“Magister, the druid spoke of a demon-worshiper being nearby. Perhaps we should consult her.”

“Not until we know more about her and the murderer.” The wizard grimaced. “And we know almost nothing for fact.”

Nicodemus blinked. “We know the murderer stole my ability to spell.”

“That is the druid’s explanation.”

A strange heat stirred in Nicodemus’s chest. “But you said the creature needs me to replenish some artifact. You said the monster claimed his master has been using a gem on me when I was sleeping. That must be why I’m a cacographer.”

Nicodemus’s hands began to tremble. That had to be it! He was being crippled by magic; therefore, he might yet be made whole by magic.

“Magister! If I could escape this creature, or maybe recover this gem, I would lose my cacography! Maybe I truly am the Halcyon.”

“Nicodemus, I do not like to hear you talk like this.”

“You think I’m the one of the counter-prophecy? The Storm Petrel?”

The wizard shook his head. “Given what has happened, you likely are connected to the prophecy in some way, but it is too early to say how you-”

“But in Magistra Finn’s library, the monster said the emerald gave him power in Language Prime. Magister, what is Language Prime?”

A golden Numinous arc leaped between Azure and Shannon. The parrot raised her head to examine Nicodemus.

“My boy, listen carefully. Language Prime is a very dangerous, very blasphemous idea. You must never mention it in public hearing.”

“But why?” Nicodemus asked. He had to make the old man see that he wasn’t supposed to be crippled.

“Only grand wizards may know of it.”

“But Magister, given the situation-”

The old man held up a hand. “You don’t need to convince me. But promise to keep what I am about to tell you in the strictest secrecy.”

Nicodemus swore on every demigod in the Celestial Canon.

With a solemn nod, the wizard began: “Perhaps you’ve learned that when time began, there was only lifeless dust. Into this barren world the Creator spoke the first words. These words were in Language Prime, the first magical language, the language from which all other languages come.”

Another gust of cold wind set Shannon’s silvery locks swaying again. “The first words created this living world and every creature upon it. Modern scholars believe that after that point Language Prime ceased to exist. But long ago, immediately after the Exodus, when the deities awoke on the new continent, they had no memory and little sense. Many claimed to know the Creator’s own language. Some claimed to speak directly to the Creator. In their efforts to master Language Prime and rule all of humanity, the awoken deities began the Blood Crusades. The resulting chaos and war nearly destroyed humanity. That is why the pursuit of Language Prime is deemed blasphemy.”

Shannon paused and took in a long breath. “That is why it is so easy for modern scholars to believe that Language Prime no longer exists. If they thought otherwise, it would spark religious wars that would destroy what peace the landfall kingdoms have known.”

Nicodemus nodded eagerly. “But you think differently, Magister? You believe Language Prime exists?”

“I don’t believe it exists; I know it does.”

“But how?”

Shannon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because the last sight I ever saw-the image that burned all mundane vision from my eyes-was of two sentences written in Language Prime.”

DEIRDRE MADE IT halfway around the tower before something hit her from behind.

Pain exploded across her left shoulder and sent her sprawling onto the dusty floor. Next to her clattered the steel bar she had struck into the creature’s forearm. The thing must have thrown it.

She rolled over and regained her feet just in time to meet the creature’s overhead slash with her remaining bar. She countered with a quick thrust.

The creature, still wrapped in white, leaped back. His greatsword flicked out in a two-handed slash. Deirdre batted down the blade with the bar and stepped in to slam her elbow into the thing’s face.

Something that felt like a nose flattened under her blow.

The thing cried out and fell. A dust cloud exploded from under his back as he hit the floor.

Deirdre dove for the thing’s sword.

But the monster was still too quick; he squirmed back and away, holding the weapon above her short reach. With a hiss, the thing slashed with the sword across her side.

As the blade rasped against her rib bones, the world exploded into blackness. Deirdre leaped away onto her back. The creature tried to stand, but she kicked her boot toe into his neck. With a strangled cry, the thing toppled backward. Deirdre regained her feet and slammed the bar down on the creature’s shin.

She fled.

NICODEMUS BLINKED. “You were blinded by Language Prime?”

The grand wizard rubbed his eyes wearily. “The story starts in Astrophell. I was a player in the game of factions then and a little arrogant. I fell in love with the magically illiterate grandniece of Astrophell’s provost. When I got her with child, we married in secret.”

Nicodemus nodded mutely.

The old man continued. “My enemies discovered my pregnant wife and used her to create scandal. It became a rallying point for the malcontent factions-mostly those that wanted the Order to exert more influence over the kingdoms. Hoping to hide the scandal, the provost announced his plan to send my wife and child away to different clandestine locations where neither I nor the malcontents could find them. I was terrified. I had to act before my wife gave birth, before the Provost could separate them. And so… I sought divine intervention.”

“You found our god? You spoke to Hakeem?”

Shannon nodded.

“But no one… you…” Nicodemus stammered. “How?”

A slight smile stole across the wizard’s lips. “It’s something of a legend among those that seek to break into literary strongholds. My research into textual intelligence gave me an advantage. I wrote a quaternary cognition spell that allowed me to think as the stronghold.”

“As the stronghold?”

The old man tapped his forehead. “Impossible, I know, but remember quaternary cognition allows one to think the unthinkable. I couldn’t explain it to you better without casting the spell on you. But regardless, the important part was that armed with this text, I snuck into the stronghold and fought its defensive language. For half a mile, I cut and slashed and edited to reach our god’s temple.”

Shannon’s smile grew. “Hakeem was reading at a desk when I reached him. He manifests himself as a thin, tawny-skinned man with silver hair and a long beard. It was the most mundane scene imaginable, and there I was stumbling into his temple, bristling with attack spells and soaked in my own blood. Without even looking up, Hakeem raises a hand and says, ‘A moment, my son, I’m near the end of a chapter.’”

Nicodemus’s eyes widened. “And then?”

“Then he finished the chapter, of course.” Shannon laughed. “And I threw myself at his feet and begged for mercy. I told him I would do anything for my family-I’d undertake any task, perform any labor; I’d die for them… and Hakeem did indeed have a task for me.”

The wizard’s smile fell into a grim line. “A malicious godspell from one of Hakeem’s enemies had penetrated his defenses and burrowed into his ark, the physical seat of his soul. All attempts to disspell this traplike curse had failed. So, because the trap could not be disarmed, it had to be sprung.”

“Hakeem made you take on the curse?”

“Made me? I embraced it. It was written to destroy a god, not a man. There was a chance it would do nothing at all to me; there was a chance it would kill me outright. I didn’t care. Without my wife or son, I couldn’t live.”

“And the curse was written in Language Prime? Is that how you know it exists?”