The cathedral of Domi Roespeye didn’t hold the same place in Raven’s heart as the church of his adopted homeland. Where the hand-built brick dwelling of the Holy One embraced the visiting worshiper in quiet peace, a humble, warm respite deep in the slums of Surlance. Nor did it equal the majestic wonder of Domi Zaliance, the epicenter of Fallowreyk’s religious zealots.

  Even so, Roespeye’s holy place possessed merit in the beholder’s eye. On occasion, during a pause in his reading of the Texts, Raven would look up from where he sat in the empty pew and marvel at the ceiling. Carved wooden beams interweaved with each other in a crisscross pattern, rich in color and engraved with leaves, flowers and stars. Eight wooden columns supported the vaulted ceiling, each carved to appear as elden tree trunks and suggesting to the imagination flourishing treetops just out of view above the church ceilings.

  The cathedral was empty, as the services had long been over for the day. Raven was able to take in his surroundings in solitude, as he desired. To read, to dwell, to pray, and to think. An escape from the whispered truth growing little by little in his mind: that he was running out of time.

  “Our new quarry approaches,” Rue said.

  He looked up just as Master Bartholomew Bastille entered the sanctuary through a door near the front dais. He passed to and fro rapidly, carrying books, putting out candles, and attending to general upkeep duties of the church, as he did every Holy Day after services ended.

  Master Bastille couldn’t have been more ordinary in Raven’s eyes. At best, he possessed a very dull personality. On the other hand, Bastille was a straightforward man, true to his word and incredibly uninterested in anything that would promote himself or stroke his ego. He found value only in his work as a priest and teacher. As such, Raven found little reward in provoking him during his classes to elicit a response. Slow and steady had been the path he elected in order to learn what the Star Tome was – observation alone. But time was suddenly no longer on Raven’s side. He had to learn what Master Bastille knew about Shrale’s spellbook.

  It took some time for Bastille to notice him sitting in the pew. When he did, he stopped in his work and considered him carefully. Raven disregarded him, continuing on in his reading. But Master Bastille came up to him. As he did, he noted the bag of donuts Raven had placed on the pew beside him.

  “You shouldn’t be eating in here,” he said reproachfully.

  Raven didn’t look up. “If I put away my snack, will it evidence my piousness?”

  Bastille frowned. He sat in the pew in front of Raven’s and took off his wide-brimmed hat, placing it in his lap as he sat sideways to look at his student.

  “You know, I have to say. I don’t understand you, Whitesong. With the exception of some leaves of absence, you are here every Holy Day. But you avoid services in the morning. And based on your performance in my classes, you’ve clearly memorized the Holy Texts and possess a great understanding of what is written; yet you mock the masters attempting to give the same education to others. You’re known city-wide for your cruelty, your anger, a sharp tongue and a bitter countenance.”

  “Is there a question there?”

  “I’m trying to understand. Believe it or not, some of Nine Star’s professors desire the best for their students. If you are zealous for the Holy One, why do you avoid services and only come when the house is empty?”

  “Should my zeal for the house be so great when a snake is set up in the place of honor?” Raven looked past him, and Bastille followed his gaze.

  At the side of the dais, just beside the priest’s lectern, a golden statue of the Titan had been erected. The massive sculpture featured the Titan in idealized form, holding a copy of the Holy Texts in one hand and his scepter in the other.

  Bastille sighed. “The Titan’s Law requires it in every place of worship.”

  “Laws can be broken.”

  “Oh, yes? And what then? The Titan comes with his Horde, kills me in a spectacle, and places a wiser man in my place, one who chooses to ignore the craven image. Or maybe the Titan burns the Holy One’s house to the ground, and no one has a place to gather at all. Which is it?”

  Raven turned a page. “You constrain the Holy One within four walls of wood and stone. Is it a wonder the flock strays? Let me ask you a question now. As you preach each week, do you watch the eyes of all those in your congregation? I would bet you do. And I would also bet that you observe their… wanderings. Those small flickers to the image of the Titan. Do you wonder how long it takes? When those small glances become long stares into the eyes of the master they may one day long for?”

  Bastille looked down sadly.

  “The Titan sets up his image in every church in Fallowreyk,” Raven continued, “Yet he allows his subjects to still freely worship the Holy One. Why is that? I can tell you, although I am sure you already know. He knows one day all will worship him instead. Through love and fear, through the long passage of time he never suffers. Those who attend will always have the stark golden reminder of who rules the land right in front of their eyes. The Titan knows… all too well. In time, people will begin to believe he and God are one and the same.”

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  “I do know all this,” Bastille replied quietly. “But no option remains. What would you do in my place?”

  “I would never be a priest,” Raven replied wryly.

  Bastille chuckled. He adjusted his spectacles and looked up to the ceiling. “What a world we live in. I praise the Holy One, that I should see such times. Though I make mistakes, I endure in humility. Perhaps one day you’ll find the answer I don’t have.”

  He got up to leave. Raven’s mind scrambled for something to say, but then Bastille stopped and turned back.

  “You know, there’s something I’ve been curious about. The scar… on the back of your head. Why were you branded in such a way?”

  “A gift from the Titan,” Raven replied.

