In the perfect emptiness, a Sphere was formed. And within the Sphere, the races were born. The Creation was perfect, and the Creator was perfection. The Sphere existed in balance, in harmony, and for the eyes of the Creator. For its existence was Beauty. Its purpose was Beauty.

  Marcus’ heart ached with the truth of those words, a truth that no longer existed. The Creation had a Flaw. A crack had appeared in the structure of Creation, giving birth to the Abyss. And the Abyss had given birth to Evil.

  Marcus closed the book. The truths in its pages spoke of an earlier age, of a time before the Flaw. There was no mention of evil in the Old Book, for there was no evil in the world when the Old Book was written. The truths of the Old Book were beauty, harmony, peace: perfection which once was and perfection which must come again. This was the faith of the Holy Order. Evil could be overcome, if the Flaw were healed. The Creation could be made whole once more.

  As always, reading from the Old Book invigorated Marcus’ faith. The Dark One was alive. Evil worked to extend its power into the Realm. But it would not do so unopposed.

  The others were waiting at the dock when he arrived. Marcus could sense their curiosity, but no one questioned him as they boarded the skiff. The ferryman poled away from the dock, then raised the sail to catch the evening breeze. In a few minutes, the telltale glow over the bow augured their approach to Atablicryon Island.

  Marcus smiled as the glow slowly resolved itself into the temple which gave the island its name. The Atablicryon by night was one his favorite sights in all the Realm. Unlike the bright, flickering radiance which shone from the Cathedral of Light, the Atablicryon glowed with a gentle, cool white light. The glow was absolutely even in intensity, as if the stones merely reflected some outside radiance. As a student, Marcus had taken part in numerous debates on the source of the Atablicryon’s illumination. Now he knew, but he kept the knowledge to himself.

  The design of the temple was elegantly simple. Four colonnades ran through tiered gardens, converging at the foot of a vaulted stone dome. The dome was supported by a ring of eight columns and open on all sides. Eight sets of stairs led to the dome, four from the colonnades and four from smaller paths through the gardens. The entire structure was constructed of a smooth white stone that had never been found elsewhere in the Realm.

  There were no docks on Atablicryon Island, and no one had ever suggested building one. The ferryman guided the skiff onto the beach near the end of one of the rows of columns. Once the craft was firmly beached, the passengers climbed out.

  Marcus rested a hand on one of the pillars. As always, the surface matched the temperature of his skin and was perfectly smooth. The Atablicryon had stood on this island for at least eleven thousand years, but there was not a single imperfection to be found on any of its stones. Marcus led the others down the pathway of light to the central dome.

  A feeling of deep peace filled him as he walked the familiar corridor. Many were the days he had spent wandering these paths, finding solace in the peace of the gardens. Marcus climbed the steps to the dome, and walked to the center of the floor. He sat on down, motioning for the others to join him.

  “You are no doubt curious,” he said, “as to why I called you here. But I ask you to be patient a moment longer. What I have to discuss with you tonight is of vital importance to the Holy Order, to the Realm, and to all of Infinitera. Before we begin, I suggest we make use of the peace which the Atablicryon provides.” He glanced at an assistant. “Please lead us in the First Meditation of Jediah.”

  The young priest smiled in appreciation of the honor Marcus gave him, showing even teeth. “Yes, Lord High Bishop.”

  The priest closed his eyes and began humming a simple, four-scale progression. As the others joined their voices with his, he chanted softly:

  “In peace, there is harmony.

  In harmony, there is unity.

  In unity, there is healing.

  In healing, there is peace.”

  Here, at the center of the Order’s power, the familiar meditation gained special force. Marcus’ spirit touched the beauty of Creation and was filled by it. The Perfection of Unity was not lost; it still lived in the Atablicryon. And it could live again in the Realm.

  Marcus opened his eyes; his course was clear. “Thank you. Let us keep this peace in mind as we prepare for the coming days.” He turned to face his acolyte. “Brother Ethnan, how long have you served as my acolyte?”

