezing, idiot! Aven piped up in a voice thin and quavering. And I told you not to bother our boy!

I did not …

Coincidence, old man. Torrullin grinned as he kneeled next to Aven. Well, you are not at death’s door, not with that attitude.

He laid his cool hand on Aven’s hot brow. It was a head cold, not life threatening in the least. Still, immune systems were not what they should be. He closed his eyes, drew the illness out, and rocked back on his heels.

Don’t be so stubborn, for Aaru’s sake, he muttered.

Aven stared up at his one-time student in wonder, and sat up. He was still shaky, but healed.

Senna drew a stunned breath. "You can do that?"

You have shocked Senna, my boy. I bet he only meant for you to talk sense into me. Your power exceeds all I thought possible - amazing.

Hmm, Torrullin uttered, not willing to discuss it. He helped Aven up and they went outside. You need a hospital of some kind. Kylan set one up in Farinwood. There are enough sorcerers around with medical knowledge and there has to be a few Herbmasters …

Indeed, and we’re working on it, Jalle Senna interrupted, pointing west. There, see that oak tree?

Ah, yes, Torrullin murmured.

They did not need advice from him. He saw a makeshift flag flapping from one of the branches, a red cross on a white background, the universal symbol for medical rescue.

A building goes up around the tents, Aven said. In fact, that’s Averroes, I mean Lycea’s, pet project.

Torrullin stilled.

Hers and Shep Lore’s. Working herself to death, poor lamb, but will not listen, oh no, as stubborn as you ever were. Torrullin, now you are here, will you talk to her? Maybe she will listen to you. Will you try? She needs to rest a while, so intense these days … like devils driving her …

Senna shook his head, neither man noticing how unmoving Torrullin was. No, no, she’s trying to forget something. We all are; that’s why we work so hard, no time for tears.

She is trying to forget me. I am the devil driving her, Torrullin thought.

Someone called Senna away and the man left with a muttered and harassed apology.

Torrullin said to Aven, Sit, you need to rest. I will find her.

Aven nodded. I’m so tired. Bless you, Rayne … oh, dear I’ll never get it right. I heard about your mother from Rees, and I’m sorry.

She knew she would not survive it. She said farewell the last time we saw each other.

Aven nodded. A wise one. I often thought she knew exactly what went on when you were young. She always seemed lost to reality, but she knew, she knew. How is Rees doing?

Torrullin grinned. She will get married, have lots of babies, and rebuild that house, just you wait. Nothing gets her down.

Strong character, exactly what Valaris needs.

Torrullin saw to it that his old mentor found a seat and something warm to drink, before threading his way through people and tents, keeping the flag in sight and trying not to think on how he would react upon seeing Lycea again.

Chapter 5

"I have my beady eye on you! How dare you question magic?"

~ Tattle’s Blunt Adventures

Galilan

SHE ARGUED WITH carpenters in a corner of the hospital’s rising walls.

At this stage it was a large square around a sea of tents. Newborn babies squealed, groans emitted from a number of closed tents, mostly older voices, and everywhere people scurried. In the centre of the ordered confusion was an old table where two men sewed up a boy who exhibited a large cut on his leg.

Next to them were the fires for boiled water, and next to those, huge tubs of soapy water,