The three rounded to the temple's front, passing between the paired triple columns and through the wide double doors. They stepped directly into the main sanctuary room.
Hardwood floors were polished weekly, as were the long tables stretching up both sides of the main chamber to the stagelike altar. But Rodian saw no sign of Minister Taultian or his acolytes. At the room's far end, upon the raised platform's central dais, stood three life-size figures carved from white marble.
A man wearing the clothes of a common laborer stood behind a woman with a book in her arms. Before the pair was a child with long hair, too young to ascertain its gender.
The Toiler, the Maker, and the Dreamer.
Swenen the Father—the Toiler—gathered what had passed and supplied the Mother's needs. Wyrthana the Mother—the Maker—tended and prepared for what was needed at present. Méatenge the Child—the Dreamer—imagined future days and what might be.
This trinity maintained past, present, and future for all sentient beings, and always would. The sages in their scholarly fervor read too much into what they uncovered. Their eager speculations led them astray. Life, as well as sentienrinll as sce, had always been—would always be—ever-growing and continuous from the first spark of sentience itself. There had been no "great war" that covered the world.
Such extreme interpretation of uncovered relics only created fear and interfered with the natural order. The very idea was offensive, as Toiler, Maker, and Dreamer would've never allowed anything so horrible to occur.
Before stepping fully into the sanctuary, all three men paused to whisper in unity.
"By the Toiler…" And they raised one hand, fingers up with palm turned sideways.
"By the Maker…" And they each closed that hand gently, as if grasping something from the empty air.
"And by the Dreamer…" And they pulled their closed hands, thumb side inward, to their foreheads.
"Bless all who turn this way with heart, mind, and eyes open."
Rodian led the way through the sanctuary. They passed around the dais and through a rear door into the minister's office with a small hearth.
It always remained open and accessible to the entire congregation. Furnished with simple chairs with somber-colored cushions, the room also contained a wide ash-wood desk and two smaller matching writing tables. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with carefully maintained volumes. They held the overview of knowledge and culture of the world, as well as the teachings of the faith.
Knowledge was sacred, and some of these texts contained records of the world's true history, and the manner in which awareness came into being.
Rodian realized he was growing hungry and thirsty. He set a half-full teakettle on a hook over the fire. No one had spoken since their prayer upon entry, and Jason folded his arms. Âdweard cocked his head, studying Rodian with concern.
"I've not seen you this troubled in a long while," he said. "And you missed the last service… as well as the social the night before."
Rodian breathed in twice, uncertain where to begin. This would be far different from questioning citizens at large. These two were more than friends—they were brethren. They shared his beliefs that higher thought and its moral processes were the prime virtue that raised humanity to its cultivated state. And knowledge belonged to those who possessed true ability and clarity to use it.
Other members of the order included nobles, politicians, men and women of the legal fields, and even a few prosperous merchants. New members had to be sponsored for a period of two years. Âdweard had sponsored Rodian, with the added advantage of becoming closely connected to elements of the city's elite.
But regardless of discomfort, truth mattered most, even if it meant interrogating two of his own. And if Jason had anything to do with the death of two misguided young sages, then that truth had to be exposed.
Rodian put tea leaves into three cups and poured the softly boiling water.
"I'm conducting an investigation for the sages' guild," he finally said.
Jason's brow wrinkled over a sneer, and even Âdweard couldn't quell the cinch of his brows. The congregation's members viewed the sages as indiscriminate when it came to their choice of initiates, much as they recognized that the guild had also done great good for the people. But they exposed weak-minded initiates to their inflated and imaginative interpretations of history.
"The sages—" Jason began, his voice low and venomous.
"Two journeyors are dead," Rodian cut in, watching him intently. "One was a young man named Elias."
Jason swallowed hard. "Dead? How?"
"Murdered, possibly by poisoning, in an alley near a scriptorium. Do you know a girl named Elvina?"
Rodian fired his final question before Jason responded to anything else. He watched the young man's eyes widen in silence. Jason dropped his arms, turning wary and frightened.
"What is this about?" Âdweard asked sharply.
For the first time Rodian regretted his position. "There is a claim that Jason made threats against Elias… because of this girl."
"Who?" Jason demanded. "Who said that?"
"Did you threaten him?"
"He shouldn't have even been speaking to her! A sage… not even that, just a journeyor still in—"
"Answer me!" Rodian ordered.
The steel gray of Âdweard's hair echoed suddenly in his hardening gaze, but his son still rambled angrily.
"Someone had to protect her name," Jason growled. "You of all people should know that."
"This is my duty," Rodian returned. "And I am trying to help you. Where were you the night before last?"
Âdweard stared in shock and then ran a hand over his face. "Of course, Siweard, as captain of the guard you must follow this through. Faith as well as duty demand it." He settled slowly into a chair. "Drink your tea. You look tired."
Tension faded as Rodian sat and took a long sip, the liquid's warmth flowing down his throat. He took another sip.
"Jason was with me that night—and Minister Taultian," Âdweard said. "As well as many others here in the temple. We first went to the Sea Bounty for an early supper, and then came here for a social to plan the next gathering. Later we went home."
"How late?"
"Near the mid of night, the fourth bell. Much later than old Taultian could stand. He retired earlier, once ceremonial considerations were in order."
Rodian settled back in his chair and couldn't stop a long exhale of relieved tension.
As with Selwyn Midton, Jason's alibi didn't exonerate him. He could've hired someone else to kill Elias. A father's witness would be suspect, but it was a start. Jason was accused of threatening a young sage, and crimes of passion weren't usually carried out by hired thugs.
"So," Âdweard said, "you now have my word, though you could certainly ask after others of the congregation."
Rodian nodded and waved off the suggestion. Jason was far from a paragon of the congregation, and too sly for his own good. But Rodian didn't believe the son of Baron Twynam capable of such cold-blooded brutality. A petty whelp and a bully, but rarely would that kind go as far as murder.
"I'll need written statements from you both," he said, "and one from Minister Taultian. That should be enough, if any further pursuit of Jason arises. If I can solve this soon, the statements will be filed away without undue attention."
Jason puffed a breath and turned aside, averting his indignant gaze.
"Thank you." Âdweard sighed. "Two young sages murdered. I cannot see why. What do you believe was the true motive?"
"A folio of scribed pages," Rodian answered. "Have you heard anything concerning a translation project at the guild?"