  “Two years and ten months, Father Marcus.”

  “Then explain to me,” Marcus said, “what the First Meditation means.”

  “It was Jediah’s greatest revelation,” Ethnan said. “In the Age Before, the Holy Order was dedicated to the Great Truth, the Perfection of Creation. But the Flaw made that truth an illusion. Jediah’s vision showed him that the purpose of the Holy Order had to be transformed. The meditation teaches us that healing is possible, that Creation can be restored.”

  “And how does that relate to the Final Prophecy?”

  “The prophecy also comes from Jediah,” the acolyte said. “He recognized that corruption was growing, infecting the souls of man. Beyond the influence of the Holy Order, the races of man were becoming hateful, selfish, separated from community. Harmony was lost, sacrificed to the Flaw in Creation. The prophecy outlines two possible outcomes for Infinitera. Either Creation will be healed and the Abyss unmade, or the Holy Order will fail and the world will fall to despair and be destroyed.”

  “Yes,” Marcus said, “and the prophecy is not false. Two weeks ago, a falling star fell into the western sky. Did any of you notice it?”

  Bishop Sarra met his gaze with eyes as blue as his own. “I saw the star,” she said. “It has entered my meditations several times since that night. I also saw the storm that blew over the Quiet Sea this evening. Was the star an omen?”

  “Yes, an omen of great evil. The Dark One did not die at the Desecration Fault. He still exists, and his Ill-creatures are active in the Realm. That is why I have called you here.”

  There was a murmur of dismay. The others had known that the occasion was serious, but could hardly have anticipated this. Now they understood that they faced a siege of historic significance.

  “I will be leaving Talan at some time after the Ceremony of Light,” Marcus continued. “In my absence, Sarra, you will function as High Bishop. Brother Ethnan will assist you with any administrative details that might come up. In the event of my death, I have prepared an official proclamation naming you as my successor. Should it need to be used, your first duty is to return to this spot and spend the night in meditation.”

  “I do not understand,” Sarra said, troubled. “The Dark One is alive, and you are leaving? What about the kingdoms? Have you called for the Legion? Do the wizards—” She paused, then continued in a hushed tone. “Marcus, have you received a revelation?”

  “No, Sarra, or perhaps yes, though I am not a prophet. One day, you will come to know the source of this knowledge, but not today. For now, you must rely on your faith. And I must rely on your trust.”

  Sarra smiled. “Marcus, I have known you since we were both acolytes to Father Serdonis. I shall do as you ask, though I pray it will not become necessary. Where will you be going?”

  “I must find another Atablicryon.”

  “Another? But the temple is unique. In all the histories of the elves there is no mention of another like it.”

  “So we have been taught,” Marcus agreed. “But the second Atablicryon exists. It lies on an island far to the south, an island that no human or elf or dwarf of the Realm has ever seen. No chart in any library shows this island. Yet it exists.”

  “And you know where it is?” Sarra asked.

  “No, but Gorin does. He is a special priest, with expertise we shall need. His people know of that place, though I think they do not know it contains an Atablicryon. They call the site Kennaru, the Dread Island. It is taboo. Powerful curses punish anyone who goes there.” Marcus shrugged. “I shall nevertheless be obliged to make trial of that curse.” He looked up, meeting each of the others’ eyes in turn. “We must all pass this test.”

  Sarra made a gesture of resignation. “I think none of us enjoy curses, but they cannot be allowed to daunt us.”

  Marcus put his hands to his lips and then extended them in the sign of harmony. “The whole of Creation,” he said.

  The others mirrored his gesture.

  “Harmony,” Ethnan said.

  “Unity,” the young assistant said.

  “Healing,” Sarra said.

  “Perfection,” Marcus said, finishing the ritual. “Thank you, my friends. That is all. Please tell the boatman to return in the morning. I will spend the night here in meditation.”

  They nodded, deeply troubled. Marcus watched them file out.

