Auri lay curled on her bed, absently fingering the pair of pendants hanging from her neck on silver chains. One was the Holy Dove, worn by all clergy, and the other was the face of the stoic, St. Thrasea.

       Her chamber window was shuttered, but the morning sun crept between the panels. She frowned at a mote of dust swimming in the ray of light that stretched across the room’s tidy interior. Her copy of the Complete Enchiridion, a gift from her father, sat on the desk next to her steel buckler. The Church tolerated the small round shield because it was her house weapon, and was primarily defensive. The codex and buckler were her only personal possessions. Her candles, tinderbox, quill, inkwell, sand tray, and leaves of paper all belonged to the hospital.

       Auri had spent most of the night in contemplation. As a Logist, her dream had always been to live a virtuous life and achieve eudaemonia, a state of happiness and well-being. But living a virtuous life sometimes rankled authority. That was the story of St. Thrasea, who was martyred for his virtue. Auri was at no risk of martyrdom, but if she didn’t navigate Tacita’s situation with the upmost caution, she could bring down the wrath of the Prelate.

       During her contemplation, Aurisma had asked herself the questions of influence. One: Is this a situation I can influence? And two: If yes, how can I best exert my influence? As was usual, she had decided yes on the first question. And after that, she had devised a plan to address Tacita’s needs. Now it was time to put her plan into action.

       As Auri rose from the bed, she was struck by a terrible wave of dread. She cried out in frustration. The dread felt like her own emotion. But it wasn’t Auri’s trauma, it was Tacita’s. And though the terrible memory of the bloody gourds lived within her now, Auri knew she could choose how to feel about it. And she was determined not to take fright. Calling on her training, she whispered the seventh meditation, Meditatio de Timore, to drive away the fear. “Dum exhalo, metum meum resolvo. As I exhale, I release my fear.”

       She breathed in deeply, and as she breathed out, she felt some of the dread depart. Before she could repeat the meditation, she heard a soft knock on her door. Somehow, she knew who was on the other side. She steeled herself and called out, “Enter.”

       Her Benevolence, Prelate Silbia Jendring, the mistress of St. Thrasea’s cathedral, entered Auri’s room. The Prelate wore the cloth of her office, a pale gray robe with lavender trim and a green collar. These were the colors of the rock dove, the symbol of Logism. Silbia’s skin was black and lined, like the bark of an ancient tree that had survived a great fire. Her white hair was wispy and her brown eyes were clouded with age.

       The Prelate was a noble, as were all Prelates. Reverents, and indeed all secondborn, were not allowed to become nobles. And so the Church was ruled, for better or worse, by the firstborn.

       Silbia swept into the room with haughty grace and lowered herself into the chair at Auri’s desk. After a dramatic moment of silence, she spoke in a cathedral accent still dominated by her noble heritage. “You’ve been ensconced here for two days. Are you aware of that?”

       “I am, your Benevolence” replied Auri, more sharply than she had intended. “I had much to think on.”

       The Prelate crossed her arms and tilted her head. “You’ve experienced something, Aurisma. Not the casualty at the arena. Something to do with Fera.”

       Auri knew it wasn’t a question. The Prelate suspected what had happened and was demanding an explanation. Aurisma inhaled deeply, gathering her energy for the battle to come. “Her name is Tacita. And I unburdened her. An accident, mind you.”

       Silbia raised an eyebrow. “You are too young for such a feat. What have you, twenty-one years?”

       Aurisma nodded stiffly. “Nonetheless, I did. And when I unburdened her, I took away more than just her painful emotions. I also took one of her memories. At first, I thought I had shared this memory. Now I understand that I took it from her, unburdened her of it. It’s a bizarre memory. I saw a primeval archer riding a stag. He was protecting a crop of gourds. These gourds were…alive…somehow, with the organs of living beasts.”

       The Prelate lifted her hand, palm up, with her fingers spread wide. It was a stoic gesture called withholding, indicating she had not accepted Auri’s statement as real, worthy, or actionable. “Aurisma, unburdening doesn’t function in that manner. You remove negative emotions, not memories. Ask your mother. She’ll tell you the same.”

       Auri suppressed her annoyance. “Be that as it may, I have an idea for helping Tacita.”

       Silbia waved her hand. “No need. We’re awaiting word from the registers. If she’s not listed, she’ll be released into the wild. And if she is, she will be sent to her proper home.”

       Aurisma shook her head. “That will take months, and we’ve no time to wait. The archer and the bloody gourds represent a danger, a warning of what is to come. So I’ve developed a better plan.”

       Silbia raised both her eyebrows. “Have you now?”

       Auri took a deep breath and charged ahead. “I suspect that Tacita is a priest in the Order of Outreach, who was working in the Maze Hills. She encountered something terrible there, something otherworldly, and she returned to warn us. But her apoplexy thwarted that effort.”

