Date: Sun, 11 Nov 2001 16:29:38 EST
From: Faradhi269@aol.com
Subject: neriam-8

*Here it goes again.  Once more, I apologize for the length of time between this
chapter and the last one.  But school has been astronomically time-consuming
this semester.  You all know the drill-this story is copyrighted, is fictional,
etc.  Thank you to everyone who wrote to me.  I have been amazed at how many
people like this story and thank you all for the constant e-mail.  Once more, if
you have any questions, comments or concerns, please e-mail or IM
Faradhi269@aol.com.*

	Neriam watched Alsuin leave, tears in his eyes.  He dressed slowly and
left the bathhouse, wandering aimlessly through the shockingly straight streets.
Off to his right, one or two blocks over, he heard the sound of a large crowd
and on a whim, decided to see what was going on.  As he got closer, the sound of
the crowd turned angry.  He picked up speed, wanting to get there quickly and
see what suddenly happened.  Before him, many shopkeepers were loudly bolstering
their doors and windows closed as an old man in dingy blue-gray robes walked by,
seemingly unconcerned about the ever-growing angry mob behind him.
	Then a child, prompted perhaps by an older sibling or friend shouted out
"Ghul," and threw an apple at the man, striking him in the square of the back.
The man waved a hand negligently and continued moving on.  At that, the flood
damn broke and showers of rotten fruit, eggs and even rocks were hurled at him.
Neriam noticed in amazement that none of the barrage hit their target, all
striking harmlessly off a barrier that Neriam thought he saw just flickering at
the edges of his vision.  He rushed forward to figure out what was going on.
As he approached, he saw that the old man's eyes were covered by a milky film
and he had a small half-smile on his lined face.  His long white hair was
surprisingly clean and his steps didn't falter as he walked, unerringly towards
Neriam.
	Neriam stopped in his tracks.  "Come now, my boy," the wizened old man
said amiably.  "Help an old man through this lovely city.  What say you, eh?"
His voice was kind and he lay a calloused hand on Neriam's shoulder.
	"B-but," Neriam stuttered in amazement.
	"Oh, don't you worry about them," the man said.  "They won't hurt me.  Or
you either.  Come, I would like to speak with you."  Feeling his feet turn to
match his stride to the old man's of their own will, Neriam shrugged.  "Why
not?"
	"The old man smiled.  I am Opius, a servant of Magius, the Lord of
Spells."
	"A servant of the god of magic?"
	"Yes.  I am his priest."  Opius grinned an amazingly young smile on his
aged face.  "His high priest, actually.  Which is rather astounding, as I have
been unable to see for the past decade or so."
	"But priests can heal.  Why has your blindness not been cured?"
	"My Lord asked it of me as a test of faith.  He said that a moment would
come when I would look into his face, but until then, I will walk in darkness.
I am used to it by now, and my magic aids me."
	"Magic..."
	"You have questions, my son?  So rare in these lands to find any curious
about magic."
	"Well...I was wondering, erm...why did that boy call you a Ghul?  What is
a Ghul?"
	"This world of ours is a large one, my boy, and many continents of peoples
exist upon it, though we know little of them.  Our continent we have divided
amongst many peoples: the Elflands house the Elves, of curse, as the Dwarflands
do the Dwarves.  We humans and our half-sized companions live in the Good Land,
where you are now, Melkor, which lies in the center of the continent between the
Mountains and the Great River, and the Tundra where the barbarians roam.  If
you've ever seen a map, you now that to the North of the Good Land lie a pair of
smaller islands that we call the Twins."
	"Yes, I remember."
	"Those islands are sacred.  It is on the smaller of the two islands that
the gods meet in person on this world to discuss its creation and to argue their
disputes.  No mortal has ever been to the smaller of the islands of the Twins
and returned.  The people on the other island are reputed to be the most
beautiful people that live, with the blood of celestial beings flowing through
their veins.  They are reputed to live with unicorns, pegasi, coatl and other
creatures of extraordinary beauty and magic."
	"Wait a minute!  They have celestial blood?  What do you mean?  What is
celestial blood?  They have the blood of the gods," he asked in amazement.  "No,
my boy.  No one has the blood of the gods.  The gods have many spirits of
greater and lesser power that serve them.  In some lands they are called angels
or aasimar.  These are the immortal servants of the gods, whose power exceeds
ours by far, yet is not godly.  It is those beings who once intermingled with
humans who lived on the large island.  And those people migrated to the Good
Land.  It is the reason why those two lands are always at peace with each other
and why, on this continent, at least, the people of the Good Land are the most
beautiful physically of any other race."
