The statue stood tall and dignified; in one hand an open book, in the other an ink quill. A mouthless mask covered the face, but the rest of the statue’s features were distinctly masculine. A fine robe had been carved, intricate in its detail and so lifelike she thought it must feel like silk and velvet to touch. Though there were no patrons kneeling in supplication, a great many partially melted candles surrounded the statue’s slipper clad feet. The flames bent back and forth with a delicate wind, playing shadows along the wall and drawing her attention to the shape of the man, his stature, and the way the quill fit so naturally within an aged hand. In a strange moment somewhere between her last breath and the next, a sense of familiarity enveloped her.
“Dnara?” Athan called from across the hall before his bootsteps led him to where she stood, staring up at the masked statue and its open book. “There you are.”
“Who is this?” she asked without shifting her gaze away from the statue.
“The Storyteller,” Athan answered, stopping a step behind her.
“The Storyteller...” she repeated, hoping the name would reinforce the sensation of familiarity.
“Yeah, you know? God of Destiny?”
But, she didn’t know. Of all the gods she’d been instructed to learn about, she’d never been told this one’s story. “Why is he apart from the others?”
“He’s not worshiped by many in Carnath,” Athan explained. “We like to think ourselves the masters of our own destinies.”
“Oh.” She relaxed. “Maybe that’s why my keeper never spoke of him when he shared stories of the other gods.”
“Maybe,” Athan shrugged. “Ishkar is much more popular in Orynthis.”
Her heart stopped. “Ishkar?”
“Yeah, that’s his true name, those in Orynthis say. We just call him the Storyteller, because that’s what he does. He writes down the story of Ellium, what has happened and what will happen. Not... Not that I fully believe any of that. He was probably just some old guy from a long time ago who wrote down the history of kingdoms and wars and whatnot.” He paused, then said more quietly, “Except...”
“Except?” The word barely made it past a throat that had gone dry, her mind still hung on a name she’d done everything to forget.
“Well, there are the Oracles,” Athan continued. “Books of prophecy. Never seen one myself; not many have. They’re kept in a vault in Orynthis. Supposedly he wrote them, over a thousand years ago, and they contain verses that are supposed to describe events that haven’t happened yet. Or, at least they did. The last verse in the last book, if the scholars are to be believed, stopped after foretelling the Declaration of Oranges.”
“Oranges?” The confusion growing within Dnara’s mind only compounded the unease swelling her chest as she stood under the masked gaze of the statue bearing a name she should not know but did.
“Yeah... You know, the declaration by King Fornel to begin burning...all the...fields...” He trailed off as her head slowly shook from side to side, her eyes wide and her mind overwhelmed by all she did not know. “You don’t know? Do you know of King Fornel? King Lelandis’s grandfather? ...No? Okay, what about the Silent Agreement? The Four Pillars? ...The fall of D’nas Glas, or-” He stopped as her head shook without pause. “Just how old were those books in that tower?”
“Older than I had realized,” she whispered, as if speaking too loudly may awaken the statue, assured it would have a familiar face behind the mouthless mask. But, it couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense. So many things in this world didn’t make sense...
“Dnara,” Athan, too, whispered, his voice hushed in concern as his hand touched her shoulder. “What’s wrong? You... You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have. Or, heard one, at least.” She faced away from the mask, meeting Athan’s gaze. “Is... Is Ishkar a name sometimes used by others as their own?”
Athan’s brow knit in confusion. “I... I wouldn’t think so. I mean, it’d take some ego to name yourself or your kid after a god, right?”
“The ego of a mage?” she asked, hopeful as yet to have some sense thrown upon a world she didn’t understand.
“Yeah, I guess if anyone would, it’d be a mage. Ishkar himself had to have been a powerful mage to have the gift of prophecy. Why do you ask?”
“My keeper is, was, a most powerful mage.” Dnara looked back up at the masked face, wishing to have it removed so she could ease the swirling uncertainty surrounding her in this small enclave. “But, gods don’t die, do they?”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” Athan replied instead of answering.
“Neither do I.” She reached out to a lit candle, held her hand over the flame and felt the heat tickling her palm. Words carried by the wind whispered from the shadows, pleading with her to understand, to give them a voice in a world that could not hear them. “There is so much I don’t understand, Athan. I feel close to an answer, a reason for all this...madness, but it eludes me.”
She stared into the flames, searching for
