Chapter 2
                          Palas

   For Palas, it began the day three strangers rode into
her village.  They were dressed alike, with grey shirts
embroidered at the left shoulder with a circle of eleven
small stars, the badge of the Republican Guard, and three
bars of black across the right, the mark of the Purifiers.
Their sour expresions were equally alike, radiating such
menace that the villagers in the street would have stepped
wide of them even had they not recognized their dread office.
   Purifiers.  The word conjured images of fear and secrecy, 
of mysterious vanishings and midnight raids, of private 
interrogations and public executions.  The highest tier of  
the Republican Guard, enforcers of the law, themselves beyond
the law, it was a name spoken in hushed whispers to frighten 
children into behaving by parents who guessed at an even more 
frightening reality.  Terror, in the guise of three black 
bars.
   Though it was market day, the crowd was sparse, and
growing more so by the minute, as one by one the villagers
stole away to hopefully safer pursuits.  Marketers slowly,
serruptitously began closing their stalls, their instinct
for survival overcoming their innate greed.  In the distance,
a bell tolled, once, and then was silent.
   At a gesture from the lead officer, identified only by a
small ring, worn on a chain around his neck, the horsemen
halted in the middle of the road.  Everyone around them stopped
what they were doing and watched them with frightened eyes
and held breath.  One person, a slightly bent looking woman
bearing what looked to be a load of laundry on her back,
failed to notice them until she crossed directly in their
path.  Only then did she notice the sudden silence, and look
up, to see a man staring down at her like a vision of
Judgement.  He gestured toward her in what was obviously a
summons, and though a small squeek of terror escaped her, she
meekly dropped her burden and fell in behind them as they rode
slowly to the village Common House.
     The village Speaker came hustling 
into view as they were hitching their horses, and he hastened 
to place everything the village had to offer at their disposal.  
The three took no notice of the offer, and at a passing glance
from one of them, he bowed quickly and scurried away.  Their 
every movement shouted contempt, both for the village and for 
its inhabitants.  The way they walked spoke of easy familiarity 
with the long blades that swung eagerly from their belts, and 
their sneering eyes and challenging looks suggested that they 
would be more than happy to draw them at the slightest provocation.  
They swaggered into the Common House, not looking back to see if 
the woman followed them. 
   When the door swung ominously shut behind her, pushed
by an unseen force, the one decorated with the iron ring
spoke at last.  When he asked his first question, she nearly
collapsed from the relief of knowing that she wasn't to be
arrested.  She eagerly answered all of his questions, directing
them to the cluster of houses, situated as distant as possible
from the rest of the village, which housed the village's
dwindling elven population.  She fearfully informed them that
sadly, no, she couldn't tell them about the person they
described.  After all, with all that blond hair and those
pale faces, who could tell one elf from another?  Frightened
by his silence, her tounge lept forward without her will,
telling them that it didn't surprise her, not one bit, that
they were after an elf.  After all, everyone knew elves weren't
to be trusted.  Hell-blasted sorcerers, the lot of them, in her
opinion, and she didn't know why someone didn't just run off
the lot of...
   The brief flicker of annoyance across his face was the
last thing she saw before the magic consumed her, seeming to
devour her from the inside out.  A second spell prevented
her from screaming for the scant seconds it took for the
spell to finish, leaving nothing but a faint wisp of vapor
to show that anyone had ever been there.  
   By the time they emerged, scant minutes after they'd
entered, the streets were completely clear.  Without
comment, they mounted and cantered out of the village. 
It didn't take long to find the narrow trail through the
trees to the village's elven section, and they turned to
lead their horses single file along it, the ring-bearer
going first.  A few minutes later, they again heard the
heavy tolling of a bell, just moments before the trees drew
back to reveal their arrival among the elves.
   The elves displayed a much stronger aversion to the
Purifiers than did the humans.  Their streets were already
cleared of traffic, and the Purifiers realized that the bell
they'd heard had been a warning of their approach.  Undaunted,
the ring-bearer rode well into the cluster of small homes and
began to speak loudly enough that everyone could hear, despite
the closed doors.
   "We have no quarrel with the elves of this village... at
this time."  He placed heavy, almost sarcastic stress on
those last three words.  "There is one among you who is called
Palasanthia, and she is known to practice the Forbidden Arts.
She is accused of the murder of a human woman in this very
village.  If you bring her forward, none will come to harm.  If
not..." He paused a moment to let the threat in his tone sink in 
before continuing, "The penalty for harboring a witch is VERY 
harsh."  He continued up the street, pausing every so often to
repeat his ultimatum, making certain that every elf in the village
heard.  He was just beginning to contemplate simply burning the
village, not without some relish, when he heard a door swing open
behind him.
   "Palas, no!"  he heard one of the elves say in a half-
shouted whisper, the sound of the unnatural, musically high
voice grating on his nerves.  He turned to see a young-
looking elf standing behind him, her arms crossed.  "Palas,
they will kill you!" the voice from the doorway continued in
a frantic tone.
   "Mojere, I have to do this.  I can't stand back and let
them destroy the village just to get to me."  The woman--elf,
the ring-bearer half-consciously corrected himself, not a
woman--the elf answered the voice from the doorway, then put
her attention back on him.  "I haven't done anything to you.  I
didn't kill anyone."  The Purifier's expression didn't
change, but his voice conveyed his feelings in the matter.
   "The woman Annista Redweaver is dead, taken ill after
you were seen to use the Forbidden Arts on her."
   "I had nothing to do with her being sick!" Palas 
contested, at which the Purifier raised a dubious eyebrow.
   "You deny that the woman is dead?"
   "I deny that I caused her death!"  The Purifier's eyes
flickered to watch something over her shoulder, but Palas
failed to notice.
   "Do you deny that you used... magic,"  His mouth
twisted around the word as though it were a lemon, "on the
woman?"
   "I used magic to heal her!" Palas protested, "Her falling 
ill wasn't my fault." The Purifier's smile was mearly a 
twitching of his lips, nothing more.  It never reached his 
eyes and it certainly conveyed no sincere emotion.
   "Use of the Forbidden Arts is outlawed in the Republic. 
Since you have admitted to that, nothing more is needed to
arrest you." His smile now was wider, and predatory,
"Justice will be done."
   "Justice?" Palas shouted indignantly, "You dare call
what you do justice?"
