Chapter Thirty
Gathering of Rain
They dispersed after the morning’s revelations,
needing time away from discussion, debate and information, from knowledge. Thus, singly and in pairs,
they dispersed.
It was not easy to put the game aside. Destiny’s noose
tightened around all of them in one way or another and they would not emerge
unchanged.
Kylan and Kisha disappeared together in search of
herbs and potions to restock Kylan’s pouch. He was forced to throw what he had
away; seawater ruined it. Kisha took the opportunity to find a hat to protect
her northern skin against the southern sun. Both were amazed to discover that
the coin for north and south had not changed. The few dians she had - the north
relying on barter rather than money- could be happily spent in Actar. The two
had fun amid the stalls and tiny shops, and laughed a great deal in those hours
between. In quieter moments Kylan looked at this woman who had turned his life
upside down and inside out. He asked her to give them all a chance. He did not
say it, but he did not want to lose her, not yet. He did not say it, but she
heard him anyway and smiled secretly. She prayed for the opportunity to
discover something solid together. Kylan was a wonderful man; her father would
have approved.
Aven dragged a chair onto the balcony and there he
fell asleep, his thoughts swirling in the unconscious over Averroes, awaiting
her return, praying for it. Taranis had promised to fetch her when night fell,
signature be damned. The game was at a critical stage. He also had confusing thoughts
about Rain. Always he had been able to read between the lines, see through and
behind temper tantrums, into his argumentative nature, and now Rain was
elusive. He worried and his dreams were not soothing. Mordan stayed with him,
also falling asleep. Mordan, for his part, slept soundly.
Rain vanished alone, to find a moneylender…and to
think.
His thoughts were not always pleasant.
Taranis told nobody where he was going.
His thoughts were far from soothing also.
Llettynn and Belun made it to the edge of town without
being seen and there, far from prying eyes, took to the skies.
Glint went to a secluded eatery and, having explained
to the credulous proprietor about the new skin dye he was testing for a
fancy-dress party, proceeded to taste everything that came out of the kitchens.
He placed a huge order to take back with him, much to the proprietor’s delight.
How he would pay was anyone’s guess. Glint did not give the game thought. He
already lived with destiny; he had seen many changes come and go- this was
another and would play out one way or the other.
Samson and Cristi went sightseeing, entranced by the
southern ways. They quietly discussed what they had heard. As the two youngest
they often felt unable to contribute and thus forged strength simply by
admitting their fears to each other.
Saska did not know what to do with her time and when
McSee offered to take her out to the reef-lake, she readily agreed. They hired
a small boat and sailed the heat of the day away amid cool ocean breezes.
Neither mentioned the irony of being on calm water after so close a shave with
death. McSee did ask about the Sylmer, but she did not want to talk about it
and turned the flow of their conversation to his boyhood adventures, often
laughing with delight. McSee had shadows in his eyes- did they not all have
those now?- but he was interesting when not on the subject of magic and knew
how to entertain.
Sometime during the day Rain reported the Calloway lost at sea to the local
authorities, explaining the circumstances as best he could. He asked that word
be sent to Betty at the Luannesse.
Night fell, and brought with it a presence.
Not the noise, the music, the colour, the revellers,
although it brought that too.
McSee and Saska had just moored, pleasantly tired and absolutely
ravenous, when they felt the air heave and shimmer. They stared at each other
wordlessly and then began to run.
Samson and Cristi, laden with packages, stopped and
looked at each other, feeling the sinister vibrations in the air, under their
feet…they dared not move.
Glint was halfway up the stairs bearing a large tray
covered with edible goodies, payment satisfactorily concluded, when the air
became so dense he could barely breathe. He propped himself and the tray
against the wall and waited it out.
Llettynn and Belun endured much enquiry as to where had they got those incredible
wings, when they experienced a heave and suction, a tearing through the fabric
that was air.
Aven woke up clutching at his throat, and Mordan
prostrated himself on the floor in irrational fear.
Kisha and Kylan stumbled on the cobbles of a square
and clutched each other, slowly looking skyward.
Rain rounded the final corner to their residence, when
the air thickened and congealed about him. Taranis, coming from the other side,
stood dead still, staring at Rain, but not seeing him, his throat constricted.
They were not alone in the terrifying experience.
The noise of Actar subsided as pleasure-seekers froze
or fell or held onto each other. They clamped about trees, stuck to walls,
cowered into benches, all in consternation, and eventually they too looked
skyward, expecting a severe thunderstorm after the heat of the day, after heat
of weeks. What else could possibly thicken air pressure dramatically…if not the
precursor to an epic storm?
