A Twist of the Sands

A Twist of the Sands

  By P R Glazier

  Copyright 2013 P R Glazier

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

   

  Chapter 1. Arrows in the Night

  “Nar’Allia!”

  “Nar’Allia! Awake!”

  “Nar’Allia! Awake my girl!”

  Nar’Allia sensed the deep awakening. Awareness slowly stirred within her from deep down in the depths of her slumber. Consciousness began to seep slowly back into her mind. At first she was sure this was a dream, a trick of the night come to stir her, an enactment come to create theatre upon the stage of her inner being. 

  “Nar’Allia! Do you hear me child?”

  That was it, suddenly the house lights of her mind were turned on, she walked out upon the stage of consciousness from the wings of sleep and the footlights glared. She reached behind her and with a groan, drew the pillow around her head with both arms in an effort to cover her ears. She felt annoyed at being rudely brought out of the deep sleep, the time, when most of the mind shuts down to rest. This is the dream time. The T’Iea have a story. They say the dream time is given to creation, given over to Eny’Nin’Rel, the Maker. For he created the T’Iea and they must regularly return their inner most being to allow for his whispered teaching and spiritual replenishment. For they believe that the subconscious mind is the part within each of them that is of the Maker, the place where his spirit resides. The part of them that connects. The wisest amongst them say that dreams are the Maker’s teaching and they would do well to heed what he has to say. So why then was he shouting out her name so loudly?

  “NAR’ALLIA!”

  Again she groaned, she let the pillows slip from her head, the voice shouting at her was just as loud, the pillow seemed to have little quieting effect. So lifting herself onto one elbow she drew the pillow from beneath her, turned on her side, laid her head where the pillow had been and drew it right over her exposed ear and nestled the other as deep as she could into the mattress.

  “NAR’ALLIA, NAR’ALLIA, for the Maker’s sake come to your senses girl.”

  This time the voice struck a chord, a switch had been made, reflexes sprang into life, Nar’Allia’s mind finally shifted into top gear and she jerked wide awake. Her eyes still sticky with night’s sleep but wide open. Her vision was blurry and her long eyelashes felt like they were tied together in knots. She rubbed at her eyes with her knuckles. A sudden realisation had presented itself, she actually wasn’t dreaming and the heightening odds that there could actually be someone calling her name had finally roused her from her deep slumber. She now lay alert, listening, slightly suspicious but also very curious. She raised her body up on one elbow then slowly sitting upright in bed, she grasped the pillow that had been across her ear tightly in her fist.

  She listened.

  The darkness at this late hour was complete, everything rested in the dreaming hours. Only the silent things remained abroad, the secret things. The stars and the moon still tracked their endless path around the world. The trees stood still as the night, their roots silently drew goodness and nourishment from the damp soil. Owls flew in soundless flight hunting silent prey. Straining her ears Nar’Allia listened intently for the slightest sound. What was it? Who was it? Someone had called her name. Hadn’t they? But her ears only met with the silence of the dead of night. Doubt crept back into her mind. Surely no one was up at this time. She relaxed her muscles and fell back down upon the mattress with a dull thud. Closing her eyes she tried to return to the dream time. She tossed and turned for a while but then groaned, turned onto her back and drew the pillow across her breast and hugged it. She lay there listening, her eyes wide open, all thoughts of sleep gone. Her mind and her body had shaken off the sleep of the Maker. She sighed and continually scanned the room by just moving her eyes. Her T’Iea vision had adjusted to the pitch black and dark shapes could just be seen, dark shadows on an even darker background, but she knew what they were, familiar shapes of varying things in her bedroom. There were no additions, no strange forms to raise her suspicions. Nothing seemed to be out of place. She gazed towards the small window in her room. Father moon was a thin smile in the sky, a slit in the fabric of the night’s veil; he was mocking her foolishness, the weak light shone through the linen curtains drawn across the window. Nar’Allia stared at the cloth moving gently as a breeze swept by the house. Leaves rustled on the boughs of the tree beyond her window.

  Nothing. Everyone in the village surely must be asleep. Everyone that is except her.

