‘It’s my latest find,’ she said apologetically. ‘I think I may have stumbled on something of significance.’ She winced as she tried to reach for a bound notebook that lay on the table beyond. ‘A curse on this rheumatism.’

‘A find?’ Orial’s curiosity was aroused.

‘At first I feared someone was out to dupe me. I thought it must be a fake. But it seems genuine.’

‘What seems genuine?’

‘I’ve just got to… pop out the back a moment. Bladder plays tricks too at my age. Take a look at this whilst I’m gone.’

Jolaine handed her the notebook and hobbled out. Hieroglyphs had been copied on to the page… but below them Orial saw Jolaine had begun to enter tentative translations: ‘Elesstar’; ‘Goddess’; ‘winged one/soul/dragonfly?’

‘Well? What do you think?’ Jolaine appeared in the doorway.

‘Is it – is it true? Have you really broken the code? Do you know what the stelae say?’ Orial was so excited the questions came spilling, all jumbled up.

‘I’ve cracked a little of the code. Thanks to the vindictive obsession of one of our distant ancestors. A curse, scratched backwards on pewter, thrown into the spring. Heaven knows if the Goddess read it! But because our curse-writer was unsure which language She best understood, he took the trouble to inscribe it in both tongues.’

‘No wonder you lost track of the time.’

‘Of course there are discrepancies. But the texts have symbols which recur – and thus I find myself able to begin to decipher them at last.’

‘So what do they say?’

Jolaine Tradescar came to stand beside her.

‘A strange people, the Lifhendil. With stranger beliefs. I can only surmise that much of this is religious – symbolic – but without full understanding of their myths and legends, I have to admit that most of it is utterly perplexing.’

‘Stop tantalising me, Jolaine, and show me what you’ve translated!’

‘Maybe you can make more sense of it than I can.’

Orial picked up the translation.

‘They [fall into the] long sleep – they lie many moons in the dark waters – sun warms [the waters] – they fly to the light –’

‘It’s as you thought. The stelae must be memorial tablets. This describes funeral rites – an early version of what we do today.’

‘Just as I thought too – at first.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sleep. Rest.’ Jolaine Tradescar’s eyes glimmered. ‘We speak in metaphors. So much less distressing to talk of the “eternal rest” than death. “Rest in peace.” But maybe here it actually means sleep. A dormant state,’ She thumbed through the notebook and handed it back. ‘Read this one.’

‘Once I walked on the earth. Now – praise Ea-stil – I am transformed. I fly with the winged ones. I – – – through the time of the dark waters.’

Orial looked up to see that Jolaine was watching her intently, waiting expectantly for her reaction.