  Sarra paused at the head of the stairs. “Follow your own advice, Marcus. Trust in your faith. The Creator grants us strength.”

  And we will need it, Marcus thought, watching her leave.

  When he was certain that he was alone, Marcus opened his mind in meditation. He felt the power of the Atablicryon suffuse him. Beneath his feet, a circle of stone began to glow brightly, shining like a polished diamond. The light surrounded him, and the world disappeared.

  Marcus floated in an ocean of harmony, a place without substance, full of radiant light and subtle music. He felt comforted—as if he were a child again, sleeping in his mother’s arms. He rested in the wellspring of the Holy Order, the fount from which its healing power flowed. His soul sang in absolute harmony with the Creation.

  The music that filled him sounded like quiet chimes and flowing water and the singing of nightingales. As he listened, the music resolved itself into a beatific voice. It was a voice he had heard twice before, once on the day he had become High Bishop and again on the day of the Fallen Star: a voice that he knew only as the Protector.

  “Welcome, High Bishop Marcus Alanda,” said the Protector.

  “I have witnessed the sign,” Marcus said. “Evil moves against the Realm.”

  “Is the way prepared for your quest?”

  “Yes. I have sent for the Bearer of the Staff and summoned the Legion for protection. Gorin will guide us to the lost island, though he fears the test of crossing the Barrier. I plan to travel during the Season of Light, when the powers of the Dark One are at their weakest.”

  “You have done well,” the Protector said. “Now it is time to prepare you for the true purpose of your journey.”

  “True purpose? Am I not seeking the second Atablicryon?”

  “That is the beginning,” the Protector answered. “But not the end. At the Atablicryon you will find an artifact, the Sphere of Ohnn. With the Sphere in your possession, you will be able to destroy the Fallen Star.”

  “Destroy the omen? Why?”

  “It is more than an omen. The Fallen Star came through the Abyss and has reached Infinitera. It holds a power of evil more dangerous than the Dark One himself: a power that will defile all of Creation. The Ill-creatures search for this power. If they find it, then Infinitera will die.”

  “By the Creator,” Marcus exclaimed. “They must not succeed. But if the Star came from the Abyss, why doesn’t the Dark One know where it is?”

  “It did not come from the Abyss. It fell through the Abyss from Beyond. I can sense its presence by the disharmony with Creation, but the Dark One has no way of tracking it. This is to our advantage.”

  “Then you know where it is?”

  As soon as he said the words, an image formed in his mind: a desolate, frozen plain. Somehow, he knew that it lay far to the west. A huge crater scarred the tundra, and within it Marcus sensed a presence even colder than the surrounding ice.

  “I understand,” he said. “And with the Sphere of Ohnn I can destroy this evil.”

  “Yes,” the Protector said, “but not with the Sphere alone. The Sphere of Ohnn is a core fragment of pure Earthpower: the primal force which binds Creation and makes life possible. It contains the power needed to destroy the Fallen Star, but only the Thunderwood Staff has the power to ignite the Sphere.”

  “The Bearer of the Staff,” murmured Marcus.

  “And you will need one more thing. To face this evil, you must understand it. I must implant the knowledge of this evil in your mind, as I have planted its location. Only when the evil has become a part of you will you be able to destroy it.”

  Marcus felt suddenly alone, isolated from the sea of harmony. “But submitting to evil is wrong. The Scripture of Jediah expressly forbids the acceptance of evil in any form.”

  “I know the Scripture,” the Protector said. “I am the one who gave the words to Jediah. You must trust in your faith, Marcus Alanda. The knowledge by itself is no threat to your soul, so long as you do not pursue the course of evil. Only, you must decide now whether you will accept this burden, for once given, the knowledge cannot be taken away. And the knowledge must never be shared, lest the evil spread. You must take it with you to your grave.”

  “But how am I to decide, unless I know what the knowledge is?”