   "That is not for you to decide.  The penalty for
commiting the sin of magic is a life in prison... if you're
lucky."  He didn't need her to point out that a life in
prison would hardly be lucky for one who would never die a
natural death, and she didn't bother trying to.  Indeed, she
didn't get the chance, for while she was arguing the other
two Purifiers silently came upon her on foot, grabbing her
from behind.  Palas screamed and, without thinking, lashed
out magically.  
   The wave of force she radiated knocked them away from
her, and was so strong it reached as far as the lead Purifier, 
causing his horse to shy back.  She quickly moved to where she 
could face all three of them, and realized that the other two 
were still standing, though slightly dazed.  No one could 
possibly remain standing after being directly hit with such an 
outburst through physical strength alone. There was only one 
reasonable conclusion, unbelievable as it may have been.
   "You... You're magic-users!" Palas exclaimed, shocked.  
   "Very observant," The lead Purifier noted, "But knowing that 
changes nothing.  Do you honestly think that an untrained 
witchling like yourself can defeat the three of us?"  
   "Never underestimate an elf," Palas said in answer, as
she gathered magic from the ground beneath her and channeled
it into an elemental blast, sending a wave of vibration
running in a jagged line along the ground toward him, churning 
the ground like a burrowing animal.  As the wave passed beneath 
his horse, Palas thrust her hands upward, and the ground erupted 
beneath him, toppling his horse and flinging him forcefully into 
the air to crash to the ground with a solid thud and a sickening 
cracking sound.  He didn't get back up, so she turned her attention 
to the two remaining Purifiers.  One flung bare mana at her, a clumsy 
attempt which she had no trouble deflecting.  The other wove his 
magic into a burst of flame, and she quickly threw up a
field of protection to absorb the attack.  When the last of
the flame had been dispersed, she dropped the shield and
counter-attacked, unleasing another elemental blast and then
almost immediately casting a defensive illusion, causing her
to blur and split into several hazy images of herself.  The
Purifiers saw the ground churning in a path toward them and
lept out of the way just in time to avoid the subsequent
explosion that ripped the ground where they'd been standing. 
   As they stood, they reassessed their estimation of her
powers.  They'd expected to find a wild-talent elf with
little or no real training or skill, someone who had 
discovered her powers but still had no idea how to truly harness 
them.  Instead, it was obvious that she'd somehow acquired a 
fair amount of skill with her casting, either through training 
or exhaustive trial-and-error.  

   The Purifiers, however, were not without skills of their own.  

   One of them attempted a Terror spell, while the other
simultaneously struck at the channels of magic she was
drawing from the ground beneath her.  The Terror spell was a
half-hearted attempt, at best, since a magic-user of any
skill would be able to resist it, devided as it was to reach
all of the images, but the attempt to cut her off from her
flow of power took her by surprise.  She gave in to instinct, 
and instead of fighting the attack at its source she threw her 
attention into strengthening her grasp on the magic, drawing it 
with such force and volume that the barrier the Purifier had 
created couldn't force its way between her and the elemental 
power she was using.  While that occupied her attention, her 
control over her illusion sliped, causing all but one of the
images to flicker ever so slightly, and the other Purifier 
began weaving a Mind Snare.  He cast his spell just as the 
first Purifier suddenly withdrew his magic from attempting to 
block her supply of power.  As the barriers fell away, Palas 
reeled, dazed, as the full flood of the magic she was channeling 
washed into her unimpeded, and at that moment the Mind Snare 
struck, binding her thoughts to those of the caster and locking 
her will away behind impenetrable walls.  The illusionary elves 
surrounding her vanished, and she slumped as all the tension and 
strength ran out of her.  
   Palas would have been taken easily then, her mind subdued, had 
a large stone not hurled through the air to smack wetly against 
the back of the Purifier's head.  Palas staggered back against a 
nearby wall as the Purifier's concentration--and possibly his 
skull--broke, releasing her mind from imprisonment.  The Purifiers 
turned to see the source of the stone standing behind them, and 
the uninjured Purifier had to duck to avoid Mojere's second throw.  
Palas shook her head, still trying to dislodge the hive of bees
that seemed to have taken residence there, while the injured
Purifier threw a negligent gesture toward her brother before
turning back to her, knocking him to the ground and draining
away enough of his vitality to leave him immobile for a
time.  The Purifier used that energy to begin healing his
aching head, while his counterpart attempted to re-establish
control over Palas's mind.
   Palas, however, had had quite enough of that.  She launched 
into an attack of her own, forgoing her attacks with Earth to 
send lightning cascading down upon them from a cloudless sky.  
The lightning crashed against hastily constructed shields time 
and again, battering them down and forcing the Purifiers to the 
ground.  Palas paused to gather herself again, her ears ringing 
from the painfully close crashes of thunder and her breath coming 
in short pants.  Air was not her strongest element to begin with, 
and the Lightning spell required slightly more skill and energy
than she was usually willing to expend.  Much as she hated
to admit it, she was rapidly begining to tire.  While she
was thinking this, she looked past the Purifiers, who were
struggling to stand, and saw what they'd done to Mojere. 
Fury overcame caution, and with an angry shriek, she lashed
out with another volley of lightning, ignoring the cost. 
The Purifiers, just beginning to stand, were both knocked back to 
the ground, but they recovered more quickly this time and were 
soon back on their feet, albeit weakly.
   In desperation, they both tried to drain the life from
her to replenish their own failing reserves, and due both to
her own flagging strength and their combined efforts, one of 
them succeeded in drawing a small measure from her.  Palas felt
them feeding the power they drew from her back into the
draining spell, and sensed the gap in her defenses slowly
widening, allowing them to draw more.  In stark terror, she
reached into forbidden depths and drew upon more magic than
she'd ever tried to hold, shaking with the effort both of
drawing it and of holding it in.  The Purifiers felt the
tenuous link they'd forged snap painfully as the protections
surrounding her were revitalized, and they knew the seriousness 
of their situation when they beheld a silver light radiating
around her.
   Palas stood motionless as the world around her came into  
unbelievable focus.  Exhaustion fell away from her, and she 
felt... omnipotent.  The magic she channelled burned through 
her like a torrent of acid, and she knew that she didn't have
long.  Forcing her mind to focus, she wove the power coursing 
through her into an advanced magic, more difficult by far than 
even the Lightning she'd cast earlier, but the only spell of 
its kind within her powers, even with such an abundance of 
magic as she now held.  
