Chentelle realized that she had stopped singing some time ago, and she no longer heard the voice of Father Marcus. It didn’t matter. The song of Creation was strong within her. It lifted her spirit, carrying her outward. She joined in the perfect harmony of the Holy Land, of the world, of the Sphere of Creation as it was meant to be. She spent a timeless interval lost in the wholeness of perfect union.

  Eventually, she realized that it was time for her to return, to become separate again so that she could complete her own part of the great harmony. Gradually, she became aware of her body, of the floor beneath her legs, the rhythm of her breathing. Sound filled her ears, and she realized that she was singing again, humming the rhythm of Father Marcus’ meditation.

  The High Bishop sat across from her, eyes closed, humming the same tune. She let herself be drawn into the tranquil pool of his spirit. There was a peace and serenity about him that was perfectly in tune with the Holy Land. She drifted in that calmness for a time, and then she noticed something else, something deeper.

  There were walls in his soul, walls as solid and impregnable as A’stoc’s, except that these walls were turned inward. One part of Father Marcus’ mind had been separated from the rest. And she could sense a presence behind those walls, something cold, something dark, something evil.

  Suddenly, Chentelle was thrust back into her own awareness. She still felt the harmony of Talan, but the special communion with Father Marcus was gone.

  The High Bishop had his eyes open, now, and he was staring at her in frank astonishment. He shook his head, slowly regaining his composure. He stood up, and offered a hand to Chentelle. “Once again, you have surprised me, enchantress. You are more sensitive to the Creation than I had realized.”

  Chentelle felt herself flush with embarrassment. “Thank you, Father Marcus. I found your meditation to be both helpful and enlightening.”

  He gave her a curious look, then nodded as if coming to a decision. “Lady Chentelle, I must know what you felt during our communion in the meditation.”

  “I felt the depth of your faith and serenity. It was truly beautiful.” But she knew that his question had a deeper thrust. But what should she say? If he was really evil, then—No, he was not evil. She would have sensed that long ago. It had to be some type of curse or spell. “And I felt a hidden core of darkness, an evil that you keep locked away from the rest of your being. Is it a curse, Father Marcus? It’s different from the taint on Sulmar’s spirit, but I know you are not evil.”

  The High Bishop shook his head thoughtfully. “No, Chentelle, it is not a curse. Or perhaps it is, but it is also a hope. It is a burden that I have been chosen to carry.”

  “But what is it? And who chose you?”

  “I will tell you what I may,” he said, “but you must swear to keep all of this conversation secret, even from our companions.”

  Keep a secret from their friends and allies? But there was no flexibility in the High Bishop’s eyes, and no arguing with the urgency she sensed in his voice. “I promise.”

  Father Marcus cupped one of her hands between his own. “What you felt within me is the knowledge of evil that will enable me to destroy the Fallen Star. I cannot tell you how I came to bear it, or even what the knowledge is. For now, it lies dormant within me, but when the time comes it will give me the understanding necessary to preserve Infinitera from destruction.”

  Chentelle felt the great weight of responsibility in Marcus’ words. She also felt the unwavering strength of his faith. He was truly remarkable. “But wouldn’t it be easier if you could share this knowledge? Then each of us could bear a part of the burden, and you wouldn’t have to suffer it all.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “No, Chentelle, though your suggestion shows the strength of your heart. The knowledge I carry is as dangerous in its own way as the Fallen Star. This burden is for me alone to carry. When I die, I must be certain that this evil dies with me.”

  It wasn’t fair, she thought. No one should have to endure such a trial without help. It was too much like the torment that A’stoc put himself through. But what could she do? “I understand,” she said, closing her eyes against her tears.

  And there was nothing more to say. They stood together in silence for a time. Then, by silent assent, they went to the dining hall to join the others for supper.

  Chentelle was surprised to see A’stoc sitting at the table with the others. But before she could say anything, a shout came from across the room.

  “Mistress! Are you well? I have been searching for you.”

  “Sulmar!” she said, suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Father Marcus was teaching me about the meditations of the Holy Order. I lost track of the time.”