  “You must ask yourself whether you are capable of this trial, whether you can risk your soul for the sake of Creation—and win. But know, Marcus Alanda, that there is no other who carries the faith of the Holy Order woven so strongly into his being. You are the best hope for Infinitera.”

  “Then my choice is clear. I must accept my own counsel. Give me the knowledge, Protector. The Creator will help me carry it.”

  The music that surrounded Marcus faded, leaving a profound silence. The voice of the Protector became a faint whisper in his mind. “Hold on to your faith. There will be pain.”

  Marcus braced himself. Even so, it was awful. A thousand needles pierced his skull, driving into his brain. The needles unleashed a torrent of morbid visions. Each image was a dark tendril, so cold that it burned. Marcus screamed as the tendrils worked their way into his mind, into his soul. The darkness coalesced, forming a dense pit in the center of his being. The seething mass multiplied and expanded, threatening to consume him. It spoke to him, with sinister persuasion.

  Such power, I could rule Infinitera.

  No! Marcus tried to reject the thought, to cast it out of his mind. But pain lanced through him. The evil was now part of him. He could no more expel it than he could throw away his heart.

  I could do such good. The people would sing my name in praise.

  The thoughts were coming faster now, with more detail, more clarity, and insidious logic.

  The world would find unity again, under my direction.

  The Scriptures of Jediah taught members of the Holy Order how to summon sanctuary, an aura of protection that surrounded the priest’s body. Marcus used that technique now, but he focused the sanctuary into his mind, his soul. He found the core of evil within him and surrounded it with layers of harmony and peace. He built a barrier around it, a buffer that protected his conscious mind from the knowledge he bore.

  Slowly, the pain receded. The darkness was still there, but it was dormant. The corrupt suggestions became mere whispers, then faded out. For the time being.

  Marcus collapsed on the floor of the Atablicryon. Tears ran down his cheeks, and his body trembled against the stone. He pulled himself into a ball and waited for sleep to come.

  4

  Apprentice

  A’stoc led Sulmar and Chentelle into the cave. The rock closed in around them until they were forced to walk in single file. Finally they came to a dead end at a bare stone wall.

  A’stoc spoke a word of command, and the rock face swung inward, exposing a small, dark passageway. He spoke again, and a line of crystal orbs began to glow, lighting the narrow tunnel. He stepped forward, motioning for his guests to follow.

  Chentelle paused at the doorway. She laid her hand on the rock, reaching out with her Gift. She felt power within the stone, ripples of warmth and vibration. The forces were delicately balanced, supporting the weight of the door with their equilibrium.

  “Tell me, elf girl,” A’stoc said gruffly, “how did you know where to find me?”

  Chentelle whispered softly to the power in the rock, pulling at it gently with her Gift. The stone door swung silently shut.

  “I had a dr—” Chentelle cut off her reply, for she had lost her audience. A’stoc had whirled and walked away, covering the hallway with long, heavy steps. She hurried to catch up with him, and Sulmar followed at her side. She kept her peace, for her mission was almost done. But it occurred to her that rudeness must be this man’s way of life.

  They emerged from the tunnel into a large, dark chamber. Chentelle felt a gentle throb of power as A’stoc called for light. All through the walls of the cavern, natural crystal formations started to shine with gentle, white light. The floor had been worked into three circular tiers, sinking down to a central pool. A steep stairway connected the three levels.

  “This is my home,” A’stoc said, descending the first flight of stairs. “As you can see, it contains natural deposits of adartak, an effective focus for Crystal Lore.”

  The second tier appeared to be kitchen and living quarters. A sagging cot lay buried underneath piles of clothes and books. A small dresser served to separate the bedroom and the kitchen, which held a stove, a large cupboard, and a breakfast table with two chairs. A healthy fire burned in the stove.

  A’stoc tossed the debris off of the chairs. “I apologize for not having a parlor, but I do not often have visitors.” The sarcasm in his voice was palpable, but it softened. “Rest yourselves. You look weary.”

  Chentelle lowered herself onto a chair, grateful for the relief from hard days of walking and riding.