Despite himself, the deep rumble of the craft's engines began to relax 'Tj'Chin'Ker around ten thousand feet. Had he known the actual height at which this was happening, he may have stayed more vigilant in his seat. The seat in question was, to his thinking, extremely well padded, and despite the constriction of the seatbelts, or maybe because of it, he felt more secure than he had since possibly his infancy, being held at his mother's ample hip.

By twenty thousand feet, he was drowsing.

Feeling the breath moving in and out in a matched rhythm to the vibration of the aircraft around him. His mind, freed now from the anxiety of being hurled into the sky by an insane H'Aghram. He remembered the H'Aghram... Trutt was one, but looked different than he remembered the race looking. It was hard to put his finger on it, but there was a difference that was nibbling at the back of 'Ker's mind as he sat and thought dreamily on it. And NursEllen... she was obviously Daoin, a "human." But, she was also as tall as any Wahruhme he had ever seen. Far prettier. But, still, built on a scale that even the pickiest of Wahruhme would have almost envied, and certainly many would have gone to war just for the right to court her.

The number of puzzles he faced since his very pain-filled return to this world were piling up about him, bones of too many slain deer, with not nearly enough meat on the drying racks, and no tannable skins worth selling. His older brother had as many of these sayings as na Roimaineach had bright young soldiers to send to their deaths in the Cruithneachan.

In hazy memories, reinterpretations of reality and history that his dreams would allow him, as accurate for 'Tj'Chin'Ker as they might be for any of us, his brother sat brooding. It was no odd thing, that was most of what ‘Dne did, he brooded. Even while surrounded by his brood he brooded; he would sit with furrowed brow and think of any number of unpleasant and worrying things. In some it would be considered a character flaw. But, ‘Dne was revered for it among the Tj’Shea. He was able to think so many horrible things; he had been given Royal Appointment to do just that. As a direct result, nothing truly bad had happened to the Mother and Father since the 'Siev’Kac had assassinated the former royal pair, their predecessors.

So, in a well carved oaken chair of flowing design, 'Dne would sit, and while he worked on mending tack, or fletching arrows, or even making delicate little leather slippers for his youngest children, he would brood and stew over what is, what was, and what could, if left to its own chaotic devices, be. There were more hours of intricate labor in the multicolored inlay of majestic leaping stags, and heavy shouldered rams with gleaming horns fighting the shaggy forms of maddened trolls on 'Dne's favorite chair than in the work done to produce the throne their Royals sat upon in their great castle in the valley not too far to the South of where 'Ker spent the afternoon and evening playing with his nieces and nephews.

Most credited ‘Ker’s brother ‘Dne for that unerring talent to predict and stop the chaos that would tear most Courts apart; the best adviser any Father could have ever had, most said. And it helped him immensely in his job that he could see souls, and speak to the newly dead at need.

At that particular moment, ‘Dne was staring at the shiny gold bands adorning his little brother’s fingers. “Children,” came his deep and rumbling voice, a storm cloud in fair skies. “Let your uncle breathe. The more you sit on his chest the more he will tease you; he is not smart enough to stop. Trust me; you will not win this today.” With a stern look, he pointed out the small door to his study. “Off with you, all of you; go help your mothers in the hall. I have Hunters’ business and Finger lore to discuss with my brother.” A chorus of disappointment washed over the two men as the host of little warriors and future heart-breaking beauties all scowled just like their sire, but slowly did his bidding.

Once they had all shuffled reluctantly along, “They have your eyes.” Said ‘Tj’Chin’Ker. “Or should I say, they have your eyebrows?”

‘Ker pulled a face, outrageously forcing his brows down in aid of a determined scowl. He considered the fleeing horde from his spot on the floor where he had been ambushed by first the three youngest girls, and then pounced upon by the remaining children still in the house. “I take that back, the girls all get lemony faces like your wives…or is it just me?” The younger man giggled at the image of his older brother being surrounded by not only the three pinch-faced harridans he married, but the eight daughters all rounding on him in imitation of their mothers.

His laughter grew a bit, until the book his brother had been reading flew smartly into his temple. The room now felt empty with only the two brothers in it. The rounded wooden walls, steam formed and carved, covered in shelves; but without playing children, 'Ker remembered the room as feeling too open, too large, and too empty.