   The spell destroyed both Purifiers at once, transfering the heat 
of one into the body of the other, leaving one stone dead and 
the other engulfed in flames that burst forth from within him.  
The danger of the spell lay in mastering the flow of energy, for 
the slightest mistake could channel the heat into the caster 
instead of the target, or leave the caster a cold, lifeless corpse. 
Palas felt a moment of pride that she had cast the spell so 
well, but her pride and triumph both were quickly doused by 
concern as she remembered her brother's plight.  
   She half-ran, half-stumbled to where he lay, and saw
that he was beginning to stir.  She looked him over, and
judged that the Purifier had only drained away his outermost 
stores of energy, which even as she watched his deeper
resiviors would be replenishing.  She wearily knelt down beside 
him, and a few moments later his eyes fluttered open.  
   "Palas?"  He said, his voice still weak, "What happened?"
   "You, brother dear, risked your immortal hide to save
me." Palas explained with an equally weak smile, "Not that I 
wasn't doing well enough on my own, mind you."  He gave her a 
condescendingly fraternal smile.
   "Sure you were."
   "I was so!" She responded mock-angrily,  "And if you
ever do anything like that again, big brother, I'll pin your
ears back!"  Her brother managed to laugh, though it sounded
like it wanted to be a cough.
   "I am glad that you are all right," He finally said.
   "Didn't I just say that?"  Palas asked.
   "No, you said you would pin my ears back."  Palas
shrugged.
   "Same thing.  Anyway, if you'll hold still, I'll get
you inside." 
   "If you will give me a minute, I will be able to get
myself inside.  Besides, you should be thinking about what
you will tell father.  He will not like this at all.  After
all... Palas?"  He noticed that her eyes were glazed, and
she was swaying slightly.  He reached out and touched her
shoulder, and she toppled over onto him, fast asleep.
"Palas, wake up!" He said, shaking her.  She twisted out of
his grip with a murmer and curled up.  "This is just like you,
do you know that?" He asked his sleeping sister, "One moment
you tell me that you are going to carry me inside, and then
you fall asleep on me.  Oh, well.  You are alive, and safe,
and I suppose that is all that matters now."  He yawned.
"Truth be told, I could probably use some sleep myself."
Soon, their neighbors emerged from their houses and clustered
around them, giving wide berth to the three dead men.  At
Mojere's request, they helped him carry Palas inside, since
he was still a bit too weak to do it himself.  
   "More will come."  One of them, Adelshurn, said quietly
after they'd arranged Palas in Mojere's bed, "And if they
find out what happened here, they will kill us all."
   "Are you suggesting that we should have given her to
them?"  Mojere asked, "And what about when they come the
next time, and the next?  Would you give your wife to them? 
Your brother?  Besides, you saw what happened.  Those three
were magi!  They could not have been real Purifiers; the
Purifiers hate magic."
   "And who will you tell that to?  Who will believe that
Purifiers used magic, especially coming from one of us.  You
are right, however.  I was not saying that she should not
have killed them.  That is done, and can not be changed even
if it would be desirable to do so.  Now, however, we must
deal with the consequences of her actions."
   "What do you mean?"
   "Would it not be better if those bodies were found
somewhere other than with us?  If we put them up in a barn--
the barn of someone human, say--anyone who found them would
think they killed them."
   "And then the humans would be slaughtered for it." 
Mojere said, and Adelshurn smiled.
   "Exactly."
   "No.  You may speak with my father about it, but I am
sure he will agree.  We can not allow them to make us be the
monsters they think we are.  Besides that, do you really
think they would not take the opportunity to rid themselves
of us as well?  They do not care about right or wrong or
proof of guilt, Adelshurn!  They want us dead, all of us,
and they will not stop until we give them an excuse to kill
us.  If this had not happened now, it would have happened
eventually.  They would find a way."
   "But he is right that something must be done about the
bodies, Mojere,"  another, Altrurias, said, "We can not
simply leave them there, and if they are found with us,
there will be no question of guilt."
   "Then burn them," Mojere said, weariness and a touch of
anger creeping into his melodic voice, "Burn them and 
scatter the ashes."  The other elves drew back in shock.
   "Burn them?  You must be joking... I mean, such things
simply are not done!"
   "One of them is more than half burned already.  If you
want better advice, ask my father." Mojere turned away from
them, then added over his shoulder, "If you would, close the
door on your way out."  When they left, a touch indignant at
his rudeness, he found a nice soft spot to lie down on and
followed his sister's example.
   He woke the next morning feeling somewhat stiff from
sleeping on a mat on the floor, but he found that he felt
completely recovered from the previous day's encounter with
the Purifiers.  When he went back to his bedroom, however,
he found that Palas most certainly was not.  He called her
name and gently shook her again, and this time she opened
her eyes.  She stretched and gave a tiny yawn.  He asked her
if she was feeling better, and she nodded, after a moment of
consideration.  
   "Well, then, would you like to get out of my bed and
see if we can find some breakfast?"  She shook her head,
though she did seem to like the idea of breakfast.  "Why
ever not?"  She shrugged.  "Are you sure you are all right?" 
She seemed to give the matter deeper thought, but finally
she nodded.  "Are you going to say anything, or do you just
not feel like talking?"  She looked up at him with the most
innocent looking purple eyes he'd ever seen.
   "T-Talk." She said after a moment.
   "Yes... I was wondering if you were going to."  She
thought, then shook her head.  "You do not want to talk?" 
   "Want t-talk?" she repeated, a look of profound confusion 
on her face.  He was on the verge of asking her if she was 
all right, once again, when her face suddenly lit up.  "Mojo!"  
She exclaimed, and threw her arms around his waist in a clumsy 
hug, nearly pulling him off his feet.  "My Mojo!" She repeated, 
and heaved a sigh of contentment.  He pulled away from her, very 
confused, and she gave him an almost hurt look.  "No Mojo?"
   "Well... yes.  You just took me by surprise.  I mean,
you have not called me Mojo since, well, decades ago."  
   "Mojo hug?"  She asked, hopefully.  Mojere was getting
more than a little worried about her.
   "Palas, I think perhaps we should go see Galantamel. 
