‘This place is Sanctuary,’ said Iniiq, putting a word to the feeling.
Mraan cocked his head, as if listening to the great trees. ‘Strange . . . it almost reminds me of the Library . . .’
‘This is how the Library once felt,’ said his father, ‘before the light of day was sealed out, and our culture turned inward upon itself. Small wonder that our Faerie kindred now often call we Elves morta visini.’
Mraan frowned. ‘That makes no sense to me. Why would they say that we see death?’
Before Haloch could correct him, Iniiq, speaking quietly but no longer whispering, said, ‘Not see death.’ She gestured at her own face with two fingers. ‘Dead eyes. Like Elf statue.’ She turned and began to lead them on a trail which wound its way uphill. ‘Elves used to leave the world free, and in peace. Now, bend it to their will and enslave it; even stone. Live in cities of stone. Walk on paths of stone. Even make stone Elf. Stone is better when its soul is free.’
‘Wait!’ said Haloch, ‘Where are you taking us?’
Iniiq stopped and turned, angry now. ‘Do you not know this word, “Sanctuary?” It is a place of safety I take you. Is that not enough?’