	"That explains why Alsuin..."
	"You have a friend from here?"  Before getting a response from Neriam, he
continued.  "Alsuin...I have heard that name before.  Is he a young nobleman?"
	"Yes.  But, we, well, we had a fight."
	"Really?  What of," asked Opius kindly.
	"You were telling me about the Ghuls," he interjected.
	"Ah," the old man agreed with aplomb.  "How forgetful of me.  Well, there
is another land in which people live.  It is the land known as Terra del Ghul.
Once, it was a land much like the Twins, and the people there were blessed by
Lord Magius with strong magic.  Their island was a haven for the Art.  But they
began to dabble in the darker arts, turning to necromancy and the summoning of
demons.
	"Several thousand years ago the inhabitants of the island, now bolstered
with terrible Necromantic power and the blood of demons flowing through THEIR
veins assaulted the rest of the continent.  None but the Elves could ever match
the Ghuls in magical power, but all the people united, and armies of monsters
and the walking dead roamed the lands.
	"So much magical power flowed through the land that mountains were raised
and lands sunk beneath the seas.  After about two decades, the power of the
Ghuls was beaten back.  But the mages of the continent were destroyed, and much
of their power with them.  Occasionally, some were born with some magical
talent, but it usually faded in time, and for those who kept it, it was often
beyond their control.  Without teachers, they could not learn the necessary
control.  Magic has almost ceased to exist from our world."
	"But I've heard the Elves have magic.  Why didn't they teach these
people?"
	"The Elves left the non-Elven races to their own devices after the war,
although they are the first watch against the possible threat of Terra del Ghul.
For magic only grew in strength there, as the blood of demons strengthened their
magics."
	"But...why did they call you a Ghul," Neriam inquired.
	"In this land, the people worship Amarah, or Namarah as she is sometimes
called, almost exclusively.  The other gods are acknowledged, but Magius is
feared more than Borator, god of disease, and Kardoch, god of chaos, combined.
People consider him to be the god of Terra del Ghul, and though he is, he does
not show favoritism to them any longer.  Not since their invasion.  And as I am
a priest of Magius, people felt I was one of them.  The people of Terra del
Ghul-the land of the demons-are now used as bedtime stories to children."  Opius
sighed.  "It's a shame, really.  That they are the last practitioners of magic,
and that they do it in such a way."
	The old man stopped his story and Neriam was surprised to find them at an
inn.  "I'll rest here tonight.  The innkeeper here is a good man.  Thank you for
the company, my boy.  Good night."
	Opius stepped into the doorway and soon vanished.  Neriam watched him
ascend the stairwell, and turned on his heel, his thoughts churning.
	"Hey, now, didn't I just see you with the old wizard," chuckled an elderly
man wearing coarse peasant clothing of drab brown who was sitting outside the
inn.
	"Who?  Oh you mean Opius.  Yes.  I showed him home."
	"I figured as much," he cackled.  His hand dropped under his grimy shirt
and a knife flew out to Neriam's face.  Unable to block or dodge, Neriam watched
in horror as the dagger glinted end over end at his face.  It clanged suddenly
against something unseen directly before his face, and fell to the ground.  The
man gaped.  "Another one!"
	He turned and ran back into a nearby alley, disappearing in the darkness.
Neriam's stomach heaved, but nothing would come up.  Retching, he staggered
away, unaware of his surroundings until he stumbled on a large stairwell that
descended sharply towards the street from a large marble building.  He saw the
building's edifice before darkness once more overtook him.
	A young woman in rose robes saw him as he stumbled and called into the
building.  Several men wearing similar robes hurried out and helped Neriam
inside.
	When he opened his eyes, he was alone and he felt something hard against
his back.  Directly above him a large dome held many beautiful drawings of men
and women coupled in passionate acts.  Neriam gaped as he saw a pair of men
together.  He'd never even thought such a thing was possible!  As his eyes
roamed around the frescoes, he saw more positions and couples than he'd ever
thought possible.  Many of them seemed to require an awful lot of flexibility or
other athletic prowess, and not all of them were between two people.
