Over a period of time, the Quelled themselves were deceived, believing themselves to have no souls or minds, and to be totally inferior to their masters. The deception was so cunning, so complete, that later generations of both races believed it to be a truth. Therefore there was no conflict: the Chosen became absolute lords, and the Quelled became what they believed they were – voiceless slaves with no capacity to fight.

By this means, the world has been kept alive by fire, and the fuel supplies maintained.

These words are true, and are to be kept concealed in the library in the palace of the Quelled king at Kasimarra, which is now the temple for the new religion of the Chosen. The, are written in the second century after the end of the old world and the beginning of the cold age.

I heard her roll the parchment again, carefully; heard her replace it in the cabinet and close the door. But I did not see the room, or her. I saw countless generations of Quelled all rising to their feet, exalted in the light of truth. I saw the golden sign blazing on the wall, that once a king had seen. A king, my ancestor. Father of my race. My royal race.

My mind could hardly take it in. Joy swept me first, and wonder that all my life I had been right. I thought of the other revelations in the scroll: of the former world, warm and green and blue; of the beginning of the cold age, the shaking of the earth and the blanketing of dust; and of our being suppressed. We sang of it all, in our myths. We Quelled had been right … right for centuries.

And the Chosen – the Chosen had built their religion, their entire civilisation, on a monstrous lie. Anger flooded me, a terrible hating rage against the Chosen for inventing the lie, and anger at us for so long believing it.

Then came the grief.

And while I cried, sobbing for the humiliation and poverty and pain of all my race, old Laken cried and rocked me in her arms, and murmured love to me.

I could not have slept afterwards. I did not return to my room, but wandered through the dark corridors, stood in stately rooms filled with magnificent treasures, and touched age-old furniture and works of art. I went out to the great abandoned terraces, and stood there with the wind whipping my clothes. I saw the soil in the cracks between the ancient stones, and the twisted roots of bygone plants; and I remembered the myths my father had told me, of a time when we Quelled were lords and lived in great dwellings high in the mountains, with vast gardens that hung there in the shining light. And I longed to see Lesharo in the morning, and hear him sing the songs that were no longer myths, but our true, glorious history.