“Of course it’s just you! My wives are renowned for their beauty; it's well known that you bring out their evil natures.” The look of injured innocence ‘Ker leveled at ‘Dne was not enough to win his point. “I wonder sometimes if my marriages might be happier if I were to kill you, little Bump?” He had been making that joke as long as he had been married; the nickname was one from his childhood; he could never escape from his siblings. The live ones anyway…

Dusting off his breaches was a simple insult to throw back at ‘Dne. It both required no words be spoken as he arose, and impugned the cleanliness of his brother’s wives. Another book took flight to roost near ‘Ker’s hairline, a noisy bird bound in well tanned sheepskin. A quick twist and catch stopped the fluttering thing from further marking his forehead. “You are the worst literary critic I’ve ever known…do you even read these things? Really, or are they just bought so you can launch them at my lovely nugget?”

This book’s spine purported the thing to be a brief history of The People, ominously titled "Mara 'Danig na 'Tj'Shae do 'n Ghrian" or "How the People Came to the Sun," he noticed while handing both of the errant books back to their owner. Having read the second book himself, ‘Ker thought it a farcical bit of writing. It had even been labeled as having been authored by none other than the Dancer, himself. And while the book had merit, it began with the tales of how the Dancer tricked the gods out of his own death, and had then fathered the 'Tj’Shea. It was in ‘Ker’s mind a great way to explain why they often referred to themselves in conversations with other races as “The Dancer’s Children;” and always as such to their own children.

Such stories would rot your mind if you let them…how many myths must you believe in this world before you are thought of as “well educated?”…

His brother just slowly smiled at the younger man, and then turned to place the two books back on the reading shelves behind the great antler adorned chair he sat in to relax in his warm and cozy room. As well organized as his brother’s thoughts ran, the room was in a constant state of chaos. His wives might not let dust or any hint of grime in this small manse, but neither would any of the three terrors ever disturb their Lord Husband’s private work room; ‘Ker never knew if any of the deceptively lovely creatures actually loved his older brother, but they respected him and would tear off their own faces if he bade them do it. Even when richer men had wooed them, they chose the social position they had with ‘Dne over other men’s fortunes. 'Dne was one of the unspoken powers in the world of the People. And those who knew him respected what he had to say, even if they hated or feared what he had said. "The best way to not have one's integrity impugned was to be of impugnable integrity," as 'Dne said. Often. Usually to a scowling 'Ker.

Sitting again, ‘Dne used a foot to pull another chair from the work desk where he did his fletching. “Sit, Bump; we need to talk, and the wives will be calling us to clean for dinner soon.”

‘Ker settled boneless in the chair as his older brother watched him with dark and hooded gray-green eyes. The red and blue tattoos around his cheeks and brows could mask the way he felt to everyone in the realm. Everyone but the younger brother whom he called simply “Bump.”

Once settled, ‘Ker went on the offensive. “You’re not talking to the dead now ‘Tj’Arr’Dne, go ahead and poke at the well’s walls all you want, you’ll only get wet.”

“Your rings…I can see them.”

‘Ker froze; he had been wearing the bands on his fingers for almost a year. Ever since the day his wife's remains had been burned and then buried. Against all tradition and law, he wore the rings; and thought he had been fooling everyone. Small reminder though they might be as spirals and swirls of reds greens and golds smeared together to represent the one love he had ever known, but part of her soul had been placed in those small metal bands. He had refused to put aside his dearest’s soul from him just because she no longer shared his bed. His house. His world.

His glamours had never been breached by anyone. “You see them…” the words were a breathy gasp of fear. “How?”

“I see the dead, little brother; no charm can hide them from my eyes.” His deep voice wasn't angry as he said it, and that lack of heat now confused 'Ker.

Running a hand back through his long ruddy brown, gray and green hair, ‘Dne exhaled and said slowly, as if to a very young child, “You cannot keep this up. If I see them, others will as well. What if one of my children has my gift? What if they mention it to one of my wives? Or to the Royal Tutor? What of me and my family? Will your selfishness take us all down with you?” His voice was pitched low and quiet, so as not to travel to ears waiting beyond the door. “I will always love you, but NEVER put my children in the way of your games. I WON'T have it, Bump!” The sudden slap came from nowhere and everywhere at once, rattling the younger brother’s eyes in his head like pigs’ knuckles in a soldier’s pocket. “You should know better…you should DO better; I will not have my children threatened by what gripes and grudges YOU hold against anyone. Not…especially not, those against the Mother.”

Taken aback, ‘Ker sat momentarily paralyzed in the humble wooden chair staring at his older sibling; a fine trickle of blood just seeping from Tj’Chin’Ker’s lower lip. While he had other living brothers and several sisters, ‘Tj’Arr’Dne and he had enjoyed a bond singular in the family. No other child of their parents even spoke to Tj’Chin’Ker if they could help it; too many maneuvers in Court made members of such a small and ambitious family fast enemies. And the more talented a person was, the more enemies they would have in the highest circles of politics. Most of their brothers and sisters had been killed off for being too talented and for aspiring to stations considered too high. ‘Ker even had seen a few of them off to the next world himself.

