Alashar broke the silence between them. "You're sure there was nothing happening today?"

"I never said that. You were the one who said it'd be okay."

"And it will be. Relax. It probably has nothing to do with us. But we should get back j-"

"Just to be safe."

"Exactly. Get back now and they'll never know the difference."

They gathered up the stray arrows and deposited them with the bow back into the bonewood hollow. Then they raced through the forest, vaulting over treacherous undergrowth on their way back to town.

When they emerged onto the foothills, Shale's attention drew north, where through the belltower arch, the copper bell swung back and forth. A crowd were gathered at the foot of the monastery steps. There were hundreds of them. Everyone in town must've been concentrated into that throng. Their collective attention was locked on the closed ornate doors of the monastery vestibule.

Alashar gasped.

Shale spun around to the south to face the direction he was looking, then she saw it too.

Beyond the inns and taverns, floating in the harbour, was the biggest ship she'd ever seen. It cast a shadow over the entire southern quarter of town. It had to be ten times bigger than any other present vessel and three times bigger than those large trading cogs that brought spices from Zintarro once a year.

The wood gleamed with fresh white paint and a drawn sail ruffled gently in the breeze. Emblazoned upon the hull of the mammoth structure was a sigil that plunged her heart into melting frost. It was a golden rose, framed upon a black shield.

"The Kersaja," Alashar whispered.

"Eleven, what's going on?"

"I have no idea but-"

"We need to get back."

"Come on then. Stay close together."

They raced through the town centre, where the crowd was so dense that they had to shove and squirm to make any progress. This brought on several glares and chastisements from the townsfolk, but they ignored these and rounded into the alleyway to the side of the monastery.

Once they found the right spot, Alashar knelt and pushed the loose slab. He was so panicked that he managed to find extra strength enough to free it without Shale's assistance. He wriggled through the open square and she followed. The cramped storage room wreaked of rotten paper, tallow fat, and damp wood, which was even more evident after the sweet smells of the forest.

They replaced the slab and crawled to the door, nearly knocking over rows of books and candelabra in the process. Once they passed through the door, they clattered down the corridor as fast as their legs would allow. The walls were trembling from the tolling of the bell. Beneath it, they could hear a gaggle of voices, emanating from the prayer room.

They never got the chance to discuss their next move. Their decision was made for them by the figure emerging from the room to cut them off.

SanMother Zeera's face was the shade of beetroot, contrasting comically against the gentle colours of her sky blue robe. Shale would've found it amusing were she not so deathly afraid. "Where in the name of Tarshara were the two of you?"

Shale and Alashar exchanged a glance, likely sharing the same thought. Why, for the love of the Eleven, hadn't they taken a minute to invent an excuse?

Alashar quickly began constructing a convoluted alibi, on how they'd been in the study, but had to visit the library to source the correct text, and when they'd failed to locate it among the stacks, they had to check the storage room. It was a rather impressive lie, for it being entirely improvised. Although it still didn't explain why they'd failed to respond to the bell, it did cover why they were untraceable to a specific room and why they'd come from this side of the corridor.

Shale remained quiet, for fear that if she spoke, she'd contradict the story.

"Oh, stop your blathering, boy," SanMother Zeera said, interrupting him as he began explaining what they'd been studying. "Don't you think you've kept us waiting long enough?"

"I-"

She caught his wrist in a vice-grip. "You will come with me to the prayer room this instant." She half-turned away, before the afterthought of Shale occurred to her. Her watery eyes focused. "As for you, girl, you will go to your dorm this second. We will exchange words later."

Somehow, Shale imagined few words being spoken in such an exchange.

SanMother Zeera dragged Alashar into the prayer room, like a dragon, hauling a smoldering deer carcass into its den.

Shale was rooted to the spot. Perhaps the smart thing to do would be to retreat to her dorm and count her blessings, but that would mean abandoning her friend to take the majority of the blame.

And while it had been his idea initially, he'd only suggested it to cheer her up. Had their roles been reversed, she was certain he would stand by her. So despite any risk of further punishment, honour compelled her to do the same.

She approached the prayer room. The door was still off the latch, meaning she could ease it open and peer through the gap.

The sight within took her aback. Standing in the aisle, between the pews, were three rows of lightboys, making twenty-four in total. They stood abreast, straight-backed and draped in their formal robes, apart from Alashar, who wore his casual tunic and breeches, which were still muddy from the woods.

What in the name of Bragan was going on? Why had they lined up every lightboy in the monastery as if to be traded like cattle?

Easing the door open further, Shale spied the three most senior SanMothers. Luriene, Matiera, and Zeera also stood in the aisle, but neither they nor the lightboys were the strangest sights.

It was the nine others that were so out of place in this simple room. Eight of them donned ornate steel plate and winged steel helms. Gilded white cloaks flowed over their shoulders, clasped around their necks by a golden rose. The most magnificent thing about their attire were the huge Salmanian greatswords, sheathed across their backs.

There they stood, like giants, ready for battle, as if ripped right from the pages of a storybook.

The Kersaja.

The ninth man wore no armour or cloak. He wore boots and gloves of black satin and a white linen overcoat which fell to his knees. A golden rose was embroidered upon the left side of his chest, over his heart, and there was a second golden rose on the pommel of his Salmanian sword, which was a one-handed version, sheathed to his hip. That marked him as one of the members of the Hekkari Counsel.