You are acting very strange."  Palas shook her head.
   "No go.  Mojo stay Palas."
   "I wish you would stop talking like that, Palas."
   "Mojo say talk!"
   "I meant talk like you usually do!"  Her brow creased
in confusion again.
   "Talks 'ike always."  Her brow cleared and she giggled,
"Mojo silly!"  She looked up at him and held out her arms,
her lower lip protruding ever so slightly in what Mojere
could have sworn was a pouting look.  "Mojo hug?  P'ease?" 
Mojere sighed, but he couldn't refuse.  He sat down on the
edge of the bed and put his arms around her shoulders.  All
things considered, he wasn't even that surprised when she
relaxed into his arms, curled up again, and went back to
sleep.  Or that she sounded like she was about to cry every
time he tried to get up.  It took some time, but she finally
fell asleep deeply enough that he could move without waking
her.  He turned to leave, and saw her shiver.  Smiling a
bit, he went back and drew the covers up under he chin, and,
on impulse, he kissed her forehead, as he had almost eight
decades before, when she'd been barely ten and he little
more than thirty.  Her lips parted in a beautific smile, and
she mumbled something he couldn't quite catch.  He pulled
the curtain to the room, and left to make some arrangements.
   He sent one of his younger cousins to Galantamel with a
sealed note, explaining the situation.  He then went and
talked to his father, and learned that his father had agreed
to burn the Purifiers' corpses.  He filled his father in on
what had happened, not only with the fight but afterward,
and his father was just as puzzled as he was.  He suggested
that perhaps her strange behavior had something to do with
her being a magess.  Mojere could tell that his father
sometimes wished his daughter hadn't been born with the
"gift" of magic.  Not that he in any way shared the Purifiers' 
view of magic.  It was just that sometimes it had made raising 
her something of a challenge.  Especially in the Thenic Republic, 
where being an elf was almost a crime in itself and being a mage 
was a killing offense.  On the other hand, it was only fair to 
say that Palas sometimes wished her father wasn't the Speaker 
for their small tribe.  It certainly took up quite a bit of his 
time, especially since the Famine Rebellion spawned the Republic 
and the persecution of the elves began--or at least, became open 
and official.    
   After that, he picked up something for breakfast and
returned home, where Palas was still in bed, though she was
awake and making noises that sounded to Mojere like a small
frightened dove.  When he walked in, she looked up with
tears in her eyes and stretched out her arms, with a cry of
"Mojo!"  He hurried to sit down beside her on the bed, and
she buried her face in his chest, sobbing.  Surprised--
again--he put his arms around her and held her while she
cried, making quiet, soothing noises.  After a few minutes
of this her sobs subsided, and her breathing became more
even and regular.  
   "No, do not do that!" He said, and she looked up at
him, surprised.  "I would prefer, sister dear, that you did
not go back to sleep before you explain just why you were
crying."  The look she gave him as she stared up into his
face was almost pure adoration.  
   "No cry no more.  Mojo here."  She snuggled up against
his chest.
   "Well, I am... flattered, I suppose.  But why were you
crying in the first place?"
   "Don' know."
   "You do not know why you were crying?"  She giggled
again.
   "Uh-uh.  Forgots."  She looked back up at him, "Palas
hung'y."
   "Well then, why did you not get up and get something to
eat?"  She looked up at him as if he'd asked her why she
didn't simply walk on air or paint her face blue.
   "Just... no can.  No Mojo."  
   "You can not?"  She shook her head.
   "No... No Mojo to help."
   "What have I got to do with it?" Again she gave him
that increadulous look.  Mojere sighed, "Well, I suppose I
do not really mind you eating in my bed, so long as we make
certain that we brush the crumbs off of it afterward, but I
want you to know that you are acting very strangely."  So he
fetched the breakfast he'd brought and they ate together,
though Mojere found that Palas required a bit of... assistance.  
At least, she did if her food was actually going to find it's way 
to her mouth.  By the third spoonful she'd dropped down the front 
of her shirt... the same shirt she'd been wearing the day before, 
he realized... he gave up and took the spoon from her, much to her 
delight, to judge by the way she giggled.  "Honestly, Palas," He 
said when they'd nearly finished, "I do not understand what is 
wrong with you today."
   "Nufin' wrong."  She corrected, "Mojo here."  Despite
the strangeness of the situation, he smiled.
   "You know, you could do very bad things to my ego like
this.  If this keeps up, I may get a swelled head."  She
favored him with a slightly puzzled look, but then opened
her mouth so he could spoon the last of the lukewarm oatmeal
into her mouth.  "I am afraid you have made quite a mess of
my bed, sister dear.  Not to mention your shirt.  Are you
quite certain you do not wish to get out of bed and get
dressed?"
   "Mojo dress!" She said excitedly.  Mojere realized what
she meant and his face reddened slightly. 
   "No, Palas, I don't think that would be... quite 
appropriate."  Palas looked around as though actually seeing 
the room for the first time.
   "Where is?" she asked, changing the subject.
   "Where is what?"
   "Where... Palas?"  Mojere took some time before answering.
   "We are in my bedroom, in my house.  If you would like
to go back to your own house, I am afraid you will need to
change clothes.  I took the liberty of getting some from
your place... I hope you do not mind."  He paused for a
moment and looked at her before continuing, "No, I do not
suppose you would mind, at that, would you?"
   "Mojo come?"
   "Well... Yes, I could go with you."  After a moment, he
thought to add, "But I would have to leave after a while."
   "No Mojo go!" Mojere gave her a tired, wry grin.
   "Somehow, I thought you might say that.  Oh, Palas, what
ever is the matter with you today?"  A reluctant understanding
began to dawn on Mojere, as he began to add up the oddities
in her behavior.  "Palas, how old do you think you are?" He
finally forced himself to ask, knowing he probably wouldn't
like the answer.
   Palas didn't disappoint him.  "Is..." She looked to her
hands, and spread out all her fingers but one.  "How many
is?"
   "Nine?!?" He almost screamed, "You think that you are 
NINE?" Palas pulled back from him and flinched away at the 
tone in his voice.  Her lower lip began to tremble.  "No, 
Palas, please," He said when he realized how much he'd 
frightened her, "Do not cry.  It is... all right.  I just 
did not understand before."  'And I still do not', he added 
to himself, "Come on, please do not cry."
