Tilda stood, hands behind her back, waiting in resolute silence within the inner sanctum of the Temple. After being brought in by Vance and Custio, she was left to her thoughts as the Elders were being roused. It was time enough for her to prepare her case.

  Which she found strange to be even thinking of.

  It would not have been this complicated. Back in the olden days, an apostate would be killed as soon as they were found or brought in. Not once, at least before Torrance, had an apostate been suffered to live within the confines of the Guild. Now she was being kept alive and given a chance to state her position? There was something at play here. She did not know what, but all she could do was tell the truth of what she knew and what she intended to do. And most of all, what she felt in her soul.

  The doors within the shadows of the sanctum opened and the three Elders appeared as swift as the wind.

  Elder Gristle was first, glowering as ever and clearly displeased with being awoken suddenly at such news.

  Elder Divana followed, giving Tilda a searching stare as she took her seat beside Elder Gristle.

  Elder Lowan brought up the rear, allowing a lengthy and relaxed yawn to escape his thin lips.

  All the Elders settled into their seats and waited in silence.

  They were waiting for her to begin.

  Movement in the shadows around the sanctum suggested to Tilda that they would not be alone. A hoarse cough to her right was unmistakably Sibling Archibald, most likely hauled in by the twins.

  Tilda closed her eyes, allowed a deep breath to enter through her nose, and exhaled quietly. She had calmed her disturbed mind, shaken off the alcohol, the exhaustion, and the frustration of the last week. She was ready.

  “May I speak?” She asked clearly before the Elders.

  The three Elders looked down at her with the same silence. Tilda continued.

  “I have been a dutiful servant of the Black for most of my life, ever since the day that I stumbled onto your path. I have adhered to the Promises and fulfilled them every step of the way. But I have been beset with concern. With doubt. We have made such strides in our way of life, unburdened by the shackles of the world beyond our borders. The people want for nothing. There is no oppression, no fear, no lack in anything we have. I understand this. But I feel unsatisfied. A feeling that has presented itself in the last few months.”

  “Why do you feel this way?” Elder Divana asked.

  “Because I have seen the world,” Tilda replied. “I have seen the misery and sorrow that man inflicts upon man. Now I understand that all is allowed by the will of the Black and that of Her sibling. But would it not be by the will of the Black that we do what we can within the confines of our oath?”

  “You propose that we interpose with the world?” Elder Gristle growled. “It is an impossibility. Are you aware that the powers that be would feel threatened by our existence? Have we not told you this and those that you failed to teach time and time again?”

  Failed to teach. Tilda twitched against the aimed insult. “I believe that what the three Apostates have done, they are doing for the… right reasons…” she spoke firmly until she started to falter.

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  This was met with silence. This lasted for a few moments until Elder Lowan asked, “What were you and Archibald discussing in his home?”

  Tilda replied, “It was concerning Fledgling Blade.”

  “Hmm…” Elder Lowan reached out a hand, allowing himself to be seen in the scant light of the candles, and beckoned Tilda to come forward.

  Tilda hesitated, but stepped forward eventually upon encouragement from Elder Lowan.

  She stopped a few paces from the podium of the Elders. Elder Lowan stood and leant forward, looking down directly at her. Both Elders Gristle and Divana followed suit, seemingly curious by Elder Lowan’s strange behaviour.

  Tilda was able to see Elder Lowan’s expression. It was not irritation like Gristle, or the classic indifference from Divana. It was quiet curiosity.

  “Archibald?” He called out and beckoned to the shadows. “If you may.”

  A hoarse cough and a shuffling of shoes preceded the hunched, frail form of the old Scribe. He stood by Tilda, escorted as he was by a resolute and sinister Sibling Vance.

  Elder Lowan regarded Vance as a diner would regard an extra piece of roasted chicken that they did not request, though grateful to see it. “Sibling Vance, we can handle it from here. Please take all those present and yourself from the Sanctum.”

  Sibling Vance opened his mouth to protest or some such reply, but a sharp look from Elder Gristle silenced that intent. Sibling Vance closed his mouth, nodded once and retreated to the dark with the stiffness of marble.

  After the last of the shadows moved for the entrance and those doors slowly closed shut, Elder Lowan spoke in a hushed tone that could be easily heard in the silent chamber.

  “I have been keeping contact with many voices in the world. Many little spies that feed me information that benefits this Guild. And that should not come as any surprise to you. And it is right that I have done so. For I have found a few pieces of information which come my way… And information that was supposedly destined to go to another.” Elder Lowan settled his gaze upon Sibling Archibald.

  “A few weeks ago, Archie… You requested one of my homing falcons to send a letter. You told me that it was to keep in touch with old colleagues of the Scholar Guild. But that was not the truth, was it?”

  Tilda looked at Archibald, who was trying his best to focus on a fascinating crack in the marble floor they stood on. Tilda turned to Elder Lowan. “But what does that have to do with-?”

  Elder Lowan held up his hand to silence her before continuing.

  “During that night when Archibald sent away his letter, I had a dream. A vision, if you would. It was night. A grassland that stretched for as long as the eye could see. And see I could for the moon, larger, fuller, and brighter than it could possibly be. Then came two plumes of raging light, exploding from the ground. One of night black and then one of iridescent white. Standing between these towers of illumination and screaming at the moon was a warrior, a warrior drenched in the blood of their foes. In their hand, there was a silver sword. I approached the warrior. Or, in other words, they approached me… And the warrior, it was your student, Arcos.”

  No one said a word. Elder Lowan continued. “When Arcos beheld me, he raised this sword. This silver sword shaped like fire and struck me down. Of course, when I awoke, I knew I could not act on such a sight. Dreams are merely dreams, the whispers of the dark and the world beyond. And yet, in the world we inhabit, they are hardly such things. So, I watched the boy. Waited. Then I recalled the sword that he wielded during the battle against the mountain spiders. How he acted during that moment… it was like his dream self. And only then, did I receive the fullest confirmation of the dream from the response to your letter, Archibald. Do you wish to know what your contacts said?

  They said, ‘Yes. It is Alaintiqam, and they have also said that they are deeply concerned about his return and will take measures to ensure this world’s protection.’”

  Upon hearing this, Sibling Archibald covered his mouth with his hand. His eyes grew wide with worry, fear, and guilt.

  Elder Gristle rounded on the old man. “What have you done, you doddering fool? Who have you spoken to? Who are these people you share our secrets with so readily??”

  Elder Divana raised her hand. “Peace, Brother. There will be time for such questions. But not the ones most present to our situation. Archibald, Tilda. Explain what it is you know and what you fear the Apostate Blade will do. Once we are aware of what the facts are, only then shall we decide your punishment and the steps that must be taken.”

  Archibald and Tilda exchanged a heavy glance and then spoke of what they knew. As they did, the expressions of the three Elders changed.

  From looks of anger and curiosity until slowly, very slowly, to a single, unified emotion: fear.