Merril reverently entered the Alcove the instant that the time-locked vault door unbolted itself with a palpable shudder. The temple schedule now permitted him to seek knowledge, and he intended to make the most of the allotted time. He entered the now accessible semi-circular space, with its one small window near the ceiling letting a single beam of sunlight populated by swirling motes of golden dust stab down into its center, and thoughtfully regarded the treasured storehouse of the teachings of his deity, all the tomes and scrolls that set out the lessons and the morals, the parables and pronouncements, the prayers and chants, rituals and sacraments, the doxologies and commandments particular to the cult of Arkus.

  In past years, before he had attained his lofty station, he had spent many an available morning poring over the manuscripts and sacred texts housed in the Alcove and had read the vast majority of them. But sometimes true understanding does not come with the first reading. Or even the second. As a priest ages – or as anyone ages - a change of perspective or an increase of wisdom earned through the rigors of life may offer additional insights to material seen before.

  It had been long indeed since he had last read the Sidereal Codex, which linked events to come with the motions and behavior of the stars. Though not an astronomer of the highest order, Merril nonetheless remained aware of where the celestial bodies could be located in the firmament at any given point in the calendar – at least from the vantage point of Eskemar. Doubtless, high priests in other far-off temples saw different stars and were privy to different patterns – a notion that gave him a pang of anxiety at all the portents he might be missing. He stifled that thought and approached the chest that was the designated repository of all the recognized prophesies believed to be channeled through the grace of mighty Arkus. He opened it with one of the keys he always kept on his person and withdrew from one of its compartments the ancient Codex. It was made from the inner hide of a basilisk, and over the centuries the Codex had hardened and become brittle, cracking apart at its folds to become a collection of plates that still had a slightly iridescent oily sheen. They slipped against each other and almost fell to the floor as Merril clutched at the pile. He placed it on the small desk near the center of the room, cast a light spell to spare his middle-aged eyes, and settled down on the corresponding stool to examine the contents of the Codex.

  The Sidereal Codex described, with an unusual amount of specificity, certain events that would occur as certain celestial requirements are simultaneously fulfilled.

  A decade ago one of the adepts had made discrete notations to the plates so that even if separated they could be easily placed again in their proper sequence, along with other brief sanctioned commentary and elucidating facts in the margins to facilitate understanding. But subsequent deep ponderings on the nature of the prognostications had led Merril to believe that this modification had been unnecessary. He reasoned thusly:

  Whether they inhabited an existence prone to endless cycles of repetition, or whether the events described in the Codex represented one-time events signifying an ineluctable progression from past to future, turned out upon inspection to be irrelevant. One only needs to discern the pattern and match it to its corresponding prophecy; no understanding or awareness of previous or subsequent events was required, making the observance of the passage of time immaterial. The events described within the Codex were thus truly path-independent.

  This struck him as an odd insight with a whiff of heresy, which is primarily why he kept this realization to himself. Even he could not envision all the metaphysical consequences that might follow from adopting such a challenging unorthodox paradigm. In any event, he doubted reinterpretation of the fabric of reality would facilitate the task ahead that he had set for himself.

  It was not a simple task, to somehow discern a match between the astronomical conditions he thought were currently possible at this point of the calendar and identifying elements of prophecy that tracked with his known circumstances - while revealing the secrets usually hidden behind the future’s veil. Bias and skepticism vied with each other as he examined the text, as they did in the soul of every sagacious cleric who ruminated on the abstruse declarations of prophets.

  He was almost at the end of his allotted time for reading when he came across the following passage:

  “When Syvthalus is in conjunction with the Oxstar during an emerald gibbous moon, and the approach of Winter is witness to a helical comet in the western sky near the horizon at dawn, then shall the tumult of the city dwellers (for many will be in despair, as lost lambs yearning for their shepherd’s crook) reach a fevered pitch, and a pair of fortnights later a prodigy who has evinced signs and wonders shall come into his own. The people shall rally to him, and he shall share his vision of what should be done to cleanse the world.”

  After reading those words Merril froze for a moment, then slowly straightened and let his gaze wander into unfocused abstraction. Well now. Well, well. It was a good fit. He now knew what to look for, and if the comet appeared at the appointed time as described then he would be certain! Hope kindled in his heart, and for the first time in what felt like ages his spirits were buoyed by his faith and he smiled.

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  It was rather late in the evening of the same day. Finally at liberty and in his private chambers, Merril carefully concentrated on the slab of crystal before him. It was a fairly large specimen almost as long as his forearm – heavy to lift - irregularly shaped, and listing to one side, having the semblance of a ruined tower leaning due to foundation problems more than anything. It was angled to present its broadest face to him, a cloven facet with an iridescent finish that obscured the interior of the stone, which was free of planar defects and cracks but swimming with inclusions of an unknown green substance.