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But ‘Dne always had time for this troublesome young man. Some lessons he had taught his little brother with patience and fraternal forbearance, this one apparently was a lesson to be learned quickly and with some hard prodding. Loud prodding, too…

Staring up into his older brother’s dark green eyes, he was struck by the lack of anger showing on ‘Dne’s face. Rarely was he ever seen with his emotions out and readable, but with this, ‘Ker expected his features to express wroth. Wroth at the very least. The slap was a tell that ‘Dne wanted him to listen as carefully as if he was taking an arrow from his own leg; but the soft look on his face was all tolerance.

“You don’t like people…Our people… the People.” His older brother said simply.

‘Ker would have argued, but the denials died aborning. “You have fought with every House among the People for as long as you have been able. You pick your fights carefully…you weed out those you think are the worst among us.” ‘Dne took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before continuing. “I’ve watched you. Nobody can beat you when you've set yourself to bringing them down. If you didn’t play the fool so often, the Mother would have taken you as her own personal Needle years ago. That…and if she didn’t hate you more than her own childless aging.”

At the mention of the Mother’s Needle, ‘Ker cringed, the tattoos sliding and waving across his tanned face. In his life, four Needles had been killed. In no other span of history had one Mother even had to replace more than one Needle, but ‘Ker had taken exception to the Mother’s first Needle when ‘Ker had just passed into manhood.

The fight had been dirty, and ‘Ker almost died on top of the body of the foul old man in that long ago tower room. The children’s bodies, each from one barely recognisable as that of the various different races that had lived in proximity to the Land of the People, tied to the walls of the old sick bastard’s chambers only reinforced ‘Ker’s loathing. He had known that some few members of the other races had traveled into exile with the People, but that sight had been his fist actual view of any of the pariahs. To be an exile among exiles was horrid enough without the notion of having one’s children stolen away by such foulness…for such foulness.

After the fist Needle had been killed, the Mother had done her best to find the killer; she would have made the person to kill the deadliest man in the Empire her new Needle. When she appointed the worst cad she could find to her entourage, thinking he must have been the one to do the deed, ‘Ker had allowed Kj’Adle a week to admit to the Court he had nothing to do with his predecessor’s death. Eight days later Kj’Adle’s fleshless bones were found sitting on the floor of the Great Hall; ‘Ker had even displayed them as if the fellow had been eating an iced ginger cake stolen from the royal kitchens. ‘Dne broke his memories with a quiet “I’ve talked to many of the dead Tj’Shea you have killed since we came to this land.”

His brother waited for ‘Ker to speak, but when his little Bump just sat looking thoughtfully at him, he continued. “Most of them in death admitted the wrongs they had done, a few even asked me to thank you for stopping them. Not all, some. But I know you made issue with many of them before you found reasons for them to die.”

He paused to sip from the now cold mixture of sugared tea and wine in the mug sitting on his fletching table. Slowly ‘Dne placed the small stone vessel back in the exact same spot. A deliberate breath, slow, steady and long suffering.

“I may be the Royal Speaker, but I’m not the only Speaker. There are three nephews of the Mother who also Speak to the dead. Several more who serve Her. She may not have had them call up her former friends and relations you disposed of, but it’s not a bet I’d make. Several of the lads are too weak to call up anyone dead more than a day or two. But, not all of them. Some are as good as me. One is better.” Waiting a further few beats to see if ‘Ker would reply did him no good. “She hates you for three reasons, you know.”

…Three? … He remembered thinking often on this conversation after it had happened. “I know she would have my head, ‘Dne. But three reasons? Please, she only needs one.”

“One is the easiest. You took her maidenhead, but not her hand. She also knows you killed two of her Needles.”

“That’s only two, or have you lost count already? I told you to read better books, those tomes you love so much will rot your brain…”

The book smacking flat against his face was so quick and sharp, ‘Ker thought he might not be able to smell anything for a week as his eyes teared up enough to obscure his vision.

“The third reason is the one she’ll kill you for if you let her; it’s that everybody of merit KNOWS the first reason…”

“You really think she’d take my head for that?”

‘Dne’s left eyebrow stretched slowly for the ceiling; a lazy cat limbering up after a long nap.

“If you hadn’t so publicly humiliated her, you might be a part of the Royal Court. I know it means nothing to you, you hate those of the Court more than our enemies ever did; but what about your wife?”