  She frowned, a thought crept into her mind. Perhaps those twins, her half brother and sister, maybe they had been playing a mischievous trick on her. How like Thor to amuse himself in his wakefulness by making her suffer to. She would have to check now anyway, the thought had entered her mind and she knew she would not be able to return to sleep until she knew the answer. She sighed and groaned in resignation. Sitting up once more, she laid the pillow back where it should be, swung her legs out and placed her feet onto the floor. Standing slowly she straightened the folds in her night dress and stretched, then yawned. Finally she made her way, tip toeing across the wooden floor to the door. She stood silent for a minute listening; no sounds came so reaching gently down, Nar’Allia carefully lifted the latch.

  She paused for a few seconds upon the threshold of her bedroom. When she was sure no one was about, she stepped out onto the landing. Again she waited for a few seconds and listened. No unusual sound presented itself to her ears. So, slowly walking across the landing to the door opposite, Nar’Allia gently lifted the latch and stepping forward peaked in around the door at the two sleeping forms just visible in the darkness. This room was lighter, even though it was on the opposite side of the house to hers and father moons gaze did not reach here. But this light emanated from inside the room not from without. A pair of N’Ip’Chuk’s, buzzed gently in their ornate crystal jar upon the bedside table between the two beds, the pale yellow light from the male’s abdomen increasing in brightness as it stirred, aware once more of the presence of its mate. The female seemed mesmerised by the glowing form, her long antennae flicked about, sometimes gently stroking the male’s abdomen. Nar’Allia frowned, this show of affection made her feel uncomfortable somehow. Still frowning she stood there for a minute or so, but no giggling, no shaking of the bed cloths, or other obvious giveaway confirming the twins were awake was forthcoming. So shrugging she stepped back onto the landing and quietly closed the door. She ran her fingers through her tousled hair wincing at the pulling sensation in her scalp. So gathering the long strands tied together along with the many ribbons, held them to one side just below her ear. She frowned once more as she felt the increased pull of the many strands of tied hair. The sensation warned of the lengthy work that would be required to brush it out in the morning and getting it looking its curly best. Hmmm, she thought, no chance of sleep now that she was fully awake, perhaps a cup of water and a little light reading would coax her restless mind back to the Maker’s sleep once again. So she made her way past her room, on past her parent’s bedroom door and tip toed slowly down stairs intent on reading a few passages from Nu’Er’Etalle, her current favourite book of T’Iea poetry. She smiled thinking how her father had purchased the book on a whim, he knew her well. She shook her head at his blatant extravagance, he shouldn’t have traded for the book, they had need of other things, but she would not tell him so.

  As she avoided the wooden boards she knew would creak and being careful not to knock against any paintings that hung there upon the wall, she made her way stealthily down to the parlour room at the foot of the stairs.  She became aware of a soft glow in the
dark, hmmm perhaps someone had left a candle alight? Not a good thing especially in a wooden house five metres above the ground in a wooden tree surrounded by a great wooden forest. She frowned yet again. So many times she had been told not to leave a candle burning without supervision. But she was sure she had extinguished all of them before she went to bed last night, she remembered doing the task clearly. She had been the last to go up, she was reading Nu’Er’Etalle and wanted to finish a particular lengthy work, a famous and very ancient poem about a fare T’Iea maiden who lived in Gile’Noac’Til who had shunned both family and love to become a great warrior of shield and sword, a noted Paladin in military service to the Legions of the Wind. A life-long allegiance, sworn in obedience to her discipline and to the service of the Maker of all. Nar’Allia loved the story; it was romantic, full of honour and personal conflict, of absolute selflessness in the face of great temptation. Full of the facets of T’Iea nature that made her proud of her people. Yet she had not experienced any of these things, she had not had the opportunity to prove herself in such a manner. It made her think what she would do if faced with the challenges that the Paladin faced. Nar’Allia sighed, she smiled at the thought. But what would she do, hah! She didn’t know what she was going to do with her life yet.

  Nar’Allia placed her foot carefully on the parlour room floor, she scanned the wall sconces, none were lit. But there, yes, there above the fire place a faint glow emanated into the room. Nar’Allia, her curiosity aroused, walked slowly towards the source of the glow; it remained steady, not flickering like the light from the flame of a candle. At first she thought it may be a male N’Ip’Chuk that had managed to find its way into the house and get trapped, well the silly thing was wasting its time in here trying to attract a mate. She thought of the pair of insects in the crystal jar upstairs, she became slightly annoyed once more as she thought of the male’s arrogant display and the female’s submissive acts. Well, no female was surely so silly as to get itself stuck inside the house, unlike this stupid male. As she moved slowly across the floor towards the soft light she gently rubbed her eyes, clearing them of the last vestiges of sleep, she focussed upon the glow on the wall. It was very localised, although it shone out, it did not illuminate anything around it. It was almost like the concentrated light wasn’t shining outwards at all, but was being sucked inwards towards some unknown thing as yet hidden from view. Yes, there, strangely it seemed to be concentrated around the open end of the old quiver that hung there above the fireplace, the one that used to belong to one of Minervar’s friends. She frowned, of course, the stupid insect had fallen down inside, now she, a mere female would have to rescue the thing. Come to the aid of the male.