   "Mojo no mad?"  Palas asked, her breath still heaving a
little from getting ready to cry.
   "No, I am not angry.  Just surprised.  Very, very...
surprised."  He leaned over and pulled her back over next to
him, and she once again snuggled her face into his shirt.  
   He still wasn't sure what to do about her, he realized
as he watched her fall asleep again, her thumb slowly coming
upward and finding its way into her mouth.  Much as it was
tempting to do so, he couldn't just hand her over to their
father and let him deal with her.  He was far too busy, after 
all.  Their mother had been dead for many years, killed during 
the Rebellion.  He certainly couldn't just turn her over to one 
of the neighbors, and their aunts and uncles... no, he wouldn't 
feel comfortable about handing her over to one of them.  That 
left only him... and her mentor, Galantamel.  He siezed onto
that idea as a starving man siezes a loaf of bread.  All he had
to do was look after her for the next day or so, and then
Galantamel would come, and even if he couldn't help her, perhaps
he'd be willing to... no, probably not.  But, certainly there
must be something he could do for her.  So it was just a matter
of waiting until then.  Besides, she'd probably snap out of it
before that, anyway.  He just hoped he could bring himself to
do what needed to be done.  
   "Well," he said, preparing to follow through on his
decision, "I suppose we had better get you up, huh?"  She
opened her eyes and looked up at him.  "Well, come on.  Your
clothes will not get on you by themselves, will they?"  She
smiled, and he helped her sit up.  She tried to lay back
down and pull the covers up over her.  He laughed despite
himself, and got up to pull the covers off of her.  He
finally got her out of bed, then tried to sweep some of the
crumbs from breakfast off the bed.  When he did so, however,
he was most surprised--and very dismayed--to find the bed
beneath his hand cold and clammy.  Mojere groaned when he
realized that Palas was shivering, though the day was not
all that cold, and he could now guess why she'd been crying
before.  He sighed.  Well, he reminded himself, it is only
for a couple of days, at most.  He stripped the sheets from
the bed and managed not to blush too much while helping 
Palas into her clothing.
   "Why Mojo sad?"  Palas asked when he had finished, sitting 
herself down in his lap.  Mojere sighed. 
   "I am not sad, really.  I just... Oh, never mind.  It
is not important.  Well, we have the whole day ahead of us. 
What do you want to do?"  Palas grinned up at him.  
   So he played with her, doing his best to keep her
occupied, which really wasn't all that hard.  He still
remembered most of the games she'd liked as a child, and she
seemed delighted to play them again.  He fed her lunch as he
had breakfast, this time taking the precaution of tying a
cloth around her neck to keep her clothing clean.  He was
surprised that nobody tried to visit, especially after the
previous day's events, but he was grateful for the fact
notwithstanding.  He realized that he should probably tell
their father what was happening with Palas, but...  surely,
if it was only for a couple of days, she could be spared the
humiliation of having anyone else find out, even their
father.  And, he had to admit, he didn't relish the idea of
explaining any of it to his father... least of all his
involvement in the more recent parts.  
   Just as he was thinking this, however, there was a
knock at the door.  Thinking quickly, he hurriedly bundled
Palas into bed, whispering to her that everything was fine,
but that she should be very quiet.  Very, very quiet.  When
he turned to leave and answer the door, he nearly jumped out
of his pale elven skin, as he found a shriveled looking
human standing in the doorway, leaning on an equally ancient
walking stick.  Galantamel tapped the floor impatiently with
his stick.
   "So what's so important you had to drag me here on less
than a day's notice to ask me about?"  This wasn't exactly
accurate.  Mojere's note had been extremely courteous and 
not in the least bit demanding.  One of the first things 
people learned in their dealings with Galan, however, was not 
to argue with him over minor points.  "Well, boy, come on, I 
don't have all day.  And don't you dare go spouting that 
Hell-Blasted elven philosiphy bunk about patience.  Never 
touch the stuff, myself.  Bad for you."  He sniffed, loudly.  
"Makes a body break out in hives, or so I've heard."
   "Praise the gods, you're here at last!"  That Mojere
failed to rise to the bait of being called 'boy' by someone
still a few decades his junior and had actually slipped and
used a contraction told Galan that the elf was truly in
distress.  
   "Calm down, boy, and tell me what's the matter."
   "It's..."  Mojere paused for a moment and took a deep
breath to calm himself.  "It is Palas."  He told Galan about
the altercation with the Purifiers.  When he got the the
point where Palas glowed silver-grey with power, Galan interupted.
   "She drew so much she displayed her aura?" He asked,
increadulous, "I've always said she had potential, but
this..." He shook his head in amazement as he explained,
"The aura is always there, and those who are sensitive
enough can see it, but for a non-sensitive to see it a
certain amount of power has to be flowing through you.  The
more you handle large amounts of magic, the more easily it
appears, and the brighter.  For someone as inexperienced as
Palas to display an aura... She'd have to be holding an
increadible amount of power, more than she truly should have
been able to, even in such great distress.  Tell me, what
did she cast with it?"
   "Well, one of the two Purifiers fell over, covered in 
hoarfrost.  Father said that when they tried to carry the 
body away, parts.. broke off, and his blood was frozen solid."  
Mojere gave a slight shiver, "The other burst into flames."
   "A Polaris Strike!"  Galan exclaimed, "I only showed
her that last week, and that only as an example of higher
magic!  I never thought she'd actually be crazy enough to
try casting it herself!  She could have been killed!"
   "I did not see it myself, but those who told me were
there, and I trust their perspectives.  It did not seem that
she had much choice."
   "Of course, of course, boy, I wasn't doubting you.  I'm
just amazed that she didn't burn herself to a crisp!  And
she cast Lightning how many times?"
   "I do not know.  Those who watched were not concerned
with keeping track."
   "No, I imagine not.  If there were enough that they
didn't bother keeping track... and then she cast a Polaris
Strike..."  Galan hummed thoughtfully.  "Do you mind if I
see her?"  
   "Well, no, not exactly.  But I should warn you..." As
soon as he said no, however, Galan brushed past him to where
Palas was laying, quiet as a mouse, in bed.  She shrank back
a bit from him, but relaxed when he smiled at her, his
wrinkled visage almost miraculously transforming from stern
and forbidding to warm and friendly.  