“Don’t you dare drag her into this; she wouldn’t be my wife if I had married Kylia’Da. You know Ky would have killed any other woman I married; she would not have become Mother if I had married her, but she would have seen any woman to come into my home dead in a month. And I would have had to make her entire family wroth by killing her myself. Nothing but her own death would stop that slaughter.”

“You may be right on some of that, but…”

“No buts, she manipulated me into bed. She thought I would do what was traditional, what was honorable… what YOU would have done. She only chose me because she would never be some man’s second wife, otherwise she would have charmed YOU into that bed! She might complain all she wants, but when I refused her hand, then SHE brought suit to Court and SHE told everyone she lost her maidenhead to me; and look how THAT turned out! Now, regardless of all of that scandal, NOW she’s the Mother!”

“Keep your voice down, Bump. Ml’Uenda has ears like an owl! And yes look where it got her…married to an old bachelor uncle of the last Father’s. If they all had not been wiped out, she would have become the most pitied woman among us. Hells, for a short while she WAS.”

‘Ker just stared at ‘Dne in confusion for a moment before going on. “But that’s all changed now, isn’t it? Two years after she married Tj’El, the Clan Siev’Hac came and BLAM! She was Mother! And he was a war hero to sing about for ages! What more could a woman want? ‘El single handedly slaughtered the entire Circle of Chiefs of the tribe that killed his nephew; she’ll have courtiers drooling over that story for centuries more, WHAT MORE COULD SHE NEED?” His voice now raised in anger and disbelief.

‘Dne flinched at the mention of the Clan who had centuries ago balked at the exile in which they now found themselves. After making a case to the Court that they should all return to the lands they had lost and continue the war with humanity that drove them to this far land, the Siev’Hac committed the worst sin any Tj’Shea could ever contemplate; they had assassinated the Father and the Mother.

Their names were no longer spoken aloud, their keep had been leveled, and their lands burned and sown with weeds and silverstones. In a paradise of hunting, fishing and plentiful fields marred only by long cold winters eating three quarters of each year, the Siev’Hac would not concede they lived better lives now than they had in the Sunlit World. While their arguments might have made friends at Court, they may have had the chance to sway every embittered noble nursing grudges against the tide of humanity that flooded the world they had left; no one would hear their arguments now. Any mention of the points that Clan had made about logistics and longevity were lost beneath the stain of “Regicide.”

Regaining his composure, he said simply, “You, apparently.”

A beat followed before, “And her honor back. And if not those things, your head, yes? Or other things from your carcass?” ‘Dne raised a speculative eyebrow as his eyes followed his little brother’s form from floor to elaborately tattooed neck. With that he deflated, all arguments died on his tongue. A slow blink became his only response as muscles lost their will to flail about in indignation.

A lightning grab and ‘Ker was nose to nose with his sometimes scary sibling. The older child of the Lady Am’Honel, his voice rumbling and cracking as if a thunderstorm had entered the small study was attempting to keep his anger in check lest the whole house hear what he had to say to his "villainous" little brother. “For the last five centuries you have done everything to make the People think you a fool. A deadly fool, but a fool. You have proven time and again to those smart enough to see through your games that you are one of the best Needles the Courts have ever seen. If, little Bump, you want to stop dancing and work for your bread, you have only to step up and turn a bow before the Mother and Father."

'Dne paused a moment. "Those rings will see you dead in time; but time is all you have. But if you take the lead, show them you are ready to fit into our world, admit it has been your doing that has cleared so much dead wood from our forests…” his older brother sighed, and let his grass hued eyes close with hope. He lowered ‘Ker, and took a moment to straighten his jerkin. With a gentle touch to his younger brother’s shoulder, ‘Dne finally opened his eyes, looked deep into his little Bump’s eyes and did what no other Tj’Shea would ever believe if he told them. He smiled. “If you wait long enough, the worthless again becomes worthy. Some in the Court know it is you when you have slain in secret, and know the what and why of it all. Some even approve…but you still act the cretin. So, show them your nobility. No commander would have you in one of his Fists; but the Father needs a Needle just as She needs her Needle. Will you think on this, ‘Ker”?

His answer died on the stones at his feet as the door burst open admitting 'Tj’Arr’Dne’s youngest son with a heady squeal, smiling ear to tiny, and shell-like pointed ear. “Father, mother Athel’Ka bids you wash for dinner. And she says to remind you that the water in the basin is icy enough that if you want to drown the stain on your family, he will die a cold, uncomfortable death. Oh, and we have flower cakes for dessert tonight as well.”

‘Dne reached down to swat the grinning little ruddy haired imp as he stood from his well worn chair; and with a tilt of his head indicated to ‘Ker that he might want to tickle his precocious nephew until he squealed.