  But before she moved any closer, Nar’Allia’s thoughts turned to the original owner of the quiver. Nar’Allia had met this friend of her step mother Minervar once long, long ago. Nar’Allia had been very young and she remembered being deeply in awe of the T’Iea ranger. She seemed a lot like the Paladin in the poem, strong and able, forthright and true. A woman totally in control of her life and her destiny, fully independent, having no use for strutting men. Yet she knew from her mother that even this ranger had loved once, been promised in marriage. Nar’Allia suddenly felt saddened for the T’Iea ranger was lost to them, gone after they had completed the task they had to do. She was no longer part of this world. Nar’Allia knew her mother still missed her. But it had now been a long time ago.

  Nar’Allia had never taken much notice of the ranger’s old quiver, it was just some vague reminder of times long gone, it was empty of arrows, always had been. Her step mother had never allowed any arrows to be placed within, for some odd reason that Nar’Allia did not understand. On this point Minervar was most insistent, nothing was to be placed inside, her step mother looked almost frantic sometimes when she reinforced her insistence on this matter.

  But now that the N’Ip’Chuk had obviously fallen in there Nar’Allia felt a nagging need to release the thing urgently. The quiver hung beneath the ancient long bow, another item that had once belonged to this same friend. Serinae, yes, that was her name, the Lady Serinae. Nar’Allia suddenly felt melancholy for she remembered just how beautiful and charming Serinae had been and how she, like the maiden in the poem, had forsaken love, perhaps even for the same reasons, in favour of the disciplines of her chosen profession and a life of servitude.

  Minervar and Serinae had travelled together long ago, in fact they had both been involved in a great adventure, had even saved the world from catastrophe and foiled the real enemy, the T’Iea’Neat’Thegoran the Dark Elves as they were known in the common tongue of men. It was the stuff of the tales of old. It was a lengthy tale, but Nar’Allia new the story well, for she had heard Minervar who had told it countless times to the twins over the years, for they both loved the story. Nar’Allia and her father had even played a small part in the tale, minor characters really. She recalled how the T’Iea mage, the lady Solin De’Teinde had written the story down, from a diary that Minervar had kept, but Minervar didn’t need a book to recall the facts, she had been there, she had actually witnessed everything that had occurred. Minervar, along with Serinae and their other companions had met Nar’Allia and her father Iolrreas where they had once lived in the north, in a hovel of a place called Tent Town. Minervar and Serinae had come to the region with one of the Grûndén regiments. Nar’Allia smiled at the memory of them, the Grûndén. These were the short stout people that men call Dwarves, they had a tower there, a fortress guarding the northern lands from anyone or anything that ventured down from the far north. The two T’Iea women had stayed with her father and herself in their log cabin. This meeting had led eventually to Minervar and Iolrreas being married later and so they, with a younger Nar’Allia, had travelled south. The three of them had come to live here in Gel’Te’Ertenya, the great forest. She had to admit it was infinitely preferable to that dirty, smelly, run down place where they had lived before in the north.

  But years before those events, when they had first arrived at the Grûndén fortress her father had built them a log cabin on the massive expanse of grassy plains on which the tower was built, the Grûndén had helped supply the wood, sent out soldiers with axes, they would have had to travel many miles to find trees, but they did this for them and dragged the cut trees back to the fort. They said they had to do it for firewood anyway, so a few more pieces of timber did not matter.