	As his mind tried to process this, he noticed Alsuin standing on his right
with a frown.
	"Always getting into trouble, eh, Neriam," he asked.  Though his voice was
light, his face held-especially in his large eyes-an apology.
	"So it seems," he responded ruefully.  "Where am I?"
	"The Temple of Amarah."
	"What am I doing here?  What are YOU doing here?"
	"You passed out at the bottom of the Grand Stair of the temple."
	At that moment, the image of the spinning knife in front of his face
returned to Neriam, who blanched.  "And as for me, I was out looking for you
when I came across the young priestess who found you."
	"That doesn't tell me WHY," hissed Neriam angrily.
	"Well, we've got the dinner tonight, don't we?  I went back to the baths
to apologize.  Now we're late.  Come on!"
	"Why should I go anywhere with you?  I saved your life-twice! and you
treated me like dung.  Tell me why!"
	"I-I'm sorry, Neriam."  He lowered his voice.  "Whether you have magic or
not doesn't matter.  You DID save me, and I want to repay you.  Magic or not,
you're no Ghul."
	"I don't have magic!"
	Alsuin laughed.  "'Methinks the lady doth protest too much,'" he quoted
mockingly.
	"What?"
	"Nothing.  Come along.  We're expected for dinner.  Pity you don't have
any better clothes, but I think we can manage."
	Alsuin squelched Neriam's further protests, hauling him almost bodily up
off the floor and into a waiting carriage.  It was a black carriage without a
coat of arms, but was in good condition with silver lining around the doors,
windows and wheels.  It was drawn by a pair of jet-black horses and a single
milk-white gelding.  Inside, Neriam almost fell into the deep leather seats
while Alsuin explained what would be expected of him.
	"I can't do all that," he protested when Alsuin described the number of
eating utensils used in a standard meal and the proper etiquette of arm position
and order of reaching into the common plate.
	"It's that or be a servant," Alsuin snapped shortly.
	"Works for me.  I'm used to that."
	"Fine," he huffed.  "But don't embarrass me, then.  Or I'll treat you like
a servant."
	"Like you haven't already," muttered Neriam under his breath.
	"What was that?"
	"Nothing.  Look," he said quickly, "is that the Manor?"
	Alsuin peered out the window to see a large, four-story mansion with
whitewashed walls.  To the northeast and southwest stood two tall towers, both a
good thirty feet or so higher than the rest of the house.  "Yes," he said in
relief.  "That's it."
	The two boys were ushered inside where Lord Nikides was waiting for them.
"Alsuin, you're late," he reproved.  "I thought your Master taught you better
than that."
	The two boys were led upstairs by a manservant where they were given clean
clothes of silk and the finest wool.  Neriam had never worn such clothes, and
they fit him perfectly.  He stared at Alsuin in amazement, who shrugged
nonchalantly.  "Come on, we're going to be late."
	They went back down and into the main dining hall, where several pen and
women were standing, drinking an amber liquid from crystalline glasses.  The
boys were given a glass and Neriam hesitantly took a sip.  The fiery liquor
burned his throat but in a pleasing manner, and he quickly downed the rest of
it, feeling the rush of the alcohol in his head.
	The rest of the dinner passed all too quickly for Neriam, who constantly
found his glass refilled.  Alsuin and Nikides were discussing things about the
politics of the Good Land since Alsuin's disappearance.  As he had no clue what
they were talking about, he paid no attention, and soon found himself laughing
softly as the room spun around him.
	He opened his eyes the next morning in a large, down-filled bed.  His head
was pounding, and he felt as though his eyes would explode at any moment.  As
his vision cleared, he looked around the room.  He was alone in a four-poster
bed that was easily large enough for four of him.  It was furnished with dark,
polished wooden furniture: a desk, wardrobe and several padded leather chairs,
as well as the bed.  A thick woolen carpet covered nearly all the floor, and a
pair of clothes lay on the other side of the bed.  He rose slowly, trying to
clear his head to no avail.  He grabbed the clothes: soft light-blue woolen hose
and a royal blue silk shirt along with soft shoes and dressed.  With every
movement, his head throbbed, but he fought the pain and eventually finished.
	Once dressed, he moved downstairs, only to hear the sound of a harp down
in the sitting room.  He winced as the sound increased his headache, but he
continued.