   "How are you feeling, Palas?"  Palas looked over at
Mojere, who came over and sat down near her.  He took her
hands and held them, softly rubbing his own over them in a
comforting way.  He nodded for her to answer, and her face
took on a look of concentration.
   "Feels... okay."  Then she brightened up, "Gots Mojo!"
   "Yes, so I can see."  Galas looked at Mojere, who
shrugged.
   "She has been calling me that since she woke up this
morning.  It was what she called me when she was younger."
   "Young for an elf, I presume?"
   "Did you think I meant young for a fairy, or an ogre?" 
Mojere said, a biting tone in his words, "Of course young
for an elf!"
   "All right, no need to get snappy about it."  Mojere
shook his head in exhasperation.
   "You have no idea what I have been through.  She thinks
she is a nine year old."  That raised Galan's eyebrows a
bit.
  "Nine?  That would put her just a little bit out of
infancy, wouldn't it?"  Mojere nodded.  "I think I see
you're point.  And you've been here all day, taking care of
her by yourself?  Amazing."  Mojere stiffened.
   "And what was I supposed to do?"  He replied, allowing
more of his anger to creep into his voice than he'd
intended, "My father has been a little bit too busy trying
to keep the Hells-Blasted Republic from carting us off to
our deaths to pay much attention to her as it is!  I doubt
if he would be able to find enough time to take care of
someone who thinks she's a tenth of her actual age!"  Galan
noticed that Mojere was again slipping into contractions,
"I'm not about to turn her over to one of the neighbors, and
none of our relatives are exactly... close enough for this."
   "I thought your Aunt Verditia lived right down the..."
   "Deamons-Blast-And-Burn-It mortal, you know what I
mean!" It was Galan's turn to stiffen.  He decided to
forgive being interupted, in light of what Mojere had been
through and the bad news he was going to be recieving soon. 
"I'm... I am her brother.  I am responsible for her, in a
way."
   "I didn't mean to make you angry, boy.  I meant that it
was amazing that you'd actually stuck through without
running for help.  I can't imagine too many people who would
have done that.  She's lucky to have a brother as devoted as
you."  Mojere's cheeks flushed crimson with embarrasment
over his outburst.
   "Oh.  I am sorry that I yelled at you."  He coughed,
and looked down to try and hide his burning cheeks, "And I
am sorry about the swearing, as well." 
   "Understandable, boy, under the circumstances."
   "Can you.. Is there something you can do for her?" 
Galan hesitated before answering, trying to find a good way
to explain.
   "Yes, and no.  I can help her, but not the way you want
me to."  He held up his hand to forestall another
interuption.  "Hear me out.  Your sister drew upon more
magic than she had any right to be able to, more than is
considered safe." His voice became academic, almost
lecturing, "When Wizards weave magic, they draw upon the
powers of the six Elements present in the world around them,
but part of the power also comes from within.  Usually, it
is difficult, if not outright impossible, to overdraw upon
the magic within, and that prevents Wizards from harming
themselves.  When that is the case, the worst that can
happen is that the person will fall asleep from exhaustion,
and maybe lose some weight or fall ill.  In some cases,
however, extreme circumstances push the caster past a
certain point, and then it becomes easier to overdraw,
especially when the caster's survival is at stake, or in
extremes of anger or fear.  Sometimes it is possible for
casters to destroy themselves, or make themselves dead to
magic.  That is the part I can help with.  With luck, her
abilities will survive.  Hells, if she has half the strength
she appears to, this might even improve them, though..."
   "I do not care," Mojere said, very deliberately trying
not to swear again, "If she never casts again!  That is what
brought her to this in the first place!  I want to know why
my ninety-year-old sister is under the delusion that she is
an infant!"
   "Nine is not quite an infant, Mojere," Galan began, but
Mojere cut him off.
   "Do not play with my words!  Can you or can you not
help her?"
   "I've told you, not the way you want me to." Galan
said, becoming angry himself, "If you'd let me finish, I'd
explain why!"  When Mojere looked apropriately chastened, he
continued.  "When a caster over-draws, the mind and body act
to force the caster to replenish the energy as rapidly as
possible.  There are many ways it can happen, and it seems
to be unique to every caster."
   "But... Why this?"
   "To be honest, I have no idea.  I've never figured out
what makes one person react one way and someone else act
another.  This is probably her mind's way of ensuring that
she doesn't try to cast anything else before it's regained
what it's lost.  After all, she's hardly in a position to be
casting spells, is she?  Besides that, it's possible that
being like this helps her recover faster."
   "How would it do that?" Mojere asked, puzzlement showing 
plainly on his face.
   "Well, I imagine that she'll be getting a lot of sleep,
and that she won't be doing anything strenuous.  Both her
mind and body are as relaxed as they can be without her
being comatose.  All of these are conductive to replenishing
magic."  Mojere finally asked the question Galan had been
dreading.
   "But how long will she be like this?  Surely she will
be recovered in a few days?"  he saw the look on Galan's
face.  "A week?" He amended, hopefully.
   "A month, I'd say."
   "A month?" Mojere looked as though he'd been slapped.
   "It's hard to say, but that's my best estimate.  It
could be as much as a week more or less, but if you consider
the amount she was channeling, and the advanced magic she
used--I still can't believe she managed the Polaris Strike!-
-and the rate she usually recovers at, then yes, it comes
out to be about a month."  Mojere's head hung between his
shoulders, nearly resting on his chest.  Palas slid closer
and put her arms around him.
   "Mojo no cry!" She said, "'ovs Mojo!"  Palas wriggled
her way onto his lap, and snuggled up against his chest,
pushing his chin up with the top of her head.  
   "Boy, I suggest you either get used to her being like
this or find out you have closer relatives than you thought,
because she's going to need a lot of attention."  Mojere
looked up at him for a moment, and Galan shook his head. 
"Don't even think it.  I do magic, not children."  
   "But if her magic is depleted... can you not simply
replenish it?"  Galan sighed wearily.
   "I wish it were that simple.  I might have been able to
yesterday, maybe as much as two hours after it happened, but
now--no."
   "What does that have to do with anything?  If her magic
is weak, surely you can strengthen it?"