  The tower fort of the Grûndén was sited there as a bastion of defence against any Ognod raiders that may happen down from the northern wastes. She remembered the great stone tower without windows, just arrow slits in spiral patterns from the base to the very top towering high above. She remembered that the top was often lost in the low clouds of morning, before the sun had risen high enough to heat up the land. She and her father had gotten to know their Grûndén neighbours well. The Grûndén soldiers had been her friends; they were a jolly people, very hospitable, full of life and somehow very connected to the earth. They used to tell her many stories, one she loved told of how the Grûndén were moulded from the clay that lay beneath their feet, by their deity the Lord Øédréll. They used to joke to her that they never really left the earth for they were miners at heart, never happier than when they were delving into the ground. But like all the races they were forced into the baring of arms for they faced the same threats as did all the races in the world. Grûndén soldiers were tough, the Grûndén in general were the hardiest of folk. Great battle axes they wielded in preference to swords, they said that an axe was closer to a mining pick and they felt more comfortable with the movement. Nar’Allia smiled as she recalled one Grûndén sergeant at arms who after laughing at her efforts to lift his great axe told her, 

  “Aye ma wee lass, them fancy swords be fo’ those who like t’ dance an’ prance. Can ye see me adancin’ an a apransin’ now, eh? He laughed as he picked his axe up from where it leaned against the stone wall with one gauntleted hand and slung it across his back and into its holder. He
laughed as he tousled her hair with his other hand and walked away.

  Nar’Allia smiled fondly, for she used to go to their tower fortress and laugh at their jokes. She marvelled at the industriousness of the short stocky men and women. They were a race full of vitality, the spirit of Eny’Nin’Rel, or as they knew him Lord Øédréll was very strong within them, everything they did they undertook with gusto and fervour, with a lot of noise and much joy. She remembered as a child laughing until her sides hurt. She felt the Grûndén liked her, they seemed to love to make her laugh. She remembered standing by the wayside watching the Grûndén regiments marching to and from the tower, for they changed the compliment of soldiers every six months or so. She got to know the three Grûndén commanders that were in charge of the three separate regiments at that time. Commanders Théròun, Commander Grûénnrig and Commander Hârrgsòn, tough little men not much taller than she. They always made a point of inviting Nar’Allia and her father to dine with them. Often they would invite the two T’Iea to travel back with them, to come and stay in Gwéldølĩn the Grûndén city under the Tolle’ Ambrunista, the great range of mountains that divides the continent of Dahl’Ambronis between its northern and southern regions. She had dreamed of the city many times, for the Grûndén described it to her on many occasions. She dreamed of the mountains, it had always seemed such a romantic place. But, in the end they had never gone, the opportunity never arose perhaps, or there was always some other thing to do. She sighed perhaps one day she may, she hoped so, for the descriptions of the great and beautiful city of the Grûndén always sounded wonderful to her ears and filled her young thoughts with awe and inspiration.

  But eventually their lonely little log cabin had become surrounded by tents of all shapes and sizes, many peoples of many races had arrived over the years and settled there. She did not know why, she only knew they were in the main a very unsavoury bunch. But they would never do her or her father any wrong; in fact Nar’Allia and her father could walk among them in complete safety. Yet when other outsiders came, the town’s folk would always try and embezzle money or goods from them. Nar’Allia had even known boys her own age who were adept at picking the pockets of outsiders when they strayed into Tent Town. But then a living had to be made, it was a harsh existence, there on the edge of the known world between the familiar and the unexplored. For north from the fortress, across the isthmus of land called the land bridge, lay the region the Grûndén called the Grughanååven, the Grey Lands in the common speech. Then further still a mountainous region known to the Grûndén as the Smòlt Erûûn, in the common tongue the region was known as the Iron Hills. Neither she, or her father, had ever travelled north across the great isthmus of land that joined Dahl’Ambronis with the northern wastes. Only the Grûndén went there, they sent patrols to keep an eye on things. But the Ognods they kept watch for had not come across that inhospitable land at least not whilst she and her father were there. In later years Ognods had indeed travelled south. At first the Grûndén had captured them, but more came. Yet these were not soldiers, they carried no weapons of war. It seemed that the Ognods were not the fierce giants that all the stories told. A few Ognods had settled in Tent Town, but they didn’t frighten her, even though they towered above everyone else, massive men at least twice the height of the tallest human or T’Iea. They had long teeth that protruded from their bottom jaw giving them a very aggressive look, yet they seemed very subdued, almost subservient.

  Nar’Allia recalled a silly rhyme that the Grûndén sometimes sang in the tavern within the walls of their fortress, a rhyme about the Ognods, how did it go?

  One alone, ‘e be aliken’ t’ a stone,

  Two o’ more, then ye shut t’ door,

  If three there be, dunny stay an’ see,

  If more be dun, then ye be aleavin’ tun!