  The Tengarian gave Father Marcus a look that bordered on mistrust, but he fell into step beside Chentelle without another word.

  “I do hope that you have not been waiting long,” the High Bishop said to the company. An assortment of vegetable dishes, sauces, and freshly baked breads filled the air with delicious aromas. Marcus took his place at the head of the table and waited for Chentelle and Sulmar to find their seats. “The Creator has blessed us with this bounty. Let us be thankful and accept it in the spirit of service and unity.”

  As one, they brought their hands to their lips and extended them in the sign of harmony.

  “It is good to see you, A’stoc,” Chentelle said. “I thought we would have to drag you from your books when it was time to leave.”

  The wizard pointed at Sulmar with a spoon full of carrots. “Well, since your trained barbarian had interrupted my studies anyway, I decided this would be a good time to pack for our journey.”

  Chentelle turned a quizzical eye toward her liegeman.

  “The mage dissembles, liege,” Sulmar said. “When I told him that you had disappeared, he broke off his research to help me search.”

  Chentelle turned back to the wizard in amazement. She wasn’t sure which surprised her more, A’stoc interrupting his studies or the note of respect in Sulmar’s voice. “Why, A’stoc, thank you.”

  The wizard glanced about uncomfortably. Finally, his eyes came to rest on Rone. “Captain, how go the preparations for the ship?”

  “Huh? Oh, fine, wizard,” Rone said between mouthfuls. “The provisions have been stowed, and the hull is tight. I just wish I had been able to take her out and get the feel of her. But I guess a goblinship sailing around Norivika Bay would attract a bit too much attention, eh? Oh, but I have found a shipsage I can live with, so I guess we’re as ready as we’re likely to get. I’ve even settled on her new name.”

  The last comment caught everyone’s attention, but the captain did not elaborate. Finally Dacius broke the silence. “Well I’ll ask. What is this new name?”

  “Well, Lord Gemine,” said Rone. “Since our voyage will be shrouded in secrecy and deceit, I’ve christened her accordingly. Her new name is—Treachery.”

  Dacius cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “Interesting choice.”

  After that, the meal proceeded with little conversation. There was an unusual tension in the air, generated by the closeness of their departure.

  As the banquet drew to a close, Father Marcus addressed the company. “Friends, you all know that the quest we begin tomorrow will not be an easy one. I have told you before, and I will tell you again. If any of you wish to decline the danger, you may do so freely.”

  One of the Legionnaires stood up. It was Gerruth. “Lord High Bishop, we have sat here, safe in the protection of the Holy Land while the people we are sworn to protect suffer the Ill-creatures’ attacks. We have stayed here because you told us it was necessary. Because your quest demanded secrecy, we have ignored the screams of our brothers. Because your quest may be the Realm’s only hope, we have denied the cries for vengeance in our souls. Do not insult us by questioning our courage now.”

  “Gerruth!” Dacius snapped. “That’s enough. Apologize to Father Marcus.”

  “No, Lord Gemine,” the priest said. “It is I who should apologize.” He turned to Gerruth. “This waiting has been difficult for all of us, but it has brought special pain to you, whose sense of duty cried out for action. Without intending to, I have made that pain worse. I ask for your forgiveness.”

  The stiffness melted from Gerruth’s posture. “You have it, Lord High Bishop. As well as my own apology. I should not have taken out my anger on you. But have faith in this, the Creator himself could not stop me from being aboard that goblinship in the morning.”

  The Legionnaire’s determination was quickly echoed by the rest of the company.

  Father Marcus bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Your faith and courage are both a blessing and an inspiration. We leave in the morning, but tonight the Holy Order celebrates a Grand Vespers. It is an open ceremony, and I hope that you will all attend. I can think of no finer way to sanctify the beginning of our journey.”

  “Oh, yes,” Chentelle said. “It will be beautiful.”

  Dacius nodded in agreement. “I think I can safely say that we will all be present, Father Marcus.”