	On a large couch, Alsuin lounged indolently with a pale wood harp in his
hands.  He plucked the strings lazily, singing quietly.  A few feet away,
Nikides sat, listening to Alsuin play.
	"The loveliest song was one of pain, and ever after, through the pain, his
tears would fall like silver rain.  They'd dot the ground like silver rain," he
ended the song.
	"Well played, Alsuin.  Well played."
	"Thank you, my lord.  This is a lovely instrument."
	"I had it made for my daughter when she was born, but..."
	"Yes, I understand.  Sorry to bring out such a painful memory."
	"It's nothing," the nobleman said with a look of pain in his eyes.  He
looked up and caught sight of Neriam.  "Ah, Alsuin," he said with a grin, "it
seems your friend has finally woken."
	Alsuin turned around.  "About time," he added good-naturedly.
	Neriam winced at the volume of his voice.  "Could you tone it down a
little," he complained.
	Alsuin grinned maliciously.  "It's your fault.  You should know not to
drink so much."
	"Shut up, Alsuin," Neriam replied flatly.
	The grin widened, but he said nothing.  After a few moments of silence,
Lord Nikides spoke to Neriam.  "So, Alsuin here tells me that you rescued him
from slavery.  I'm sure Elmar will be happy to repay you for your services
rendered."
	"Unnecessary, my Lord," he responded hesitantly, unsure of where this
conversation was going.
	"So, how is it one so young as you is so skilled at combat, then?  Is your
father a soldier?"
	"I don't know my father, sir.  I was raised at the monastery of Araman in
southern Melkor.  I learned my skills there."
	"Araman, you say.  And an orphan?"  There was an open interest in the
man's eyes that Neriam didn't recognize.
	"It's not uncommon.  Many of my peers came from similar situations.  Some
of them are the youngest sons of noblemen or merchants or are the children of
peasants who could not afford to feed them."  He shrugged.  "Once we enter the
Monastery, we become our own family."
	"Sounds like a rather tough thing to do to children."
	"Life is tough.  At least we learn how to deal with it," Neriam responded
flatly.
	Hearing the defensive tone, Nikides deftly changed the subject.  "So, what
do you think of our city, Neriam?"
	"Very nice, my Lord.  With your permission, I'll go out again today."
	Nikides hesitated.  "I'm not as understanding of politics as Alsuin, and I
can take care of myself in the streets.  I feel more comfortable there," he
added hastily.
	The nobleman nodded his assent, and after getting a searching look from
Alsuin, Neriam left to explore the streets of the city.
	Only a few minutes after leaving Nikides' manor, Neriam came across Opius
who was sitting quietly on the ground with a dreamy smile on his face.
	"Ah, boy," he called out before Neriam was closer than fifteen feet, "out
for another pleasure stroll?"
	"Hello, Opius," he greeted.  "You're looking well.  How did you know it
was me?"
	The old man laughed gleefully.  "Still asking the simple questions, eh?"
	"How is it so simple?  I know I don't make a lot of noise, even for a
blind man to hear."
	"I felt you, boy.  Simple."
	"What do you mean, you felt me."
	The old face took on an expression of shock.  "You didn't know?"
	"Know what?"  Neriam was somewhat frightened at the sudden change in the
expression.
	"You radiate power, boy.  Anyone attuned to the feel of magic can tell
where you are from a mile away."
	"Huh?"
	"You have a natural ability, my friend.  The only one I've ever come
across with such potential."  He paused.  "Concerned?  Confused?"
	"Well..."
	"I understand.  Let me help you.  That's my calling in life."  He smiled
gently.
	"All right," he agreed.  "I need to do some thinking."
	"Walk with me, then," Opius commanded.
	Neriam shrugged, forgetting that the priest could not see the gesture and
accompanied him as he strode across the main road.  They soon entered a simple
park where the trees grew tall.  Opius sat at the base of a large oak and smiled
at Neriam.  "So, what do you need to think about, child?  Do you know what magic
is?"
	"No.  What is it anyway?  And what do you mean I radiate power? I don't
understand any of this!  Sorcery is just...I was forbidden any knowledge of it
from the Masters at the monastery and I just don't understand."