  Merril sought to project his consciousness outward, attempting first to find the inherent resonance of the precious object in front of him. Through much practice, he could attune himself to the crystal and use it to amplify his senses with the aid of the Astral Plane. A few moments later he was setting the linkage with the Seeing Sphere located in the study of Melanthus the Mordant. He patiently left his senses open, being receptive to contact. This was also something he had much practice with, as Melanthus was often absent-minded and would be tardy in completing the linkage and establishing contact – a fault that Merril had long ago accepted and overlooked in an almost indulgent way that would have surprised his fellow clerics.

  Today there was hardly any wait at all. Which meant Melanthus had something to tell him.

  The voice of his friend reverberated through his mind. “Good evening, Merril. I trust you are well?”

  Merril spoke aloud in his room, knowing that the clairaudience of Melanthus would duly transmit the sound. “I am well, Melanthus. You missed a fine recitation from the Scrolls of Law earlier this afternoon.” He could picture Melanthus making a peevish face while he said this and smiled. It was a running joke over the years that Merril would attempt to cajole his friend into attending some rite or observance at the Temple of Arkus, only for Melanthus to invariably decline any such invitation or suggestion. Well, he was obliged to try, wasn’t he? “You are prompt for once. I take it your researches have borne fruit?”

  “In a way. I’ve spent the last week analyzing the substance you had delivered in my laboratory, trying to break it down and identify its separate components. It’s remarkably pure and doesn’t seem to be a plant extract. If I didn’t know better I would say it was entirely artificial, but I don’t know how one would even go about creating a compound that has never existed before in nature. “

  “Are you saying it’s magical?”

  “No, it’s completely mundane, although magical processes might have been used to manufacture or refine it. The purity seems to indicate that it was made in a proper laboratory like mine – not some crofter’s hut or crone’s kitchen. I doubt even the standard apothecary’s shop would possess the apparatus required to produce this.”

  “So, the maker is a wizard like yourself then.”

  “Perhaps. Or one with the skill of an alchemist, more like.”

  “But what is it? What is it supposed to do?”

  “To be completely sure I would have to use it myself, which is a little tempting. I suspect the proper way is to either crush the crystals – which are quite brittle – and snort the resulting powder or to dissolve them in drink and ingest it that way –“

  “Please don’t.”

  “No worries, I think I know better than that! But to answer your question: ‘what is it supposed to do?’ Create a sense of euphoria. Mask pain. Ease a troubled mind. Like any snake oil, I am sure it is touted as a remedy for all sorts of purposes. And perhaps it does accomplish some of them. But its real purpose, I suspect, is to enslave the user.”

  “I have seen much evidence of that already,” Merril said sadly. He shook his head. “I have made some recent inquiries and in the streets, it is referred to as ‘bloodrock’. I spoke with the Captain of the Guard, and he was dimly aware of its growly prevalence. But he steadfastly maintained no ordinances were being violated. And for some reason Council has yet to perceive the need to create any new ones.”

  Melanthus grunted, which produced the effect of reverberation in his mind. He was not a big fan of ordinances.

  Merril continued, “I said that this substance was contributing to disorder in the city, thinking it could be construed as an ongoing ‘breach of the peace’. But my argument was met with polite nonchalance, and expression of the view that crimes require victims, not people merely making poor choices.”

  “Hardly surprising,” offered Melanthus. “I think as long as the tolls and taxes are collected, and the stabbings and burglaries are kept to a minimum Homith Gunnerl is willing to let everything else slide.”

  “Captain Gunnerl is a competent man, but his narrow view of his responsibilities and his practical nature mean that this issue is unfortunately beyond his ken. He seems to think as long as the watch patrols are frequent and the soldiers manning the walls and gates are well-equipped and awake that all is well.”

  “And you know better?” challenged Melanthus.

  Merril wasn’t sure if Melanthus was now teasing him or not but decided that that didn’t affect his reply. “You haven’t been out there. You haven’t seen what I have seen. Even I had been ignorant of the state of the streets, which I regret deeply. But once you notice it, you begin to see it everywhere. There is a sickness of the spirit that is taking hold of the city. But I think I may have the remedy for it.”

  “Oh?”

  “Deliverance is nigh.” Merril confidently proclaimed.

  “All right, then. Sounds like you have this covered. Keep me apprised of any tidings of note.”

  “I shall, and you will let me know if you uncover anything else about this mystery drug?”

  “Certainly, although you will need to send me another sample. The one I had seems to have completely vanished. Perhaps it sublimated via some mysterious process. And now, if you will excuse me, Thayla made a meat pie for me that should be just about the perfect temperature about now…”

  “Of course; good day, friend.”

  Contact broken, Merril sat alone in his room, oblivious to the luxurious furnishings around him. Everything would work out. Arkus, in all of his wisdom, would see to that. And his power and righteousness would be revealed for all to see. Any other outcome was unthinkable for a man of such strong faith as he. Wasn’t it?