  “Then you think incorrectly, Lord Gemine,” A’stoc said.

  “What?” Chentelle was astonished. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “No,” the wizard answered flatly.

  This was terrible. If anyone needed to feel the unity and communion of the Vespers, it was A’stoc. “Please, A’stoc; we won’t be complete without you. And I think it would really do you good.”

  The wizard slammed his fist down on the table, scattering dishes and silverware. “Well, I do not!” He pushed himself away from the table and stood, grabbing hold of the Thunderwood Staff. “I am tired from my research. I think I will go to bed early. Good night.” With that, he spun on his heels and marched out of the room.

  “That’s a man with fear in his heart,” Captain Rone said after the wizard was out of earshot.

  “He has reason to be afraid,” Thildemar said.

  “What reason?” returned the captain. “Every man here faces the same burden.”

  “Perhaps, or perhaps not.” Thildemar’s eyes sparkled as he turned to Chentelle. “What do you say, enchantress?”

  Chentelle’s face started to flush. Something about the old elf’s attention made her feel suddenly young and unsophisticated. “Yes. I mean, no, it isn’t the same burden.”

  Captain Rone gave her a puzzled look. “Far be it from me to contradict a lady as beautiful and talented as yourself, enchantress, but it seems to me that we’re all going to be in the same boat, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  “You’re right, captain, but only half right.” Chentelle searched for the words to explain what she was feeling. “You see, I am sure you are a very fine seaman, but there are other men who could pilot the goblinship. If not as well as you, then at least well enough. And each of the Legionnaires knows that the strength and skill of his own sword is supported by that of his comrade’s. But only A’stoc can use the Thunderwood Staff. If one of us falls, someone will step into our place. If A’stoc fails, the world dies. Only Father Marcus carries a burden like that.”

  “Father Marcus?” asked Rone.

  “Yes, he—” Oh, no, she was about to give away Father Marcus’ secret. She glanced quickly in his direction, but the priest’s calm expression betrayed nothing. She looked away and cocked her head, hoping the others would interpret her pause as shyness. “Well, he’s the guiding force behind our quest. It’s his wisdom, his faith that will lead us to our goal. In many ways he, too, is indispensable.”

  “Thank you, Chentelle,” the High Bishop said, “though I am not sure I deserve to be singled out. A similar case can be made for you, too. I believe we are all indispensable to the success of this mission. The Creator has not brought us together without reason. Perhaps the Vespers will help us all understand that reason a little more clearly.” He closed his eyes and cocked his head, as if listening to a faint sound. “I believe it is time. Will you join me?”

  He led them out of the dining hall and across to the central stairs. But rather than going down to the ground-level temples, he took them upward. As they climbed, they could see the solitary figure of A’stoc, pacing furiously through the hallways below.

  “How is it,” Dacius inquired, “that the wizard can hold such anger despite the influence of the Holy Land?”

  “Anger is not evil,” Thildemar said, “only foolish. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Chentelle?”

  Again, something gleamed within the old elf’s eyes, but this time it was a flash of sorrow, a glimpse of an old and heavy pain. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Chentelle felt a surge of embarrassment, as if she had eavesdropped on a private conversation. “Yes, though I think I would call it sad, not foolish. Especially when a person directs the anger at himself.”

  Thildemar’s only reply was a slim smile and a brief bow of his head.

  They reached the top of the stairs and emerged onto the roof level of the main cathedral. Deneob had long ago disappeared from the sky, and Ellistar was just passing below the horizon. In the fading light, hundreds of people occupied the roof. It seemed as though all of the Holy City was here, arranged in a circle around the central spire.

  Father Marcus and Gorin broke off and headed toward the center of the gathering, where a small platform had been erected. The rest of them found an open area around the perimeter. There were no ushers or officials directing traffic; every person just knew where he should be.

  As they settled into their place, Dacius tapped Chentelle on the shoulder. “You seem to know something about this ceremony. Can you tell me what it’s about?”