       The Prelate flashed another gesture of withholding. “I’ve read the report. She wears a dove pendant, true. But no saint pendant. All clergy have a patron saint. So, what makes you think she’s a priest?”

       Auri took another deep breath and raised her chin. “It’s a feeling I have, and I must act upon it. I plan to take a leave of absence, to escort Tacita to the Church of Reception in Harcaster, where she can be cared for by her own. I’ll return before the fall session to continue my studies.”

       The Prelate winced, and after a long moment, spoke. “Aurisma, you’ve experienced a pair of painful experiences. First, a man dies at your feet, and shortly thereafter, your first attempt at unburdening goes awry. In such circumstances, it is natural to seek the comfort of a parent.”

       As a child, Auri had been dazzled by the Prelate’s profundity. Now she just wanted to slap her. Aurisma shot to her feet. “It’s just a coincidence that my mother lives in Harcaster. I’m going to the Church of Reception and returning straight away. I probably won’t even see her.”

       The Prelate gave Auri a sad, gentle smile. “Aurisma, as much as I’d like to indulge you. You can’t be spared. You see, there has been a development.”

       Auri’s heart sank. “Development?”

       “The tourney incident was caused by frenzy, of course. One of the tilters threw a groom over the fence. This is a problem the Crown can no longer ignore. The Imperial Deputy Chancellor, Bonamy Leventhorpe, has just arrived in Wywick. We’ve heard he will task each of the marches with finding the antecedent of this dreadful disease. The Margrave has already requested we scour the cathedral library for any historical accounts of frenzy, to find its origin. I think you’ll agree this is a job more suited to you than scrubbing floors.”

       Auri tilted her head. “I thought we understood its origin. After the Thaumacaust, the land was poisoned by brimbane, which causes birth defects, and probably frenzy.”

       “Perhaps, but we don’t really know what brimbane is, and the rate of frenzy is rising sharply. Also, mages do not suffer from frenzy, even if they have birth defects. So obviously there is much we don’t understand. They’re calling it the insanity of humanity. To my mind, the real insanity was waiting this long to investigate it.”

       Auri stared at the floor, forcing herself not to think, to let her mind roam free and form its own connections. When an idea came to her, she spoke excitedly. “What if frenzy has something to do with these events in the Maze Hills, with the stag rider and the blood gourds? Perhaps it’s no coincidence that Tacita is here now, when this problem has come to a head, and there’s a pale dragon about.”

       The Prelate tsked. “A wild leap, Aurisma. This memory of yours probably isn’t real. Your mind simply summoned the imagery needed to explain what you were feeling.”

       Auri continued as if the Prelate hadn’t spoken. “I’m taking Tacita to Harcaster. Her order can tell us the details about her mission in the hills. Have no worries, your Benevolence. I have already asked myself the questions of influence and determined this is the virtuous path. And before I depart, I will complete the premeditatio malorum. Rest assured I will pursue this venture as the Church has taught.”

       The Prelate spoke in a weary tone. “Aurisma, mark me. You are still a full year away from earning your Doctorate in Theology. And though your grasp of the meditations is impressive, you’ve yet to develop your mending, to divide your mind, or to execute a proper unburdening. Learning to wield Logism requires time and patience. That is episteme. Your mother was nearly thirty before she completed her development.”

       Auri rolled her eyes. “My mother this, my mother that. Why don’t you ask her to search your library? I have more meaningful work to do.”

       The Prelate gave Auri a withering glare.

       Auri ducked her head, realizing she had lost her temper. “Apologies, your Benevolence. It’s been a difficult past few days.”

       The Prelate slowly shook her head. “In many ways, you’re still that nine-year-old girl who joined our monastic school, insisting on being boarded. Even though your mother had a suite on the grounds, you didn’t want to live with her. And yet in your first year of Cathedral school, when she moved to Harcaster to serve House Whitehart, you couldn’t stop crying.”

       Auri threw up her hands. “That’s not true!”

       Silbia regarded her with impatience. “A small measure of petulance can be suffered in a prodigy. But you should have outgrown that by now. The Church has requested your service. Before you rebuff it, I urge you to visit the chapel and seek the wisdom of prayer. For the mistakes you make here will haunt you to the end of your days.”

       Before Auri could frame a response, Silbia rose and swept out the door, shutting it firmly behind her.

       Aurisma paced the chamber, biting her lip. That didn’t go as she had hoped. Somehow, her conversations with the Prelate always involved her mother.

       Auri decided she would visit the chapel as the Prelate had instructed. But she would not go alone.

***

Aurisma emerged from the open double doors of Last Hope, arm in arm with Tacita. A painted wooden sign hung over the entrance of the double-story, stone-walled hospital. It showed only a red flask on a field of white, the symbol of life. All Imperial salutaries were marked in the same manner.

       To their left was a stone walkway that led to an amphitheater that hosted mostly religious plays and, notoriously, the Imperial Labor Assembly. But they took the walkway on the right, which led to the nearby cathedral.

