"Welcome, Ruhar," said the one Tarlac recognized as the presence which had brought him here. The voice was as clear and pure as the light. "And welcome to your place in the Circle of Lords." Tarlac recognized him from the statuettes and from his Vision. He took a deep breath of the sweet, vital air before he spoke. "My place, Lord Kranath? I'm human, not Traiti." "In body," Kranath agreed, smiling. "In mind you are both, and have been since your conception. We insured that. The human body on Ch'kara's altar means nothing. Here you--and we--can be either. Think of yourself as Traiti, Ruhar." Remembering his Vision of being Kranath, and before that the time at the altar when he'd felt as much Traiti as human, Tarlac did as he was told. There was a brief indescribable sensation, and when he ran his tongue over sharp triangular teeth, he realized that his experience as Kranath, impressive as it had been, was only a shadow of this-- seeming?--reality. He touched his face, ran fingertips along the scars on his chest, extended and retracted powerful claws . . . yes, this body felt as appropriate as his own. And the grove's other occupants were now in human bodies. His place, Tarlac thought bemusedly. He didn't think he quite liked that idea, and for a moment he let himself indulge in a fantasy that he hadn't died but was in the middle of a hypoxia-induced hallucination. It didn't last; he knew that what he was experiencing was quite real. He was in a Traiti body that fit him perfectly well, though he'd prefer the familiarity of his human form. He felt the sensation of change again, and the glade's Traiti and human Lords returned to the bodies they'd first had. "One's original form is usually best," Kranath agreed calmly. "You have accepted that we exist," Sepol--Lord of the Ordeal--put in. "And you have accepted the abilities of those who went before. Why, then, are you so reluctant to accept the fact that we have called you to join us?" Tarlac shrugged. "The same reason, I guess, that I don't like the idea of gods who interfere in mortal affairs. It goes against my grain." "Relax, Steve," Lord Carle--Tarlac would have said Lady, in English--advised him. "What we do is less different from your earlier work than you can yet realize. And you have time to ease your mind before you absorb the knowledge and powers you are heir to. Sit and drink, Ruhar." When a tall, cold glass of green liquid appeared in his hand, Tarlac accepted it and sipped. The taste of authentic mint julep recalled the only Kentucky Derby he'd seen in person, shortly before the war; a magnificent chestnut filly named Lady Jess had won.