"Oh. What happens when you Conjure something that doesn't exist?"

"Then it becomes Creation," she replied. "I call what I do with clothes Conjuring because that's a catch-all term for making things appear, but it's not the same thing. I'm actually having them created from nothingness. That's another trick you learn in Druidic magic, but it's a bit more advanced. I'll teach you that one when you get comfortable with Conjuring.

"Do I have to imagine where I want them to appear?"

"Yes. If you don't, they could appear anywhere around you. Remember, anything you don't decide will be decided for you by the All, and it tends to get exotic. And exotic is bad. Now then, do it, Tarrin. Imagine three good apples, will them to appear, and commune with the All. Let's see it."

Tarrin nodded and closed his eyes. He formed an image of three large red apples, perfectly ripe, plump, sweet, and juicy, and then simultaneously willed their appearance in front of him and reached inside himself the same way he did so when he Summoned the sword. He remembered how he did it, and found it to be effective. The Cat within seemed to be connected to the All, so reaching within, through the Cat, brought him into connection with that power. He felt the expansion of himself, the basking of his soul in the gentle warmth and power of the All, the wellspring of life from which all things took energy and granted energy. He could feel the All infuse him, coarse through him with its power, actually feel it touch his intent, sample his image, and respond to them. he actually felt the power come into him, come through him, using him as a bridge between the All and reality, but it was a brief sensation that disappeared quickly.

The All drained away by itself, and three large red apples, glistening with dew, appeared on the sand between him and Sarraya. It also left Tarrin feeling a bit tired. Druidic magic did take some effort after all.

Sarraya laughed and clapped her hands. "Very good!" she commended.

"The All disappeared by itself," he said in confusion.

"This isn't Sorcery," she reminded him. "Once the All finds your will, it does what you ask, and then it breaks the connection. If you want to use Druidic magic again, you have to start over at the beginning. Actually, that's a very good thing. If we stayed connected to the All after the spell takes effect, we'd be vulnerable to it. It's much better that it breaks the connection rather than us. Sometimes we get caught up in the feeling of communion, and that means we lose our discipline. That can be fatal."

"I see your point," he said seriously, remembering the pleasant sensation that came with using Druidic magic. "That was easy."

"And that's the danger," Sarraya said seriously. "Druidic magic is never easy, because of the consequences if you mess up. Never approach even the easiest spell with anything other than tremendous respect. Treat every spell as if it were the hardest thing you have ever done. That respect for the power will keep you alive, Tarrin."

Tarrin nodded soberly. "That's very good advice," he agreed. "I see the truth of it."

"A Druid that uses his magic impulsively dies quickly. Don't forget that."

"I won't. I guess that's why you always seem to take a second to prepare yourself before doing anything with it."

"My, you do pay attention," she grinned. "That's right. I won't even Conjure a grain of rice without stopping to prepare myself for it. Because I give the power the respect it deserves. It's one of the reasons I'm still alive."

"If Druids train a long time before using magic, why are you going so fast?" Tarrin asked curiously.

"Because this is an emergency," she replied. "Your survival depends on learning at least Conjuring as quickly as you can, and that's about all I intend to teach you. After you learn to Conjure, I'll start training you in some of the other applications, but we won't be using them."

"Well, I guess I've learned to Conjure," he said, pointing at the apples.

"Yup," she grinned. "Let's eat the fruits of your labor and get some rest. No more until after dinner and a short break. The All does all the work, but it does take some effort on your part. You should have felt it."

"I did," he affirmed. "As tired as I am now, I don't know if I should do that again."

"I know. I wanted you to feel it when you were tired, to fully understand and appreciate that Druidic magic takes work. The more it takes for the All to do it, the more it tires you out as well. You won't feel it as much when you're rested, but now you know not to tax yourself. It's a better lesson."

"You're a harsh instructor. You remind me of my mother."

Sarraya laughed. "A drop of blood makes the lesson stick longer," she smiled.

"That sounds like my mother, alright," he chuckled.

To: Title EoF

He stood on a dark avenue. It was dark and colorless, and there was a curious lack of scents around him. He was surrounded by people wearing Arakite robes, young and old, men and women, adults and children. They wore gray robes, all of them, and all of them had pallid, chalky skin. They looked down, at the ground, and would not raise their heads to face him. The buildings were also gray, the stone buildings common in Dala Yar Arak, with their smooth walls and flat roofs and the gardens hidden at the centers of their walled yards. But all of the buildings looked exactly the same, as if a child's wooden toys had been set on each side of a line. There was no disparity among the houses, nothing to distinguish one from another, just as all the people wore the same robes, had the same pale skin.

Where is this place? Tarrin thought to himself, looking around. The sky was featureless, dark, completely alien, with no moons, no stars, no Skybands, nothing but empty blackness. Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming, I'm in the desert.

There was no sound. He realized that now, no sound coming from anyone before him. Their feet made no sound, there was no wind, no talking, no clatter of hooves or squeaking of carts. There was nothing but the sound of his own breathing, an eerie sound that echoed in his ears, a sound that made him feel unease, even fear. What was going on?

This has to be a dream, he told himself, looking around, slashing his tail in agitation. Wake up, Tarrin!

"There is no waking from this dream," a hollow voice intoned from behind him. He whirled around, found himself facing one of the chalky denizens of this strange dream. It was a young woman, a young and pretty woman, who would be beautiful if not for the chalky skin. Her head was down, and a hood covered her hair. "There is no escape from this prison."

"Prison?" Tarrin demanded. "This is a dream!"

"What is a dream?" the girl asked in that same hollow, emotionless voice. "Perhaps your dream is a reflection of another reality."

"Speak sense, woman!" Tarrin said hotly, feeling his anger rise. "I'm in no mood for games!"

"Do you expect me to fear you?" she asked, raising her head. Tarrin recoiled from her, feeling sudden panic within him.

She had no eyes. There was nothing but black sockets staring at him, staring into his soul, piercing him with the eyeless gaze.

"The dead have no fear," she said in a resonant voice.

"No fear," came a murmuring echo from everyone around him. All of them stopped moving, became still as stone.

"Who are you?" Tarrin demanded, feeling true fear creep into him. Wake up! he screamed inside.

"We are what you made of us," she said, her voice turning cold, like a knife. "We are yours."

"Mine? What do you mean?"

"We are those who died by your hands," she said, her voice taking on a power of its own, as if that admission released it from within her. "See how many you have? You make sure we are not lonely."