  “Oh… so you have a more personal history with the ruler. I guess that would explain the exceptional malice toward him. So then, do you have a pool, or do you not?”

  “Are you asking for my personal welfare, or has curiosity simply got the best of you, Master Bastille?”

  “Curiosity. You can use Hydra, but you never drink from a pool, from what I understand. You can be many things, but I don’t believe you are a liar. So, how can this be?”

  “Is this curiosity what led you to require the restoration of the Star Tome as your challenge under the Vark Ilias?”

  Raven briefly flickered his gaze up at the man. Bastille’s eyebrows were sky high.

  The man sat back down. “So, you do know the challenges.” He was flabbergasted. “The other masters have been saying it, but I didn’t quite believe them. How did you discover what we wrote down?”

  Raven smirked. “That curiosity again.”

  “Yes, I am very curious now. I should be happy if you could somehow restore the Star Tome.”

  “And why is that? Does Valius Shrale possess an admirer in Nine Star’s religion master?”

  “Well, no. The man was a hero, no doubt. But his Tome was said to contain spectacular discoveries.”

  “I’m rather surprised. What would a man of God do with such power?”

  “It’s not about the power,” Bastille answered defensively. “Even so…”

  Raven nodded knowingly. “The truth of your heart speaks now, Master Bastille. You loathe the Titan as much as anyone. Would you be the savior of Fallowreyk if only you could find Shrale’s tome?”

  He looked at Raven in surprise. For a long time, he didn’t reply. Rather, he reflected, staring back up at the church ceiling.

  Finally, he answered. “No.” He smiled. “That is not my destiny. Even so… I think some measure of me wanted to be the one to finally restore the tome. They just float around, after all. Right in front of us day after day.”

  Raven tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “The pages…” he replied matter-of-factly. “You know… of the Star Tome. They just flitter around, begging to be plucked. But try as we might, no one has been able to put them all together. Believe it or not, despite how impossible my challenge might appear on the surface, some part of me was hoping you might be able to figure it out.”

  It took a moment for Raven to understand what he was talking about, but when he did, he closed his eyes, exhaling mightily.

  The answer was right in front of me.

  “Please excuse me, Master Bastille. I have to be going.”

  “Oh, okay,” he said in surprise, getting back up. But as Raven walked away, he called out after him. “Raven Whitesong, blessings be upon you. In whatever endeavors you take. May the Holy One guide your path.”

  Raven waved his arm as he quickly exited the church. Then he burst into a sprint, but his legs couldn’t carry him fast enough to his new destination.

  *     *     *

  “Uh, Raven?”

  Van tapped Raven’s shoulder, but his friend didn’t budge. He sat on the floor in front of the seven podiums inside the Ilias Drome, staring straight ahead, hands in his lap in Grand Harmony.

  “We’re starting to get a little worried, bud,” Van spoke up again. “You mind finally telling me why you’ve been sitting in here for three days straight?”

  Raven didn’t reply. His eyes drifted to and fro, watchful. The skittering pieces of parchment danced about the huge space, appearing almost mischievous in their whirling and twirling across the floor. Some befuddling sorcery enchanted the pages, preventing them from being read, even when they remained still.

  Finally, he exhaled, and got up. He stretched his legs and rubbed his thighs and realized in that moment just how hungry and thirsty he was.

  “Has it really been three days?” he asked hoarsely. “I lost track of time.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes and no.” He waved his hand. “This is the Star Tome.”

  Van’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

  He tried to pick up one of the pages, but it scurried away. He then tried to swoop his arms around and gather up a bunch, but he couldn’t even lay a finger on one. They blasted about, refusing to be captured.

  “How do we get them?” he asked in frustration, giving up pursuit.

  “I don’t know,” Raven replied. “I’ve already tried every method I could imagine. But there is a clue. If you look closely, you’ll notice there is one bit of every page that can be read.”

  Van looked down, inspecting some of the pages that weren’t moving. The entire surface of each sheet of paper was blurry in his vision except for one corner.

  “Page numbers?”

  Raven nodded. “Each page is numbered. I’ve spent the last three days accounting for them. The largest number is nine-hundred and sixty-seven. It could very well be the last page of the Star Tome.”

  “So how is that a clue?”

  “Because as of now, I cannot account for two pages. Page three-hundred and fourteen, and page nine-hundred and thirty. I have counted each page at least ten times in their endless journey encircling this place. I would bet one page is his detailed instruction of Soul Decoupling, and the other is his method of forming the Chevron Chrysalis.”

  “So that’s what you were doing. You’re thinking if we find the missing pages and bring them here, the tome will restore itself.”

  Raven tapped his nose.

  Van sighed. “So Shrale separated the pages and hid them somewhere. He didn’t want to make this easy.”

  “That’s the best we have to go on.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Shrale had only hours to live when he wrote that letter in his study. I would guess he didn’t have time to think of something clever beyond this little bit of sorcery we have before us. It’s most likely a pandora at work. He must have given the vital pages to someone he trusted to keep them safe.”

  Van snapped his fingers. “His sons. He even said he was going to spend his last hours with them in the letter.”

  “Exactly. We need to know who they were. And I can think of only one place to look first.”

  Van snickered. “Looks like we need to pay our friend Marcus Shrale a visit!”