For so long we have talked of the sun setting on the last Great Age, and of the twilight and dusk. For years men have told stories in the dark, around camp-fires. Ghost stories, when things appear to us, and in our minds.

In our records we find one incident where ghosts may be the only explanation. The spirits of Endam ar Berrito and Erica del Erica, which played within the brains of their hosts, can perhaps find no other name. But whatever their name they were important to the age. They
scored the first victory against the Dark.

The following account is taken from historical records.

Episode Twenty-Two – the Resolve of Psychics

The librarian, Dushkama del Rayma, meditated, focusing within, trying to judge when she was not sensing outwardly anymore.

It was a strange trick, one her late mentor had not lived long enough to teach her properly, but she no longer had a choice. The King wanted to know where the Resurrected Baroness Erica del Erica was, and he wanted results. His normal leniency had been dashed to shards by the war, and so the Palace staff were, in proportion, more stressed.

The intent of the trick was simple enough, once you understood the analogy. An ordinary person sees light, shining from energy sources and reflected off everything around it. In the day the sun is an energy source and the sky has light in abundance, so it is easy to see. In the night, the sun is absent and the human eye must adapt, or use other light sources such as candles. This adaptation is slow; if all the candles in a room were suddenly blown out, the eye would take time to see the little light which might remain.

A telepath, such as herself, felt the minds of people around her, each like a light source. Focusing on one individual would be difficult, especially since she did not know the exact location of the individual, nor did she have line of sight. Some telepaths could roam, but she could not: she needed to gaze. The lights of everyone else she would sense was distracting her search.

If an ordinary person put on a blindfold, they would not see anything. If the blindfold were removed, the eye would be adjusted for low light levels. Any light in the room would be intensified. The telepathic equivalent was to blindfold the mind, focusing within, and then suddenly peeping into the intense glare, hoping the target would become visible.

She peeked.

There were people in the tower, she sensed them first, the King, the two young travellers, servants going about their duties... other psychics, following the Queen's orders, searching for others. Many servants. Many nobles, ready to partition for glorious roles in the war. Many people, farmers, craftsmen, weavers.

Fainter 'lights'. The armies in the distance, the light hazy as more died. But in the forest... darkness.

She closed her eyes, concentrated, took deep breaths, slowed her heart rate. Then she descended into the tower.

The King was sat at his now-usual table, an unfinished meal beside him, various tomes around the table. He was almost asleep, and in the absence of anyone else Dushkama supposed it was her decision to rouse him, so as to let him get a proper night's sleep, or to leave him be,
and let him get what rest he could.

'This is the King?' someone said, softly. Dushkama turned, finding the two young men she had sensed earlier, both dressed in travelling clothes.

'This is indeed his Majesty the King Arit fre Togr,' she agreed, also softly. 'It does appear to me that thou seeketh some assistance within this library. Might I be of assistance?'

'We have recently come in need of the Book of Inesa, and thought it might be found upon these shelves, but it hast been many years since last I walked within these walls, and I fear mine memory ist not as it was,' said the younger of the two.

Dushkama gave him an odd look; she didn't remember seeing him here before. 'Gladly shall I present to thou the text, though I fear you may not borrow it for his Majesty the King has been in intense labour over its wording, and wilt require it when he wakes from his temporary
rest.'

'Does there not exist in this library a second copy of this text? It seemeth me odd that a volume of such apparent importance hast never been duplicated,' said the older man.

'Might I have the pleasure of your names, sirs?'

The two men exchanged a glance. 'Mine companion in this quest for knowledge is Sunder pi Yeonan. My own name is Rekow ar Ilara. Might I ask that you return your advantage, together with the answer to mine earlier question?'

'It is my honour to be the Librarian in the Palace, Dushkama del Rayma, and I shall admit an earlier replication of the Book of Inesa doth exist in storage; I shalt write a note that thou might request it from the Stores on the fourth floor.' She carefully did so, requiring a
signature from each of them, which they hastened to provide. 'And now I must request thine forgiveness, for the King requires silence and I have tasks to perform.'

The one named Rekow took the note. The other, Sunder, spoke: 'In return for thine assistance in this matter, mayhap we can be of assistance in thine own. Can we help?'

'Only if you possess some capability in the realm of the psychic. I dost search for a ghost hero of the Kingdom, and my efforts have so far been in vain.'

'I have some ability, inherited from my father and his,' said Rekow. 'Who doth thou seek?'

Dushkama hesitated. She had been sworn to secrecy on this entire matter, but she decided that to tell one or two others and be successful would please the King better than telling no-one and failing. 'Baroness Erica del Erica.' Both recognised the name. 'She hast been resurrected by a dark foe, unknown to us except in legends, rumours. Seeking knowledge she infiltrated that foe, travelling to the forest on the border, near her victory at Anilomes. No news has been heard from her since. The King seeks answers in books of ancient lore, while the Queen grows ever more desperate for the lines of her family.'

'It seemeth me thou hast betrayed a great confidence telling us of this news,' said Rekow. 'In its stead I must trust thine conscience with another, which I hope thou shalt keep. Librarian Dushkama, peer into mine mind, and ask a name.'