   "Boy, don't you go thinking you understand anything
I've said about magic," Galan warned gruffly, "because you 
most certainly don't.  The explanation I gave you was 
extremely simplified.  In reality, the problem is much more 
complex, and you would need years of experience in magic to 
begin to understand... that, or to go through the process first 
hand.  No one is really certain why, but if the person is 
suffused with energy quickly enough, the reaction can be 
prevented.  If too long has passed, you could pour energy 
into them until their hair stands on end and the energy began 
to burn them, and it still wouldn't help.  That's something 
else I don't have a good explaination for.  It just is that 
way.  The only thing that can be done now is to help prevent 
further damage, and to help her through it.  Someone has to, 
and if it isn't going to be you, then you'd better find someone 
to do it, and soon."  Mojere nodded, slowly.
   "I think I understand."
   "Oh, and I think you might should tell your father
about this, at least.  I doubt if you could keep this secret
very long, anyway, though your consideration of your sister's 
dignity is commendable.  Besides which, I don't think your 
father would mind what you have done for her.  And if he does, 
I'll speak to him."
   "Yes... thank you."
   "Good, then I'll be back in a little while to do what I
can."  
   "Where are you going?  Why can you not do it now?" 
Galan smiled at him, and gestured downward towards Palas.  
Mojere looked down, and saw what Galan was referring to.
   "PALAS!"  She cringed back from his voice, and Galan
glowered at him.
   "There's no sense in yelling at her, boy, she can't
help it.  The only thing to be done here is to accept it and
get on with it.  If you like, I'll go talk to your father
while you rectify matters here."  Galan turned to leave.
   "Wait!"
   "What is it now?  Didn't you hear me?  Either get with
it or find someone else to take care of her!"
   "No, it is not that.  I was wondering if you would stay
here with her, for a moment.  All of her clothing is back at
her house, and I would rather not walk her back there like
this, and I can not simply leave her here by herself."
   "Well, I suppose," Galan said, caught, "Are you certain
it would not be better if I went to get her clothing, while
you stayed here with her?"  Mojere shook his head, his lips
twitching dangerously close to an amused smile.
   "While I am getting her clothing, you can do whatever
it is that you need to do.  Besides, you do not know where
her clothing is."  Galan couldn't find an argument for that-
-quite possibly the first time such a thing had ever happened. 
As Mojere left, he turned to get started with Palas.
   "Well, Palas, why don't you lie down and I'll see what
I can do to help you, all right?"  
   "Where Mojo go?"
   "Mojo..." Galan smiled.  The nickname was infectious, 
"Mojere is going to get your clothes.  While he's gone, I'd 
like you to lie down, so I can help you recover fully."  Palas 
stretched out on the bed, and as Galan put his hand on her 
forehead her eyes slowly slid shut.  By the time Mojere 
returned with a fairly large bundle of clothing, Galan's work 
was finished, and Palas was sitting up with her legs tucked under 
her, resting on her heels.  "Well, boy, my work here is done, and 
I'll be leaving.  Unless you want me to go ahead and talk to your 
father?"  Mojere shook his head.
   "That is not needed.  I met him on the way to get her
clothing, and I explained what has happened.  He agreed that
I would be the best one to help Palas through this." Galan
nodded, and paused as he turned to leave.
   "Mojere..."  It was Galan's turn to seem hesitant for
once, "If there's anything else I can do for you or your
sister, let me know."  It was uncertain which of them was
surprised more by the unusual display of concern.  Galan
coughed loudly to cover the sudden, uncomfortable silence. 
"Well, she is my apprentice, boy.  The sooner she gets
better, the sooner I can have her gathering herbs and
dusting my shelves."  With that, and an extra glare at
Mojere just for added menace, the venerable mage swept out
of the room in a flourish, proving that the stick he carried
was mostly for show.  Mojere sat down on the edge of the
bed, wondering how in the Nine Realms he was going to get
through a month of taking care of his sister.
   "Mojo?" Palas interupted his thoughts, a plaintive note
in her voice, "Is cold!"  
   "You are cold?" He said, then remembered why she would
be, "Oh, yes, I suppose you are.  Well, I suppose that we
can do something about that, yes?"  Palas nodded.
   "Mojo make better!"  Mojere found himself smiling
despite himself.  
   "Yes, Palas, I will make it right for you."          
  
   Palas woke up feeling very strange.  She was warm, drowsy, 
and she felt so very, very... safe was a word that came to 
mind, though sheltered and secure was perhaps a better 
description.  She felt a brief moment of worry when she 
realized that she couldn't see, but after a short while 
realized that she had her eyes closed.  She laughed at her 
own silliness, and found herself trying to giggle instead.  
She opened her eyes, and saw Mojere looking down at her.  She 
wanted to know what was going on, but at the same time the 
sight of him looking down at her like that made her just 
want to close her eyes again and go back to sleep, secure 
in knowing that Mojo--Mojo?  Now where had that come from?
--Mojere was watching over her.  That was silly too, of 
course.  She didn't need any watching over, after all.  
She realized that everything was dark again, because her 
eyes had slipped shut as soon as she stopped thinking about 
keeping them open.  She slowly made her eyes reopen, and 
Mojere was still there.  In fact, she suddenly realized that 
not only was he still there, but he was holding her, and had 
been at least since she woke up.  She found that she didn't 
mind that at all.
   "Well, hello there," he said, speaking in a way that
Palas found to be decidedly odd.  "Whatever is the matter,
Palas.  Are you hungry?"  She shook her head.  "Well, some
thing must be wrong for you to make a face like that at me. 
Did you have a bad dream, little one?"  Little one?! Palas
thought, but somehow she couldn't quite make herself object. 
It was somehow... nice, and it added to the warm, soft
feeling that surrounded her.  That feelin was shattered as
she felt his hand going somewhere she distinctly felt it 
didn't belong.
   "Mojere, what in Seven Hells do you think you're doing?" 
She tried to yell, but she found that her voice faltered 
quite a bit.  She managed to make it understandable, though.  
Mojere looked every bit as shocked as she felt.
   "Palas!" He said, his voice almost trembling, "Dare I
ask?  Are you finally recovered?  Are you all right?" Palas
pulled herself out of his arms, becoming angry with herself
when she felt a twinge of regret for doing so.  
   "What are you talking about, Mojere?  Am I all right? 
I'm not the one putting his hands where they don't belong! 
What were you thinking?"  To her vast surprise, her brother
burst out laughing, sounding dangerously close to being
hysterical.