  The Ognods she came to know belied the stories of old, the stories of the terrible war, the Sedral’coronis’et’na’tyuosd as that time in history was known in the T’Iea tongue. Those stories of the ferocity and blood lust of the Ognods belonged to a long distant past. For somehow it all seemed unreal, unbelievable that something so destructive could have actually taken place. Yet she thought, the Grûndén obviously perceived a necessity to place an armed fortress there in the north as an early warning against attack, so the stories must hold an element of truth.

  But now she was here and much happier to be surrounded by the forest and her own people once again. For this was not the only forest she could remember. Before Tent Town, which seemed a lifetime ago now, there was a much different time. For she could just remember the place where she was born, a place called TeraT’Inu’Itil. Her father Iolrreas had been married before, to her true mother, Eath’Ery, the daughter of a high T’Iea diplomat serving in TeraT’Inu’Itil the city of the mysterious race of the keepers. Nar’Allia couldn’t really remember her mother for she had died when she was very young. Her father’s second wife Minervar had really filled the place of a mother and it was Minervar who had help shape the young woman she was now. Yet Nar’Allia still felt a strong attachment to the T’Iea that had chosen her from the halls of Eny’Nin’Rel and gifted her spirit to live upon the world.

  So Iolrreas and Minervar had married. Nar’Allia remembered she was overcome with excitement, and indeed she still blessed that day in Tent Town when they had first met the two T’Iea Minervar and Serinae and their other companions. She remembered those others, like it was yesterday. There was the Grûndén Master Łinwéé who she actually hadn’t seen much, he spent most of his time with his countrymen in the tower fort. There was the funny little Pnook man, a race that human men called Gnomes. He was called Tnie, he was quiet and thoughtful. Then there were two men, two humans. The rather playful yet quite scary easterner Teouso, she remembered he looked somewhat intimidating with his bald head with a knotted topknot and his broken and discoloured teeth which showed every time he had smiled which he did a lot. He had taken delight in amusing the young Nar’Allia, but he never said a word. Of course now she realised he was mute, but back then she remembered wondering at his total silence. The other human was Jondris, a fighting monk; he was teacher and mentor to Minervar. He seemed a serious man; it always felt to Nar’Allia that Jondris held the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Nar’Allia was saddened as she thought about these two humans who had both paid a great sacrifice after she had met them. Both had given their lives, cut short to enable the successful outcome of the task that Minervar and Serinae were destined to fulfil. Two short lives, for men do not have the long years upon the world as do the elder races, two short lives cut even shorter, two lives gladly given for a cause they believed to be both right and just.

  But these events were a long time ago now, a lifetime of men in the past, for they had come to live here in the T’Iea realm within Gel’Te’Ertenya and Minervar had fallen pregnant and Eny’Nin’Rel had blessed the family further with the birth of her half-brother Thorandill and half-sister Solvienne, the twins asleep in the room upstairs.

  Nar’Allia stirred herself from her thoughts; she found she was sitting in an arm chair in front of the fire place. Her eyes rose once more up to the quiver and bow that hung upon the wall, familiar items she had grown up with. For, Minervar had hung the bow and quiver there on that day long ago when they had finally completed the building of their home and moved in, it was one of the first things she had done. Minervar had undertaken this with some ceremony saying that the memory of Serinae would now bless the house, for they would be reminded of the T’Iea ranger whenever they stepped into the room and Serinae, through her memory would remain alive in their hearts. Traditionally it was the man of the house’s bow that hung there. Nar’Allia knew that her father hung his bow in another room, above his and Minervar’s bed, Nar’Allia’s own bow hung above her bed in her own room. Pride of place in this household went to this bow, the one that had belonged to Serinae. What was even stranger was that no one ever used it. Nar’Allia stood and gently caressed the wo
od of the bow with her fingertips, it was a unique weapon, even amongst her people. Ancient it was, crafted by the T’Iea of old from the wood of a tree that no longer existed in the known world. It had been handed down through Serinae’s family, on her mother’s side, for all had been rangers. Each accomplished at that vocation, trained by the famed guild in the T’Iea town of Ter’Resell. Minervar would not, or could not say what happened to her friend or why she now owned the bow, it was one memory that she could not bring herself to voice out loud. Minervar would only confirm that Serinae had passed from the world, returning to Eny’Nin’Rel, the Maker of All.

  The quiver also was of ancient design, similarly crafted by T’Iea artisans that possessed the necessary skills when the T’Iea’Tarderi, the wood elves had such knowledge. It was sad for now those artisans of old, along with their skills had all passed beyond living memory, returned to the Maker.