	"Well, let me see...magic is a force of nature.  It is an energy that is
created by life and by the world itself.  Every living being, people, trees or
even insects generate a field of energy.  This field is small individually, but
it builds upon itself with each new life created."
	"But what about when a creature dies," Neriam interjected.
	"Death is a part of life.  The natural order of life demands that death
occurs.  To each being in its own time.  Death does not diminish this field of
energy unless their very energy is sucked away by a slayer.  The demons, in
particular, are good at this.  But as I was saying: magic.  You know, of course,
that many clerics of the gods have access to magic."
	Neriam nodded.
	"I don't know if it has been explained to you, but almost every person has
the ability to tap into this energy source we call magic.  Each person, however,
has different talents in that field.  There are many who can barely touch it,
whereas others have the power to move mountains.  Naturally, this ability to
touch and, more importantly, control magic improves with practice, but it is
proscribed by natural ability.  Do you understand?"
	"I think so."
	"Good boy," he grinned.  "I've had students for years who just never
seemed able to grasp the concept."
	Neriam flushed.
	"The priests are able to touch this power-the power of the gods
themselves-through the grace of their god, who takes an active interest.  For it
is worship that keeps a god alive and give him his power.  If a god were no
longer worshipped, he would fade into obscurity, and eventually, disappear
forever.  To insure their survival, the gods have granted their more profoundly
faithful with power to alter the world around them.  I myself have been blessed
both with a natural ability to tap into this source and a god who was willing to
let me.  I follow the Lord Magius, who has shown me his grace in many ways.  I
can do things impossible to many priests, and I can do it because of my faith
and from long years of arduous study."
	"I understand.  But what of wizards?"
	Opius smiled.  "Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter.  Wizards are
people who, somehow have the ability to touch magic without the aid of a god.
They have been taught how to do so, and, like priests, improve with study but
are limited by their natural ability.  Once, they were common, and archmages of
amazing power changed the face of the earth.  They embedded their power into
weapons or rings and their wars ranged across the continent.  And in the end,
they killed themselves in their war of power."
	He sighed sadly.  "Once, their power was so common that there were those
born with the power to wield magic untaught.  Ever since the War of the Magi-the
assault by the Ghuls-such things have become uncommon, and their control over
magic waned.  They have been hunted down by the frightened people."
	Neriam listened as Opius lay down the history of magi and their children
of power and the fall of power.
	"Can you teach me?"
	The old man's face lit up joyfully.  "That is what I have always dreamed
of doing!  I will do my best, my boy.  Come tomorrow to this same place.  We
will begin your training and pray."
	Neriam nodded and returned to the manor.  The sky had darkened noticeably
while he listened to the cleric's histories.
	"Have a good day," Alsuin asked as Neriam approached.  He'd been tuning
his harp, playing a small, rippling melody with his fingertips.
	"It was interesting," Neriam replied dryly.  "When do you plan on
returning to Reardon?"
	"I think in a few more days.  I'm waiting for word from Elmar on the
political circumstances of my disappearance and return."
	"Oh.  All right.  Good night."
	Alsuin's large, dark eyes held many questions as he watched his friend
ascend the stairs to his guest room.
	Later that night, Alsuin heard a melody more complex than he'd ever heard
coming from Neriam's room.  He quietly stole down to his friend's room and
opened the door silently.  His eyes widened.  Neriam slept peacefully and a
light shone from his face as he lay.  But it was the sound surrounding him that
made Alusin stop and stare.  As he listened, he heard a very subtle harmony, one
that bespoke of peace-a simple chord in major thirds-then rose slightly to clash
wickedly.  In the clash of the harmony, Alsuin heard battle and death and as he
watched, the light in Neriam's face darkened, taking on a reddish hue.  Slowly,
the melody split into five different companions, each a different tone-bass to
coloratura-and Alsuin felt like collapsing to his knees in wonder at the source
of power.  He closed his eyes to listen to the most amazing sound he'd ever
heard and let the music sweep him away.  He saw himself flying across the
continent, seeing sights unseen before by anyone else: the tops of the highest
mountains, the secret, hidden lakes and valleys, the oases in the deadliest
deserts.  He opened his eyes reluctantly to see Neriam's body surrounded by
bright white light and lifted several inches off the down-filled mattress.  The
light seemed to solidify for a moment then cut off, gently lowering Neriam back
to the bed.
