The Treasured One

Aracia, however really enjoyed all the groveling and excessive displays of gratitude. Deep down, Aracia adores being adored. I’d been the first of our family to awaken during this cycle, so I was nominally in charge of things this time. Aracia had been the second to awaken, but deep in her heart she yearns to be first, so she encourages her people to continue their overdone displays of gratitude, and the more clever among them, sensing that need, exaggerate their thanks to the level of absurdity, erecting temples and altars, and prostrating themselves each time she passes.

Aracia thinks that’s awfully nice of them.

Aracia’s need for adoration has attracted many of the less industrious men of her domain, and over the years this has produced a sizeable town, and that in turn has brought assorted tradesmen to the place. I’m sure that Aracia’s temple-town is the closest thing to a city in the entire Land of Dhrall. The large stone buildings are covered with a white plaster and their roofs are made of red tile. The narrow streets have been paved over with large flagstones, and the town is at least a mile wide.

At the very center, of course, is Aracia’s enormous temple with gleaming white spires reaching up toward the sky. To be perfectly honest, the whole place seems just a little silly to me.

When my thunderbolt deposited me in Aracia’s marble-pillared throne-room, her overfed sycophants either fainted dead away or fled in terror. I smiled faintly. Nothing in the world seems to get everybody’s immediate attention more quickly than a thunderbolt.

Aracia’s golden throne stood on a marble pedestal, and there were red drapes behind it. ‘Have you ever considered letting me know when you’re coming, Dahlaine?’ my splendidly dressed sister demanded in an icy tone of voice.

‘I just did,’ I replied bluntly. ‘Are your ears starting to fail, Aracia? Any time you hear thunder, it’s probably me.’ I looked around my sister’s throne-room and saw a fair number of wide-eyed clergymen trying to conceal themselves behind the marble pillars at the sides of the vast chamber. ‘Let’s go find someplace private, dear sister. There are some things you should know about, and I don’t have all that much time.’

‘You’re very rude, Dahlaine. Did you know that?’

‘It’s a failing of mine. Over the years, I’ve found that “polite” is a waste of time, and I’m just a bit busy right now. Shall we go?’ I’ve long since discovered that abruptness is the best way to get Aracia’s immediate attention. Any time I give her the least bit of slack, she’ll lapse into ‘ceremonial’, and that usually takes at least half a day.

Aracia looked more than a little offended, but she did rise up from her golden throne and step down off the pedestal to lead the way out of her ornate throne-room.

‘What’s got you so stirred up today, big brother?’ Aracia asked as we proceeded down a long, deserted hallway.

‘Let’s hold off until we get to some private place,’ I suggested. ‘There’s trouble in the wind, and I don’t think we should alarm the people of your Domain just yet.’

Aracia led the way into a rather plain room and closed the door behind us. We sat down in large wooden chairs on opposite sides of an ornately carved table.

‘Are you sure that none of your people can hear us here?’

‘Of course they can’t, Dahlaine,’ she replied. ‘This room’s one of those “special” places. Nobody’ll be able to hear us, because the room isn’t really here.’

‘How did you manage that?’

She shrugged. ‘A slight adjustment of time is all it takes. This room is two days older than the rest of the temple, so we’re talking to each other two days ago.’

‘Clever,’ I said admiringly.

‘I’m glad you like it. What’s happening that’s got you so stirred up, Dahlaine?’

‘Ashad had one of those dreams last night, dear sister. Evidently the Vlagh didn’t learn too much in Zelana’s Domain, so it’s sending its servants South toward Veltan’s Domain - or it will before much longer. Ashad’s dream was a bit more complicated than Yaltar’s was when he saw the invasion of Zelana’s Domain though, and some things were cropping up that I didn’t quite understand. He told me about two separate - and evidently unrelated -invasions and a very complex war near the Falls of Vash. That’s another thing that kept cropping up as well. Ashad referred to Yaltar by his real name - in much the same way that Yaltar kept referring to Eleria as “Balacenia”. I almost choked the first time Ashad said “Vash” when he spoke of Yaltar.’

‘I told you that bringing in our alternates was a mistake, Dahlaine. If our Dreamers wake up and come to their senses, the whole world might collapse in on itself.’

‘They do seem to be stepping around some of the barriers I put in place, Aracia,’ I admitted, ‘but it’s too late to do anything about it now. The Vlagh’s evidently going to keep trying to overrun us, and we don’t have time to raise a new group of Dreamers. Has Lillabeth had any of those dreams yet?’

‘Not that she’s told me about,’ Aracia replied. ‘I’ve been a bit busy here lately, though.’

‘Does being worshiped and adored really take that much time, Aracia?’

‘No, but running back and forth to the Isle of Akalla to negotiate with Trenicia does. She’s not really interested in gold, so I’ve had to find something else to get her interest.’

‘Who’s Trenicia?’ I asked curiously.

‘She’s the queen of the warrior women of Akalla.’

‘Do women really make very good warriors?’

‘If they’re big enough, they do. Trenicia’s almost as big as Sorgan Hook-Beak, and she’s probably more skilled with a sword than he’ll ever be.’

‘Impressive,’ I conceded, ‘but if she doesn’t want gold, how are you paying her?’

‘With diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires,’ Aracia replied. ‘They’re warriors, but they’re still women, so they love adornment. For a good diamond necklace, a woman from Akalla will kill anybody - or anything - that gets in her way.’

‘If the women rule the Isle of Akalla, what are the men doing?’

‘They’re something on the order of house pets, Dahlaine. If I understood what Trenicia told me correctly, the men of the Isle of Akalla have raised indolence to an art form. On Akalla, everything is women’s work.’