Demonstorm

'Thank you,' he said, once again speaking elvish. 'I'm sorry I woke you.'

Kild'aar waved away his apology and sat down, her eyes on Rebraal. 'You haven't told him yet?'

'We hadn't got round to it,' said Rebraal.

'Hadn't got round to what?' asked Hirad.

'You didn't wake us,' said Rebraal. 'Or at least, not me.'

'So you were having a late night, so what?'

'So I've had the selfsame dream,' said Rebraal.

'I beg your pardon?' Hirad felt cold despite the humidity of the night and clutched his mug tight between his hands.

'I have felt him too. He was your good friend. He was my brother.'

'Yeah, I know, Rebraal, and we've laughed and cried about him a good few times these last couple of years but, you know . . . He's dead, and there's nothing we can do about that.'

'No, we can't. But that doesn't mean we can't help him.'

Hirad felt a growing unease. Rebraal and Kild'aar were both staring at him too earnestly. He frowned.

'You've lost me completely.' He knew his tone was a little sharp but he was tired and this was just riddles. 'That's the trouble with dead people. It's too late to help them ever again.'

'Hirad,' said Kild'aar softly and leaned forward to cover his hands with hers where they were locked around his mug. 'I know it hasn't always been easy for you here and that we, at least in the beginning, did not make it easy for you at all. But we have always respected why you wanted to come here. We know of your love for Ilkar and your desire to learn the ways that made him what he was.

'And you and your Raven will always be friends of the elves because of your actions in stopping the Elfsorrow. Rebraal calls you a brother and Auum, well, Auum let you run with the TaiGethen for a season, didn't he? And that is respect no human has ever had before.'

'He still said I was slow and deaf and blind, though,' said Hirad, smiling in spite of himself and the increasing feeling he was going to hear something he didn't want to.

'You will always be human,' said Rebraal. 'Some things not even Auum can teach you.'

'Tell me about it,' grumbled Hirad. 'Never give me a jaqrui again. I think I scarred Duele for life.'

'The point is this,' said Kild'aar, stilling Rebraal's next retort with a sharp glance. 'Though we trust you, there are those facts about us that you as a human should never know. Secrets that could be used

against us. We have already seen what humans do with such knowledge.'

'Not me, Kild'aar. Never me.'

'I know, Hirad,' said Kild'aar, releasing his hands so he could drink. 'Even so, we are only telling you this because you have had the dream and that makes you closer to us than we could ever have thought possible. It makes you family.'

'Telling me what?' Hirad took a long sip of the tea.

'The dead of an elven family are never truly lost,' said Rebraal. 'We can always hear them if they need us.'

Hirad felt a thrill through his heart. 'And can you talk to them?'

Kild'aar's smile extinguished his hope. 'It isn't communication as you would understand it because the dead do not exist in any way you can conceive. But messages can still be passed. It is one of the purposes of the temple at Aryndeneth.'

'The Al-Arynaar have been the keepers of this secret too,' said Rebraal. 'No other order can hear the dead. We learn it over years, decades. And even then it is difficult and uncertain.'

'What do they ask you? Why would they need you?'

'That is a difficult question to answer,' said Kild'aar. 'Elves make life bonds of incredible depth and often the transition to death is difficult. The dead seem to have moments of clarity amongst so much else we cannot guess at. They seek support if they feel lost. News of loved ones. They impart knowledge they had no time to speak when they were alive. You must understand that any communication that comes through is broken and sometimes all but incoherent. The dead no longer have the rules that guide us.'

'All right,' said Hirad carefully, trying to take it all in. 'But that doesn't explain one thing. How come I heard him tonight, if indeed I did?'

'Oh you heard him, all right,' said Rebraal. 'But you shouldn't have been able to and that is what is worrying us. I shouldn't have been able to do any more than sense him outside of Aryndeneth.'

'So didn't you ask him what's going on?'

T couldn't. It was like he was shouting for anyone to hear him, to help him. Anyone with a connection as strong as family. Hirad, other Al-Arynaar have had this same dream in the past days . . . this same contact I should say. But no one can communicate at the

temple. Something is wrong in the world of the dead. Something is threatening them.'

Hirad made to speak and then stopped, at a loss. He sat back in his chair. 'What can threaten someone who is already dead?'

'We don't know,' said Kild'aar, sharing a guilty glance with Rebraal. 'Or at least, we aren't sure.'

'Well we'd better find out and fast,' said Hirad. 'We've got to help him.'

Hirad was half out of his chair before Rebraal's hand on his shoulder pushed him back down.

'That's why we're talking to you now. It might have been better in the light of day but since you are awake, now is the right time.' Rebraal levered himself out of his chair, took all three mugs and jumped lightiy down to the fire pit around which insects buzzed and died. 'There are other elements to this which are too convenient to be coincidence.'

'Like what?'

'The lack of trade from Balaia. I don't think you've thought why it's happened. Despite the war, it was beginning to pick up before we left to come back here two years ago. But it stopped abrupdy. Merchants who travelled north didn't return. Elven vessels have reported seeing lights in the sky and felt a sense of wrong that no sailor will ignore. Ship's mages think they have felt the edges of Communion, but faint and desperate. That's why they won't land.'

'Don't expect me to cry if they've managed to destroy Balaia. We did what we could. Everything they suffer they have brought on themselves.'

'The Al-Arynaar who stayed to help Julatsa have not returned. We sent others north a year ago to find out why and they are gone too but we can't sense any of them among Shorth's children.'

'Who?'

'Shorth's children is the name we give to the dead. He looks over them.'

'I thought he was a figure of fear,' said Hirad.

'Only to those who are our enemies,' said Kild'aar. 'A god of the dead is not necessarily vengeful on his own people. Ours is benevolent to those who serve our people well in life.'

'I'm sorry for those you may have lost in Julatsa,' said Hirad. 'But

it sounds to me like the college has fallen. Either to Dordover or Xetesk, it makes little difference.'

But both Rebraal and Kild'aar were shaking their heads.

'Something else you're not telling me?'

The two elves exchanged glances. Rebraal motioned the elder to speak.

'In our mythology there is the belief that the dead face an enemy from whom they were sheltered in life. That death is a constant battle to achieve peace and sanctity of the soul. It is a belief shared with those on your continent Rebraal tells me, you call the Wesmen.'

T wouldn't put yourselves in the same arena as them. Hardly worthy,' said Hirad.

'Do not scoff at what you do not understand,' said Kild'aar sharply. 'They have a link to Shorth's children, this is certain.'

'Oh, come off it. That's all just primitive beliefs.'

'At least they have beliefs!' snapped Kild'aar. 'That is the problem with humans. You have denied the teachings of generations and lost your religion and now it is coming back to haunt you. But like with everything you people do, you don't think. And once again, you bring us trouble. This time to our dead.'