   "All the times I imagined you waking up, I never once
thought it would happen like this."
   "What are you talking about?"  Palas asked again, more
forcefully, "Waking up?  I wasn't..." Palas stopped herself
from saying that she hadn't been asleep, because there was
no other way she could explain waking up in her brother's
arms.  "All right, so I must have fallen asleep at your
place.  If you wanted me to go home, you could just have
awakened me and told me to go!"  Mojere laughed again.
   "Oh, this is too good.  Palas, you have been here for
almost four weeks!"  Palas shook her head, angrily.
   "Impossible!  I came over for a short while, but four
weeks?  I couldn't have spent almost a month in your house? 
I mean, what would father say?"  Palas could see that her
brother was pinching the insides of his cheeks with his
teeth to keep from laughing again.  "And what's so Blasted
funny?"  Mojere lost his battle with his laughter, and
nearly doubled over.  When he finished he held up a hand to
keep her quiet while he regained his breath, still giving
way to the occasional chuckle.  When he was somewhat more
composed, he sat down and motioned for her to take a seat
near his.  
   "Palas, you have been... I do not know exactly how to
explain this.  Perhaps you should speak to Galantamel." 
Mojere thought for a moment, then shook his head, "No, I
suppose I will have to manage on my own." One corner of his
mouth curled upward, "As usual.  Oh, well.  Palas, dear
sister, you really have been here for almost a month.  And
for that entire time, you believed that you were a child of
nine."
   "You must be joking!"  Palas said, "That's rediculous." 
   "You collapsed after your fight with the Purifiers. 
When you woke up the next morning, you started calling me
"Mojo", and you acted like a child until just a few minutes
ago.  If you do not believe me, you can ask Galantamel.  He
told me you were suffering from a reaction to drawing too
much power."
   "I fought a Purifier?"  Palas seemed slightly less
certain of herself.
   "Well, three Purifiers, to be precise, though I am not
sure that they really were Purifiers.  All three of them
were magi."
   "But, I don't understand.  How did they find out about
me?"
   "Annista died after you healed her, and they accused
you of her murder."
   "I...do remember hearing that she died,"
   "You should.  You cried for hours, and I had to listen
to you screaming at the walls until you calmed down."  Palas
became slightly indignant, and was still more than slightly
angry, and it showed in her voice.
   "Well, I told her that she shouldn't get out of bed
after I healed her, and what did she do?  She got up and
went to market!  'Oh, the chores needed doing, and I feel
fine.'" Palas mimiced, "If she'd listened to me, she never
would have gotten sick!"
   "I know that, Palas.  I was there when you got the
news, remember?  It was not your fault, but the Purifiers
were going to arrest you for using magic anyway."
   "And I fought them off?"
   "Well," Mojere said, modestly, "With a little help. 
You are certain that you do not remember?  You brought down
more lightning than a summer storm."  Bits and pieces of the
fight actually were coming back to her, including her
brother's heroics.
   "I remember that I'll pin your ears back if you ever
pull a stunt like that again!  I was worried about you!" 
Mojere smiled.
   "I was just looking out for my little sister."
   "And after that, I exhausted myself?"  Mojere nodded. 
"Well, I suppose that would explain a few things."  She
sighed.  "You mean you actually took care of me for a
month?"
   "Well, I had nothing better to do, really."  Palas
turned quite red in the face.
   "I didn't do anything... embarassing, did I?"  Mojere's
face contorted strangely, but finally broke into a grin.  
   "Oh, I would not say so.  You behaved quite well,
considering."  Palas heaved a sigh of relief.  "Oh, Palas?"
   "Yes?"
   "Some of your clothing is still in the bedroom.  You
might be uncomfortable if you wear what you have on much
longer."
   "Wha.." Palas looked down at what she was wearing, and 
her already over-abused ego decided that it had taken quite 
enough.  Palas burst out crying, and ran as fast as she could 
into the bedroom, where she flung herself on her brother's bed 
and curled up into a quaking ball.  Mojere came in a short while
later, and tried to put his arms around her to comfort her. 
The worst part was, she more than half wanted to let him.  
   "Palas, it is all right," Mojere said, "Please, do not
cry.  You have no cause to be embarassed.  I did not mind...
well, all right, maybe I did, but it really is not all that
bad, Palas.  Come on, I used to do it all the time when you
were little, and you have never been embarassed about that."  
Palas didn't stop crying, even when she tried to point out 
that it was quite a bit different from when she'd been little.  
Mojere sighed.  "All right, fine.  This will be my fault, if you 
wish it to be!  I am sorry that I laughed at you.  Now will you 
please stop crying?"  After a while, Palas's tears trailed off, 
mostly due to exhaustion.  When he tried again to put his arms 
around, she didn't bother trying to pull away.  
   "I... feel... like such a... a fool!" Palas said around
her sobs.
   "Whatever for, sister dear?"  Palas looked up at him in
shock.  "I am not trying to be funny, I mean it.  You have
nothing to be ashamed of."
   "Oh, no?" She said when she'd finally gulped enough air
to speak again, "You mean I didn't just spend a month with
you... you... gods, I can't even make myself say it!"
   "Then do not.  Do not even think on it, if you do not
wish to.  It happened, it was dealt with, and there is no
need to feel guilty for what could not be helped."
   "But I do feel guilty!  I just feel so..."  Palas burst
out laughing, though there was little humor and a slightly
hysterical edge in her voice.  "Truth, I feel rediculous,
and I think I should take my older and wiser brother's
advice.  Get out!"  Mojere drew himself up a little straighter 
in surprise.
   "Get out?  But... what have I done?"  Palas pushed him
towards the door, so hard that he nearly tumbled from the
bed.    
   "Done?  Nothing that I can be angry at you for, roast
you!  You've just been the most wonderful and patient person
in all the Nine Reams, is all."
   "Then why...?"
   "A girl DOES need a little privacy, brother dear."  
   "Oh,"  Mojere blushed clear to the points of his ears, 
"I did not realize.  I am sorry." 
   "Don't be." Palas said, warmly, then more pointedly,
"But do leave, please."  
   "Yes, of course."  Mojere ducked out through the curtained 
door, still blushing.  As soon as he was gone, Palas practically 
dove for the bundle of clothing in the corner.  With any luck,
she could just put the entire incident out of mind, and never
have to deal with it again.