Consternation turned to fear when they saw nothing but
darkening sky with stars winking brightly. The moon had not yet risen.
Everything appeared normal…while the air grew ever thicker, heaved, shimmered, moved. Fear grew apace, yet not a body
stirred, nor uttered a sound. Actar froze.
Breathless waiting.
Suffocating. Airless.
And then it was over.
The would-be revellers dispersed, the night’s
pleasures over before they had properly begun. Fear remained tangible. The
rumours about Farinwood, Infinity, strange glows and changeling children
resurfaced, although words were barely shared. Now this, they seemed to say
with their eyes.
That night, Valarians- for the strangeness was
widespread- in private and in hushed tones, speculated about the coming war,
darklings, and recalled the horror of Drasso and Infinity. The precedent for
evil confrontation already existed in Valarian psyche, and they were awakening
to the fact that their beloved world was changing beyond their control. Forces
were at work. The sages among them said it was long overdue, but not even they
understood the meaning of their words.
One by one they rushed back; Glint first with the
food, having been nearest, and Saska and McSee last, having been the furthest.
‘What’s happening?’ Cristi asked, her voice quavering.
She twisted the cord at her waist.
‘Shh, it’s over now,’ Samson murmured, comforting her
in his arms.
‘No, I’m afraid it has just begun,’ Rain stated. He
stood just within the door, his fair hair a tangled mess, grey eyes faraway.
‘What we just experienced is a signature. When a great feat of magic is in
operation, there is a signature that can be felt by all magic-users. This one
was the mother of a feat if everyone felt it.’
Aven said from where he sat rumpled on the couch:
‘Something like a forgotten lord readying for a revealing?’
There was dead silence.
Taranis said it. ‘Vannis.’
Rain nodded, still looking into far distances. ‘Yes,
the Vallorin.’ His hand strayed to the Medaillon on his chest, and Taranis
moved to thrust that questing hand aside.
‘No, we don’t know enough. It’s his.’
Focusing briefly, Rain brought his gaze to Taranis,
eyes grey and so like his own, and then unfocused again, and his hand fell
away. Taranis glanced over at Llettynn, who motioned for him to leave the
mortal alone, to see what came next. Taranis stepped reluctantly away.
‘Vannis is almost free,’ Rain said in a disembodied
voice. ‘He has been imprisoned for a long time, now seeks release. Averroes set
him on that path a few minutes ago. That is what we experienced. She believes
it a dream, and took a dream into new levels out of curiosity. He is beautiful,
looks like us, golden skin…a dragon tattoo on his chest. His eyes are…mostly
yellow, but changeable. He needs the Medaillon to complete the release, to
remove the final barrier to his freedom…she was meant to have it, she is the
bearer he was waiting for, she is the Changeling. He is Vannis, Vallorin of the
Valleur, he tells her, he is furious, so close, thwarted…Averroes is…there is
danger for her…’
Aven rose, sat down, and then rose again. He glared
accusingly at Taranis, who was too intent on Rain to notice.
He is very
good, Belun thought, his eyes also on Rain.
‘You’re in danger also!’ Taranis blurted, gripping
Rain’s arm. ‘You have the Medaillon he needs. Pull back before he sees you!’
Taranis willed the man away, praying he would hear, and, to his relief, Rain
focused on him. ‘Thank the Lady,’ Taranis muttered, and then said without
turning away: ‘Belun, call the Eagles, all of them, to hell with signatures…and
tell them to find Averroes, tell them to bring her here. We need to get her
into protection immediately.’
Aven slumped as Belun began communicating with the
Dome.
Taranis gave his undivided attention to Rain. He still
held the man’s arm in a death-grip; with a muttered apology, he let go. ‘You’re
more powerful than you know, Rain of the Mantle. You are now the key to his
freedom, and he is going to sense that soon. You will be his main target.’
‘He incarcerated himself, Taranis,’ Rain said.
‘Deliberately, for this time.’
‘That’s a bloody long time to stew through,’ Glint
muttered.
‘Do not use the Medaillon again,’ Taranis said. And
then he frowned, realising Rain had not, in fact, touched it. More powerful than any of us suspect even
now and that could be as dangerous as a freed, angry Vallorin. Breathing
out, he retreated into the room, carefully schooling his face.
Llettynn sucked at his teeth, as expressionless as
ever.
Saska stared at Rain, wondering who he was, what he
was, and where he was going. She needed to know. She desperately desired to
know.
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