Judging by his short curly brown hair, well-groomed beard, and tanned skin, he could only be Mastari Farin Dartor, youngest of the seven Mastari. He perfectly matched the description.

The legendary jouster, who'd unhorsed Malvin the Half Giant, approached the SanMothers. His exact words were inaudible from where Shale stood, but whatever he said caused the seniors to explode into raucous laughter. What a nauseating sight. The old crones acted like it wasn't the first time any of them had so much as cracked a smile in the better part of a century.

"Yes," SanMother Zeera said in a louder voice, "That's all of them now."

"Excellent." Mastari Farin slapped his hands together and marched in a line in front of the lightboys. The way they regarded him was as if one of the Eleven Hekkari Gods walked among them. "You all appear quite surprised to see us in your midst. This pleases me. It means our secret has been well kept. So right to the business of the matter, I trust you are well versed in your Hekkari histories?"

There was a murmur of ascent.

"Then you will know of the Fractured Age, when the Kersaja fought a great war against the Magizyra for rule of Elorona?"

The lightboys nodded. Of course they did. Everyone knew of that period. The Fractured Age was arguably the most famous era of Hekkari history.

"You will of course know that we won, but something that is sadly neglected from modern retellings of the age is a most vital turning point. But we still have the old texts in the Areathellum vaults and we remember. Many of you will have heard of the Treaty of Unification, but there is a lesser known bolstering of strength that came before that, termed the Call of Light."

There came many confused mutters to this.

Shale shared their puzzlement. Whilst she wasn't the most educated lightchild, The Fractured Age was her speciality. It had the most interesting stories, of blood, battle, and betrayal, but she'd never heard of the Call of Light.

"This was a decree by Haeryn Caraendas, beckoning all Hekkari monasteries of Yim to ready their lightboys for voyage to Starstone. From there, they were trained as Kersaja, thus trebling our ranks which faced and defeated the Magizyra scum."

The lightboys looked at each other, their expressions clearly amused at the idea of their kind fighting Magizyra.

"In the past few years, we've had reports of strange folk walking among us again. Rumours are rife that a few Magizyra have returned, as was promised upon their fall. Of course gossip on its own is not enough to ignite action, but these reports coincide with a reading from the Stargazers. They have seen dark things in the future, of a strange, unnatural war that will soon wash over Yim."

The lightboys chatted excitedly. The SanMothers grimaced. It was clear by their lack of surprise they were already privy to this information, but found it no less disturbing to be confirmed by a Mastari.

Could it be true? Magizyra back in Yim?

"Haeryn Yovilus has had his own premonitions too. At the advice of the Hekkari Counsel, he has enacted the Call of Light once again, so if war does befall us, we will be ready. This has caused the Kersaja to journey from town to town, city to city, in an attempt to recruit as many lightboys as possible." He spread his arms. "So here I come, with the truth of the matter. If you're still unsure, let me state it plain. We come here to bring you to Starstone, where you will have the chance to become Kersaja. It is your choice. We will force no one. What say you?"

There was a moment of hesitation as they digested the extraordinary words.

Then, in one explosive moment, the lightboys erupted. They roared, they cheered, they pumped fists into the air. Shale felt sick to see Alashar join them.

Mastari Farin grinned, as if he'd expected nothing less than their full, unflinching commitment. "Excellent. Then we leave immediately, while the winds are strong. Our next stop is Mirrales."

The dark-skinned boy, Nakiir, raised a hand.

"Yes, lad?"

"I have a fleece in my dorm. May I fetch it before we depart?"

"Unfortunately, there will be no taking of personal items."

The excitement drained out of the room. Many lightboys, including Alashar, visibly baulked at this. It seemed unnecessarily harsh, maybe even cruel. All an orphan had were possessions of sentimental value. Shale for one could never imagine being parted from either her book or her amulet.

Mastari Farin took a knee and placed a hand on Nakiir's shoulder. "You must understand, my dear boy, I don't say this for the sake of meanness. It serves as a statement on your end. The reason we recruit lightboys is because you have no pasts. The reason we keep our visits secret is because we need total, instinctive commitment. You must be willing to abandon your old identity at a moment's notice to fully embrace the Kersaja creed. Think of this as your first test, of many, in showing you have what it takes to make it."

Nakiir straightened, finding strength in the words. The others nodded, now seeing the sense in this.

"Once you board the White Nimbus, you will meet Lightserver Valphine, who will take your vows this evening. Your service to the Hekkari will remain from then until the Haeryn declares Yim safe again. Due to the uncertain nature of Stargazer readings, you must be aware that such service could take anywhere from a few years, to the course of your entire lifetime. So consider this your final chance. If you wish to remain here, speak now."

Alashar's heel bobbed. Shale's breath caught in her throat as she saw his mouth open and close. But the seconds rolled by and he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Alright then. Everyone form up," Mastari Farin said.

The lightboys, eager to impress, scrambled, bumping into each other and grunting until they formed a muddled unit. The armoured Kersaja stood to their front while Mastari Farin lingered at the back. Then, he commanded that they march. The lightboys did so, following the Kersaja down the aisle.

Lightgirls Alora and Tarudi opened the vestibule doors, filling the prayer room with glorious sunlight. The townsfolk outside exploded into thunderous applause at the sight of the procession.

The lightboys and Kersaja marched toward them, disappearing through the wall of light and sound.