  “Well, I have never been to one myself, but Father Marcus did share some of the concepts with me. The Vespers ceremony is a celebration of evening and the hours of darkness. It’s something the Holy Order does in private ceremony every day. But because tonight is the last evening before the First Season of Light, when there is no darkness, it is an open ceremony and everybody takes part.”

  “So what do we do?” Dacius asked.

  “We sing.”

  He frowned. “Sing? I can’t sing. I never sing in public.”

  Chentelle smiled. “You do not have to sing. But maybe you will find it in your heart to do so anyway.”

  Before Dacius could question her further, the clear tones of a ringing bell called the crowd to silence. Then, the deep voice of the High Bishop washed over the assembly. “Thank you, friends, for coming to share this communion with us. We celebrate the Grand Vespers introducing the First Season of Light. It is a time of reflection and contemplation, a time when we reach out to the truth of Creation, a time when we refresh our spirits with the love of the Creator. With open hearts, let us begin this communion.”

  Father Marcus made the sign of harmony. Then, leaving his arms extended, he closed his eyes and began to sing. He wove his song without words, establishing a simple rhythmic hum of four notes. Deeply, slowly, smoothly, his voice resonated high through the assembly.

  Bishop Sarra joined him on the center platform, taking hold of his right hand. She joined in Father Marcus’ song, blending her own ethereal voice to his rich baritone. She varied the theme, wrapping her melody through and around his own, then brought it back to the original four notes. The harmony they created was flawless.

  Then Gorin stepped up and took the High Bishop’s other hand. He sung a deep bass note, punctuating the theme like a drum. Then other voices joined in. Slowly, the harmony took on new depth, new complexities. The air filled with power as the song took shape. Tenors sang out like chimes, while baritones carried the theme, and the deep bass gave power to the entire chorus.

  The song spread outward, moving through the crowd. Chentelle felt it take hold of her, and she surrendered herself to the rapture. She joined one hand with Sulmar’s and the other to Dacius’, and she sang. The Gift poured out of her, effortlessly, inevitably. Her voice joined in the chorus of Creation, echoing the perfection of the Holy Land. The communion was complete. She was joined with every person here, with the birds in the air, the fish in the bay. Everywhere the song reached, there was harmony.

  She felt the voice of Dacius rising next to her. The human’s reticence had vanished at the song’s touch. Like everyone else present, he was pulled blissfully into the perfect harmony.

  As the last members of the assembly joined their voices to the chorus, the song changed. The notes took on a new timbre, a new fullness. What had seemed to be perfection became more. The walls of the Cathedral of Light resonated with the power of the song, and from high above, another sound joined the harmony: bells. The great crystal bells in the spire rang in response to the voices below, each sounding a single, flawless note that echoed in the heart and lifted the soul.

  Chentelle swam in the union of the song, losing herself in the ecstasy. She let herself drift, touching the spirits of her fellow celebrants as they passed. The song filled Creation, and she could touch everything within it. She felt herself drawn in a particular direction, and followed the pull. She floated through the crystal walls and floors until she felt something strange, something other. It was a cold thing, hard and jagged. It didn’t flow or sing or sway with the melody of Creation. But it had its own song, a sad and tragic hymn filled with bitterness and recrimination. Of course this was A’stoc.

  The wizard’s walls were as hard as ever, but even they could not be impervious to this music. The harmony touched him, echoing in his soul, but his anger would not let him submit to the rhythm. He stood rigidly, leaning on his Staff, fighting against the stirring in his heart.

  It made Chentelle want to weep. His suffering was so unnecessary. If only she could make him see. She wrapped her song around A’stoc, letting the music flow into him. She could not penetrate the wizard’s walls, but she could make those walls resonate with her own harmony.

  A discordant note thrummed through her spirit. Conflict. A’stoc’s own song resisted her. She could overpower it; her own rhythm echoed the tune of the Creation. But that was not the way of harmony. She altered her song, trying to blend into A’stoc’s rhythm and create a new harmony. She felt the disharmony fade. Slowly, the walls in A’stoc’s soul started to soften, as their songs melted together.