“That would put it somewhere in Zelana’s Domain,” Veltan mused.

“Isn’t that where Balacenia lives?”

Veltan almost choked at that point. “Where did you hear the name Balacenia, Yaltar?” he asked.

Yaltar frowned. “I’m not really sure, uncle. It just seems to me that I know someone named Balacenia, and she lives in the western Domain. Maybe it’s just part of that dream that keeps coming back over and over again.”

“That’s altogether possible, I suppose.” Veltan glossed over Yaltar’s use of a name he could not possibly have heard about. “Did anybody in your dream put a name to any mountains or rivers that might possibly have given you some landmarks?”

“I heard some people talking about ‘Maags’ once, and others said some nasty things about somebody called ‘the Vlagh,’ but I don’t think those words had anything to do with rivers or mountains.” Yaltar frowned. “Now that I think about it, though, sometimes the people in my dream said things about ‘Lattash.’ I think that one might be a place because of the way they talked about it. If somebody says, ‘I just came here from Lattash,’ he almost has to be talking about a place, doesn’t he?”

“It sounds reasonable to me, Yaltar. Did your dream give you any kind of idea about what time of year it was?”

“Well, sort of, maybe. There wasn’t any snow on the ground, so that sort of rules out winter, doesn’t it? It wouldn’t mean too much around here, because we don’t get much snow in the winter, but the snow really builds up in the mountains during that time of year, I’ve heard.”

“That it does, Yaltar. Were you ever able to get any idea of why the people in your dream were killing each other?”

“Nothing very clear, uncle. Some of them were coming west across the mountains, and others seemed to be trying to stop them. Does that make any sense at all?”

Veltan forced a gentle smile. “Dreams aren’t supposed to make sense, dear boy. If they made sense, they wouldn’t be fun, would they?”

“I’m not really having very much fun with this one that keeps coming back, uncle. It’s awful!”

“Try not to think about it, Yaltar. If you ignore it, maybe it’ll go away. I need to go talk with my big brother. I hate to have to keep leaving you alone like this, but there’s a sort of family emergency right now. Hopefully, we’ll be able to put it behind us before long, and things should return to normal.”

“Could you see Omago before you leave, uncle? He seems to think it’s fairly important, and he even said that he wouldn’t mind if you woke him up to hear what he has to say.”

“Now that’s very unusual. Once Omago goes to sleep, not even a thunderstorm can wake him. Is there anything else you think I should know before I leave?”

Yaltar snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot something, uncle. After the last time I had that awful dream I was telling you about, I drew a picture of the ravine where it seemed to be happening. If you’re at all interested, I could show it to you.”

“That would be nice,” Veltan replied blandly, resisting a sudden impulse to jump up and dance on the table.

Omago was a sturdy farmer with fertile fields and an extensive orchard. The other farmers of Veltan’s Domain frequently sought his advice, and during their discussions with him they almost always passed on gossip, observations, and other tidbits of information. It was widely believed in Veltan’s Domain that if a stray dog trotted down a village street anywhere in the region, Omago would know about it before the sun went down. Omago was a very good listener, and many times people would tell him of things they might have been wiser to keep to themselves.

Veltan liked him, and he’d come to rely on him for information.

The sun had not yet risen when Veltan went through Omago’s now bare-limbed orchard, where last summer’s leaves lay thick along the low stone wall to the south. Omago’s whitewashed cottage seemed almost to nestle drowsily under its overhanging thatched roof. Veltan smiled faintly. It seemed sometimes that almost everything in his Domain viewed winter as a good time to catch up on its sleep. Veltan went along the neatly made stone walk to the door of Omago’s cottage and rapped on the door. Ara, Omago’s slender and beautiful wife, opened the door. Ara had long, dark auburn hair, and she was by far the loveliest woman in the village. As was her custom, she wore no shoes, and she had very pretty feet.

Her kitchen was quite large and warm, and it was filled with the lovely fragrance of her cooking. Veltan had no need for food, of course, but he always enjoyed the smell of cooking.

“Good morning, Ara,” he greeted the lady of the house. “Is Omago awake yet? Yaltar tells me that he wants to have some words with me.”

“He’s stirring a bit, dear Veltan,” she replied. “You know Omago. He can sleep through almost anything—except the smell of breakfast. Come in. I’d offer you something to eat if I thought you’d accept.”

“The smell of your cooking is tempting, dear Ara, but no, thanks all the same.” He followed her into the warm golden light of her kitchen. “I’d like to thank you for looking after Yaltar while I was away, Ara,” he said, seating himself at the table. “Sometimes I forget that he needs food quite regularly—probably because I don’t.”

“You’re missing one of the better parts of life, dear Veltan.” She looked at him. “I’ve always wondered if light has any sort of flavor,” she said curiously.

“I don’t think ‘flavor’ is exactly the right term, Ara,” Veltan replied. “Different colored lights have a different sort of feel to them. I taste things with my eyes, not with my tongue. Could you see if Omago’s awake yet? I’m a little pressed for time right now.”

“I’ll fetch him for you, dear Veltan.” She took a generous slice of warm, fresh bread and went back to the place where her husband slept, her long blue dress swirling about her ankles as she moved.

A few moments later she returned, leading her nightshirt-garbed husband by the simple expedient of holding the fragrant piece of bread just out of his reach.

“Good morning, Omago,” Veltan greeted him. “I see that Ara’s managed to get your attention.”

“She does that every morning, Veltan. I swear that she could wake the dead with that wonderful smell.” Omago took the piece of bread from his wife and wolfed it down.