       Tacita, still in her patient’s tunic, squinted in the sunlight, her head tilting back to take in the sight of St. Thrasea’s Cathedral. Its stone walls were painted cream with gold and bronze accents. Its tower rose three hundred feet into the heavens, and was topped with the enormous Church flag, the Holy Dove.

       Because of Tacita’s weakened left leg, it took them some time to reach the front stairs of the cathedral. Each stair was as wide as the edifice itself. They slowly ascended the steps, emerging on the columned portico. The cathedral’s huge, pale green doors stood open, as they always did when a service was not being conducted.

       Auri led Tacita across the threshold and into the antechamber. A female and male guard nodded politely. Both wore gray tunics and trousers, and the red belts of the Order of Vigilants. These were the Church’s peacekeepers, most of them former soldiers. They carried no weapons and fought only with their hands, so as not to shed blood. This was the way of the Church.

       As Aurisma and Tacita crossed the antechamber, Auri felt the weight of the cathedral’s tower directly above them. St. Thrasea’s tower, more than twenty stories high, was a village unto itself, hosting hundreds of vigilants, city watchers, dovekeepers, clerics, crafters, and various workers. Only the young lived in such towers, because climbing the stairs was exhausting.

       They entered the nave, walking across diamond-shaped marble tiles alternating gray and dark green. Auri whispered to Tacita as they passed row after row of pews, some of them dotted with parishioners. “I’ve been instructed to pray on the wisdom of taking you to Harcaster. I think you’re a priest, so you probably know how this works. But if not, just keep one thing in mind. God is not a person. God doesn’t say things like Good afternoon, Aurisma. I advise you to avoid Harcaster. So don’t expect a conversation, and don’t ask for material things. Prayer is a meditation. We seek wisdom from the fraction of God that lies within ourselves. We are each a thread in the tapestry, and we must strive to align ourselves with the Logos, the perfect order of the world as shaped by divine reason.”

       Tacita gave no sign of understanding. But Auri saw the woman seemed at ease within the awe-inspiring cathedral. She was certainly no barbarian.

       At the front of the nave, they passed through the cathedral’s crossing, marked by a florid dove mosaic on the floor. They walked into the chancel, where a verger eyed them from the steps leading up to the sanctuary’s altar, glittering with golden miniatures, ornaments, and icons. Auri had encountered this fussy man before and had found him to be quite territorial. He looked relieved when Auri and Tacita turned right, toward the cathedral’s private chapel, one of three apse chapels in the rear of the massive cathedral.

       The private chapel was a cathedral in miniature, with a small nave leading to a raised altar. There was no crossing or chancel, but the decor was opulent. A trio of sharply arched stained-glass windows rose high above the altar, each depicting a pastoral or riverine setting. As they crossed the threshold, Tacita paused to admire a painting mounted on a column that split the nave.

       A vigilant stood guard over the painting, and though she avoided eye contact, it was clear they should step no closer to the great work. It was an oil portrait of St. Thrasea, one of the stoic martyrs. The saint’s eyes coolly regarded Auri, as if judging her and finding her lacking. For a moment, the man seemed to breathe, as if he stood on the other side of an open window.

       Aurisma leaned toward Tacita, whispering an explanation. “It’s a Danet. Lestyn Danet painted all twelve of the Logist saints. This is St. Thrasea, from his series, Our Cherished Saints. Danet painted it, mmm, perhaps thirty years ago. Each cathedral has its own unique Danet, most of them anyway, based on their titular saints, the saint whose holy relic lies in the cathedral’s foundation. Danet’s paintings are priceless. You can see why.”

       They passed the painting and entered the nave, finding the chapel empty. Auri guided Tacita to a seat in the rearmost pew. Aurisma always took the rearmost pew. For some reason, she didn’t feel holy enough to sit in the front.

       Auri gave Tacita a reassuring smile. “You can pray anywhere, of course. But it’s always most effective in our private chapel, with St. Thrasea at your back. Now then, we’ll close our eyes, perhaps for ten minutes or so, and pray for wisdom. It helps if you focus on the problem at hand. May God enlighten.”

       To Auri’s pleasure, Tacita closed her eyes and bowed her head toward the altar. Aurisma knew that Tacita could not understand her words, but she certainly knew what to do in a chapel. Surely Auri was right. This woman was a priest.

       Buoyed, Auri took a deep breath to clear her mind, then closed her eyes and bowed her head toward the altar. Prayer was healthy and beneficial. There was nothing better for making order of chaos.

       Almost immediately, she saw a shadowy figure in her mind’s eye. It was a robed man, though in the darkness she could not see his features. When he spoke, his voice flowed like liquid gold. “Good afternoon, Aurisma. I advise you to avoid Harcaster.”

       Auri shrieked, bolted to her feet, and tumbled backward over the pew.