The spells that the old man, Serxien, cast caught the diviner’s attention, and by feel she could sense that they were not those of nullification, but burning – pyromancy, something that she had only a very basic grasp of. This was powerful, however, for in addition to the spell’s intense temperature, it had also been expertly directed, at the hinges it seemed, enough to loosen them through expanding the metal by heating it. This was what Callista thought as the door swung open, anything to distract her from the rich stink of death that grew more intense by the second.<br/><br/>The church’s musty interior was no different from any other that Callista had been in over the course of her life, though significantly shabbier and less grandiose than she was used to. Certainly not as clean and well-maintained as the church’s exterior, which led her to wonder if maybe there was an illusion of some sort cast over the outside. Certainly the area was so saturated with magic that it would have been hard to detect the illusion without searching for it – something that she would do once they left. Worn staff close and large eyes wide open, Callista moved down the aisle behind the knight, scanning from side to side between the silent rows of pews, somehow afraid that someone might jump out at her from between them. She did not associate good memories with churches.<br/><br/>Moving in the candlelit quiet, ears straining and eyes flitting back and forth, the girl was shocked out of her almost reverie-like state of searching when Tokar called out to her.<br/><br/>“Diviner! A ledger of some sort! Here!”<br/><br/>Callista whirled to face the knight, throwing her arms up instinctively to catch the ledger, which was fortunately rather small. Had it been the size of some of the tomes Callista had sometimes seen at the altars of churches she would surely have been knocked off her feet. Unfortunately, the moment she clutched the hard leather backing to her chest, the girl felt a familiar pressure in the back of her head and realised that she was getting another vision. With no preparation, and as distracted as she had been by the ominous surroundings and not being hit in the face with the book, Callista could do nothing but accept it, mutely crumping to the ground as the world around her went black, perception withdrawing to within her mind.<br/><br/>It was dark – so dark that Callista could make out nothing of her surroundings, but the closeness of the air indicated that she was inside, in a very small room indeed. The only source of light was a candle set into a desk, but its meagre glow rather gave the blackness a contrast that made it seem all the blacker. At the desk was a bald man in a robe scratching urgently at a long roll of parchment with a quill. Sweat dripped off his brow onto the cured leather, but he did not wipe it away, instead continuing his frenzied scribbling. There was no ink in the quill, but he was pushing hard enough to leave serious marks, though Callista could not make them out in any detail as his hunched posture left him blocking much of the view.<br/><br/>All of a sudden the man sat up to attention, as if he had detected something, though Callista could see nothing new, and his voice was a half-strangled, hoarse squeak that was rich with fear and exhaustion in equal measure, staring at a point in the darkness.<br/><br/>"Is it ready? Did you prepare it?"<br/><br/>He rose to his feet, rolling up the parchment, and swayed to the side, white-knuckled fingers clutching at the desk for support. Callista changed her angle, and saw that blood had begun to bubble at his lips, before pouring freely from his mouth at a rate that indicated serious haemorrhaging had taken place. He coughed, ejecting a black, scabby wad that stuck to the front of his robe, but he looked up at the same point in the darkness and continued talking, his voice coming in halting gurgles, choked by the blood, and made faltering steps forward.<br/><br/>"Go…I'll stay and…buy time…hurry!"<br/><br/>The last word was spoken with unusual force as he held up the stiffening arm holding the parchment into the darkness, as if offering it. Callista saw, projected in the light of the candle, the silhouette of a hand reaching for it…<br/><br/>“…hear me? Callista! Can you hear me?”<br/><br/>A large, rough hand was on the girl’s shoulder, and she felt her senses returning, primarily the cold of the hard floor under her and the warmth of the bodies kneeling over her, and the taste of the cold stone floor – she had landed face-down, mouth slightly open. Instinctively, Callista stuck a probing hand into her trousers – dry. At least she hadn’t soiled herself, so the vision hadn’t been that powerful. The knight sounded concerned, unduly so, while the elderly sorcerer remained silent.<br/><br/>"I'm so sorry! Are you ok? What happened?"<br/><br/>Feeling strength returning to her limbs, Callista put her arms under her chest and pushed herself off the ground, grabbing her staff as she slowly and gracefully rose to her feet, and shrugged Tokar’s hand off her, shying away from it a little bit. She felt distinctly uncomfortable when being touched.<br/><br/>“A vision, but I wasn’t prepared. The unannounced ones are so rare now…I can usually feel them from a long way off, stop them if they aren’t convenient”<br/><br/>Callista’s voice was bitter, disappointed in herself as she was, but it was not just the lack of discipline that irritated her. The vision did not reveal anything relevant. It was irritatingly vague, and to one who could see into the future with enough clarity to read entire letters yet to be written could be usually designated a failure. Yet, in this strange place, with its odd aura, it might serve to remember it. But she would not share it with the knight and wizard, who already thought she spoke in strange riddles.<br/><br/>“It wasn’t anything useful” she sniffed, and looked Tokar in the eye as she unstrapped the length of string holding the pages of the book together, and bent over to scan the few pages that remained in the thing, for upon opening she realised that its interior was muddy and torn. Reading aloud, Callista saw the remaining half of the first page said<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"The jewel that was brought here was of no holy origin. Whatever pit spawned it has influenced the others of the town. hey've turned inward and despite their attending the sermons I'm convinced they've turned from the light. The trend has been in place for several days and I'm preparing to. . ."</span><br/><br/>before devolving to illegible smudges, and eventually a large tear. Its reverse carried the writing<br/><br/>"The absence left an influence on the Lullaby and for the worse. The townspeople are proving more agitated and have even fallen to hostility. I dare not leave the monastery now and only hope that Lucien moves with haste. I sent him this morning and pray that he finds some illumination . . ."<br/><br/>The only other page was slightly less cryptic, and seemed to yield solid information:<br/><br/>"Lucien has been gone for several suns and I worry about him. Bandits litter the hills and there seems to be darker things in the lands as of late. Aldrius has seemingly been the only soul of the town to remain untainted and I can't help but wonder if the jewel itself has been the source of the corruption. I no longer feel safe here and will attempt to seal myself in here and study."<br/><br/>Callista straightened up as she shut the journal, handing it back to Tokar with a worried look on her face. The vision now made a little more sense now. In fact, it made worrying sense. It had not been a vision from the future, but a glimpse of the past. Something that usually only the most attuned telepaths could receive. But then why had she got it?<br/><br/>“Tokar, Serxien, in my vision there was a man, dressed in a monk’s habit, writing on a parchment – but the quill had no ink. Blood began pouring from his mouth” Callista’s voice was tinged with fear, eyes wide open, but her composure otherwise intact “and he rolled it up, handing it to someone and telling them that he would ‘buy time’…I don’t think that the locked door was meant to stop anyone from going in. I think it was meant to stop something from getting out”