  The old quiver was very ornate, adorned with feathers in silver clasps, along with jet black shiny stones in silver settings hung about the opening in the top where the arrows once were held within. No one else Nar’Allia had ever known had owned such an item, certainly no T’Iea in this village had anything like it. Apparently it was imbued with arcane properties, Minervar had tried to explain long ago about the quiver and how it somehow linked between different places, or something akin to that.

  Nar’Allia now scrutinised the item closely, plainly it was from the opening in the quiver that the strange glow emanated. Curious she looked closely at it. The jet black stones around the edge of the opening vibrated very fast. Nar’Allia had never seen it behave this way before, could never remember having been told by anyone that the quiver had such a property. Looking even closer and concentrating hard she could see faint glowing arrows within the quiver. She gasped, for it was the arrow flights that were giving off the strange glow. As far as she could remember the quiver had always been empty, but now here on the eve of her R’Golea’Foed, the strangest thing had happened, ethereal arrows had appeared without any warning there within the quiver. Nar’Allia slowly raised her hand, moved it towards the quiver, she touched her fingers to the smooth animal hide from which it was made and slowly slid her fingers towards the open top where the arrows could be seen. On reaching the top her hand brushed against the long feathers that adorned the rim of the quiver, her forefinger moved one of the silver clasps into which had been mounted some great and vicious looking curved claw, it tinkled against one of the shiny black stones and Nar’Allia thought she saw the arrows flicker like candle light. She lifted the quiver from its hook and took it back to the armchair. The claws and the stones clinked together and the arrows faded from view. She became more gentle with it, trying not to move it too quickly, she breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the arrows appear once more. Looking inside she could see many arrows now. But she could not count them; they seemed to flow in and around each other. Eventually she could not hold her hand back any longer and she went to touch the fine feathers of the arrows, but to her surprise her fingers passed right through them. She tried to grasp the arrows in earnest, but try as she might she could not touch them or even feel them, yet she knew they were there. Or were they? Then to her surprise she heard what she thought was the sound of someone giggling, a melodious sound. Bah, how like the twins to have set up some trick and were now laughing at her expense. Nar’Allia’s younger sister Solvienne showed promising skill with the arcane, perhaps she had set something up to play such a trick. Nar’Allia turned this way and that, but no little faces could be seen hiding anywhere in the room.

  Maybe it was some kind of a waking dream, after all she had been awakened from a deep sleep. As if to confirm this, she yawned widely, her bed was a pleasant thought once more, anyway she needed her sleep, for tomorrow would be a long day of celebration, for tomorrow she would become a T’Iea woman. The time of R’Golea’Foed had come upon her, the time when all T’Iea came of age, the time when she knew her body would age no more physically but stay looking the way it did for the rest of her long life. Unless of course, some external influence affected her being. Most of the T’Iea she knew still looked young even though some were many hundreds of years old. But sometimes she would come across a T’Iea that appeared to be of great age. Sometimes this was due to some ailment, sometimes especially in soldiers it was due to a physical hurt, a wound perhaps received during battle. On odd occasions T’Iea mages had appeared in the town. She could always tell these people for their extended exposure to arcane energies caused their eyes to turn blue in blue, the whites of the eyes would be turned blue and as all T’Iea had blue eyes this did look a little strange. But some of these mages also looked physically old in her eyes. Minervar had told her that this was quite common in those academics that experimented with the arcane, she said that they had given their youthful demeanour in payment for the knowledge they sort.

  But Nar’Allia was young, a mere two hundred and fifty-five years of man, young in terms of the elder races. Minervar was now twice that age, but T’Iea do not measure the passage of time even though they live within its sway. They have an eternity on the earth so why measure its passing; time has little meaning to them. Nar’Allia rebuked herself and told herself to go to bed, she would ask Minervar about the quiver and its strange arrows in the morning, but for now sleep was needed. The teachings of Eny’Nin’Rel awaited her. So she frowned at the quiver and shook it. The arrows faded to nothing, but a voice said weakly, “No, no, wait.” She shook her head and told herself to stop hearing things and hung the quiver back upon its hook and made her way carefully back upstairs. She looked in on the twins once more, but they had not moved or made any noise since she last looked, so she let herself into her room and lay on the bed, there she fell back to sleep thinking of the celebrations and how she would be the centre of attention on the morrow.