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the Church must adapt to that truth, in order to remain a vital entity on this world. The survival of our dream,” he stressed, “depends upon it.”
    For a long moment the Patriarch simply gazed upon him, silent. “She chose well,” he said at last. Ivory silk rippled in the breeze as he reached out to take hold of the window and shut it again. “But tell me this. When you work your sorcery—when you hold the essence of this world in your hands, and use your will to give it form—can you honestly tell me that the concept of power, for its own sake, doesn’t tempt you? Have you never once Worked the fae for your own good—your own personal good, independent of the Church’s need? Never once changed the face of Nature for your own benefit? Or dreamed of doing so?”
    “I’m as human as you are,” Damien answered curtly. “We all have our temptations. But our ability to rise above them—to serve an ideal, rather than the dictates of selfish instinct—is what defines us as a species.”
    “Ah, yes.” The Patriarch nodded. “The Prophet’s words. He failed us, you’ll recall. And himself. As have all men, who tried to reconcile sorcery with our faith. Remember that.”
    He walked to the heavy mahogova chair and sat down in it, smoothing the folds of his robe beneath him as he did so. And he sighed. “You’ll have your students, Reverend Vryce. Against my better judgment and despite my objections, but you’ll have them. A dozen of our most promising acolytes—chosen not because they have great sorcerous potential, but because their theological background is sound. You will not reach out beyond that group until I’m satisfied that this ... experiment ... can proceed without danger to my charges. Or my Church. Am I making myself clear?”
    Damien bowed, and managed not to grin. Barely. “Very clear, Holiness.”
    He clapped his hands twice. Barely a few seconds later the door swung open, and a young girl in servant’s livery entered.
    “This is Kami. She’ll get you settled in. Kami, take Reverend Vryce to the rooms that have been prepared for him. See that he has a schedule of our services, and anything he needs for tonight. Breakfast is in the Annex, at eight,” he informed Damien. “A chance to meet the rest of our staff under slightly less ... trying circumstances.” His mouth twitched slightly; a smile? “Is that too early for you?”
    “I’ll manage it, Holiness.”
    The Patriarch nodded to Kami, a clear gesture of dismissal. Damien gathered up his pack and turned to follow her—but when they reached the door the Patriarch called his name softly, and he turned back.
    “When it comes time to die,” the Patriarch said, “—and the time will come, as it comes to all men—what will you do then? Bow down to Nature, to the patterns of Earth-life which are the core of our very existence? Help us to lay a foundation whereby our descendants can reclaim the stars? Or submit to the temptations of this alien magic, and sell your soul for another few years of life? As the Prophet tried to do?—Consider that as you retire, Reverend Vryce.”
    It was clearly a dismissal, but Damien stood his ground. “The fae isn’t magic.”
    The Patriarch waved one ringed hand, dismissing the thought. “Semantic exercises. What’s the real difference?”
    “Magic can be controlled,” Damien reminded him. He gave that a moment to sink in, then added, “Isn’t that what Erna’s problem is all about?”
    And he bowed—with only a hint of defiance. “I’ll consider it, Holiness. Good night.”

Three
    The sun had set.
    Narilka stood in the shop’s narrow doorway, eyes fixed on the western horizon. She was cold inside, just as the night was cold without. The sun had set while she was downstairs. Long ago, by the looks of it. How could she have been so careless?
    The stars were almost gone.
    There was no strong light in the heavens, save one full moon that stood balanced along the eastern horizon. Soon even