Bemused, Dushkama did. Greetings, Librarian. I am Endam ar Berrito.

She sat down, immediately. 'Thou art Aisorbmii,' she said.

'Aisorbmii in heart and body. The mind is shared, though I do not know how this came to be.' said Rekow.

'I do,' said the Librarian. 'In thine mind I see a severed link, a connection to another brutally torn away by death. A resurrection spell must have been cast and fallen into disarray, causing the summoned spirit to seek any conduit into life he could. Such a spell would require the blood of a wizard or witch, perhaps the last name on his lips being the name of the Marquis.'

'Marquis?' asked Sunder, not understanding. Rekow shushed him, and Dushkama felt it wiser to choose her words more carefully.

'Wilt thou help?' she asked.

'I will', said Rekow.

The two sat on chairs, facing each other. Dushkama reached her hands forward and touched

the temples of the Aisorbmii, and he moved his hands forward to touch her temples.

Rekow. In the spirit I am called Rayma. Are you ready to search?

We are, the voices said.

We are three, she said, altering the traditional mantra to their unique circumstance. We are three.

She felt the power swell, his talent mixing with hers. The lights grew brighter, and together they soared high. Under the thrill of the rush, they touched the clouds, and then looked upon their land, seeing for the first time all the borders, all the coasts, the whole land.

Pretty, said Endam. Down! said Rek.

They descended, the forest swelling around them as they searched for Anilomes in the darkness. To her frustration, Rayma could still not sense the lights.

I cannot sense her, she cried. Nor I, admitted Rek. We are lost.

Erica! cried out the spirit of Endam ar Berrito, into the dark. Erica!

There was light. The three fastened onto it. Catching onto the idea, they shouted in unison,

soaring towards the source.

And then they hit.

Now there were five of them. Get out of my head! said Ar'mais, Halfglint, the

nightfall. No, said Rek.

Erica? called Rayma, and Endam echoed the question. Endam? replied Erica

del Erica.

They all felt the body move, the heart swell, as the two embraced, spirit to spirit. You

have lived with this fiend? asked the Baroness. He is devoted to his land, said the

Marquis. We have talked.

You have talked, protested Rek. I have lacked sleep.

Get out get out get out of my head!!! cried the nightfall. Take me home, said

Erica.

We can, said Rayma. We can bring her home.

I forbid it! screamed the nightfall. Shut up! cheered Endam.

You're an idiot, said Rek, But I agree. We have found her, now we will leave with her.

She stays! cried the nightfall. Is needed!

I thought he wanted us out of his head? asked the idiot.

I'm leaving, insisted Erica, and Rayma felt her power sap a little. Perhaps more.

The nightfall screamed, and mentally they blocked their ears, their power draining as Erica began to glow in the one mind.

And then fade. Room for one more? asked the End of Days.

More! screamed Erica, and she glowed anew. Rayma felt stretched, she could sense it from them all... and then Rek glowed too. Your mind in mine, what was taken restored, what was split is made whole...

Destroy the foul horde! chirped Endam, several years of literature and idiocy adding up into one last line of poetry. The least whole of them all, he faded and vanished.

Rayma too felt the stretch, tearing her from her anchor, trying to separate her completely from her body. If this happened... there would be no more.

But the spell was cast, and the nightfall began to fade. Once he was gone, the mind was Erica's, and the strength to banish the end of days from this place was theirs.

But then she faded, and did not see it.

There was a knock at the door, and Lady Mirella zrey Tabitha humbled herself again to

open it for the shadow. This time it was Fyendodas himself, which was unusual for the

Conspirator Lord usually had others like T'Neuss summon his guests to him.

The last two weeks had been curious. There had been stories of old grudges and atrocities far in excess of any the Lady Mirella could imagine, and had blocked by singing opera in her head, allowing her to ignore the bloody history the Conspirators took pride in their ancestors for. And their insistence on individual rooms, such that she could not even have a handservant in the morning, was ghastly. She imagined the ladies at court would find her recent behaviour
dreadful.

He grinned wickedly, though his cheeks were flushed. 'The day has not gone right well. One of my men is dead and gone. She is gone, escaped, as has one of her companions, the ghost Rek. I am not happy. Other plans will have to accelerate.'

She did not understand, but when he grinned the gesture spoke volumes. The terror was real. 'And so, I must find something else to amuse me for a moment. Besides, you know too much and are useless to my cause.'

The means of Lady Mirella zrey Tabitha's death is too grisly for my old eyes, and so I must save the reader from her last moments.

Dushkama del Rayma was lost, her spirit destroyed in the battle of the mind. The reader can rest assured that Ar'mais, Halfglint, the nightfall, lost and was destroyed, and that Erica del Erica could now make a home in the mind of a man.

But what of Rekowarilara, Endam ar Berrito, and the Great War... what of the fight against the Conspirators, the battle at Rene Ponit, the Sword in the Stone?

The story is still long in the telling, but rest assured, the answers are coming.

The dark times continue to approach, viewer, wait and see...

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