	Shaken, Alsuin returned to bed, the magical melody already fading from his
head despite his attempts to retain it.
	The next morning, Neriam, dressed carefully in silver-blue, descended the
stairs to find Alsuin hard at work over his harp, both hands working rapidly
over a melody more complex than Neriam had ever heard him play.
	"Damn," he swore, rubbing his hands.  "That's not quite right."
	"Alsuin?  I'm going out again today."
	Alsuin stared at the strings, his head nodding in time to some beat in his
head as he waved a hand dismissively.
	Neriam met Opius under the same oak tree, and the two of them began
Neriam's instruction in the way of magic.  Despite repeated efforts, Neriam
could make no progress in his control.
	For two days, the routine was the same.  And still he made no progress.
	"I don't understand," Opius confessed once more.  "You have more naked
talent and power than I've come across in my entire life, but you don't seem
able to control it.  What were you thinking this time?"
	"I was trying to concentrate on the heat in the air around me and focusing
it into heat, like you said," Neriam answered, dejected.
"Maybe I'm doing something wrong.  I must admit I've never taught a non-
priest before.  I think it's me.  Perhaps the Elves," he mused.
"I don't-" he saw some movement behind Opus and broke off immediately.
	"What is it," the blind man asked.
	"Some men behind you.  I think they're trying to creep up behind you.
They seem to want to avoid notice."
	The wizened cleric chuckled.  "Clever boy."  He turned to face the men
just as the three of them rushed forward with weapons in their hands.  They bore
no finery, and their weapons were simple and crude.  Neriam stepped up, ready to
defend his old friend.
	"No need, boy," discouraged Opius.  "I'll deal with them."  He flicked his
hand and a tree next to the man reached down and grabbed him in a firm-branched
bear hug.  The man struggled and wailed, but could not free himself from the
arboreal hold.  "Stop," he spoke quietly, nonchalantly.  Another man froze in
place, his eyes obviously shocked.  The old man's face hardened slightly.
"Coralmathe gredel pa!"  The final attacker violently flew backwards, hurled
away by the force of Opius' spell.
	The old man turned to the boy and grinned.  "See?  I know how to defend
myself against the small-minded big-" he stopped, his face a mask of pain.  His
eyes opened wide as he looked into the face of Neriam, who caught him as he
pitched forward.  Neriam looked and saw the same garrulous old man who had
attacked him outside Opius' inn.  And in his aged friend's back protruded the
hilt of a dagger.
	"Opius, no," he gasped as he looked into his friend's face.  The old man
looked up, bringing his face close to Neriam's.  To Neriam's astonishment, the
white film melted like hot wax from Opius' bright blue eyes, which widened as he
gasped.  He stared at Neriam's face with an amazing intensity before closing his
eyes and sighing, seemingly at peace.  His chest rose no more, and Neriam felt a
burning anger join with his loss.  He stood and focused his gaze on the man
who'd just slain his friend.  The assassin, probably sensing his danger, turned
to run.  Neriam fueled his anger and felt his palms begin to burn.  He
instinctively thrust them down at his sides and felt the energy flaring up.  His
right hand glowed a malevolent green which flickered like flame up to his elbow
and his left a deep bloodred.  With a shout, he clenched his fists and
solidified the light into a pair of spheres about four inches in diameter and
hurled both spheres at the fleeing man.
	The green ball hit the man first, who screamed as smoke rose from his
melting clothes and flesh.  Great gaping holes appeared in his skin, causing his
flesh to run like ink down the rest of his body before the red orb struck,
igniting him into a pillar of bright flame.  His scream went up an octave,
becoming an horrendous shriek above and beyond the realm of human hearing before
he collapsed to the ground, still smoking.  Neriam stumbled towards the corpse,
not even tired after expending his energy in such an explosive manner.  He
looked at the fallen form of his friend, tears sparkling in his eyes.  As he
watched, the body turned into glowing motes of light and they rose off the
ground in a glowing triangle, shooting off into the bright blue sky.  A silver
chain with a platinum medallion lay on the ground where Opius had lain.  Neriam
picked it up and felt a tingle in his hand.  He reverently placed it into his
money purse and walked towards Lord Nikides' manor, the tears flowing freely
down his face.  People parted as he walked by completely unaware that doors
slammed open or closed as he passed them and that windows shattered at every
sob.