Keyla dabbed her quill into the inkwell she’d taken from a merchant’s cart while he was engaged with a fruit vendor when she’d gone out in search of breakfast that morning. She had started copying it from the beginning a few hours ago. She turned the page in Margaan’s diary, and continued transcribing it onto the blank journal she’d taken from Mr. Teknar’s office.

We are all equal, I say. We are all of two legs, two arms, two thumbs. We are all sentient. We build civilizations, and though they differ from one another across cultural foundations, they nevertheless all separate us from the kingdom of animals. Why, then, should birth matter?

Why, indeed? Keyla wondered at this as she dipped the quill again. Order was why, she knew. Selah sought to preserve order and peace in their society. Yet despite having been taught that all her life, she found herself curious about Margaan’s resistance to the idea.

Why should the luck of having been born to noble or high ranking members of society dictate one’s right to use what is, in fact, a natural part of them? Does being born to a noble family make you a better person? Some may argue that it does, but I push back that it is only due to the educational faculties made available to them, and the expectations placed upon them. Other outside factors play a role, as well. If society were to account for these factors, and apply them across the board, would not all of Ryk’s citizens wield the same respect for accountability? Would not all become capable of the wisdom with which to wield our magicks?

It was hard for Keyla to fault his words. Nevertheless, something nagged at the back of her mind, reminding her that Selah not only opposed him, but gave her life to do so. Certainly Selah must have known something she had yet to grasp.

Days passed as Keyla poured over the diary, voraciously consuming the arguments held therein. Margaan had indeed been a philosopher. Where Selah’s diary made statements, Margaan’s constantly questioned, posited, and theorized.

It became clear to her that the church would go to further, greater lengths to snuff out the flames of resistance this writing could lead to. It was a challenge to their power. Power the church used to keep the citizens in check, and in castes, all presented under a mask of peace and order. Whatever Selah had set out to do, the church that built up around her memory had further twisted to suit its own designs.

Keyla, like Margaan in the first few pages of his diary, was conflicted. She had finished transcribing his words into the second journal, and could understand where he was coming from. At the same time, it seemed to Keyla that without order in society, chaos would take hold. Wasn’t there a way that everybody could use the magick that apparently existed in them naturally, without its use being determined by the life you were born into?

She thought on it as she closed her copy of the diary. Perhaps she should visit Mr. Teknar? He may be able to shed light on the conflict within her. He’d apparently been studying the diary as well before she took it, and had attracted enough attention doing so to merit Father Chantol paying her to steal it.

Fairly certain that she hadn’t been seen by any household staff that night, she made up her mind. She would visit his townhouse tomorrow, and bring the diary as a peace offering. She had her own copy now, after all.

How would she explain that she knew it was his? Keyla spent the evening pacing the floor of Auldavulin’s forming her plan. In the end, honesty may prove the best tactic here. If Mr. Teknar was indeed a Margaanite, surely he would value honesty. He would certainly understand the church wanting the book out of his hands. Perhaps he would welcome her not as the thief who had stolen his property, but as a girl whose eyes had been opened and sought to make amends by returning it.

The thought of parting with it sent pangs frantic worry through her chest in waves, but she closed her eyes breathed slowly and methodically through her nose until they began to fade. She still didn’t understand her attachment to the diary, but she would need to master her over emotion if she was going to have any chance at finally understanding the words it held within.

The next morning she took a few moments to bathe again. She’d washed her clothes a few days prior, and while they had been scuffed in her flight from the church, they were otherwise still serviceable. She decided it would be best not to risk losing her own copy of Margaan’s Diary, and so she hid it beneath the loose floorboard near her bedding. With the original securely in her pocket, Keyla left the distillery and began the trek to the Upper Ward.

|||||||||||||||

“I’m sorry but the master isn’t taking visitors at this time, girl,” the servant who answered the door said with a slight curl of his lip.

Keyla was used to that. It was obvious, even in clean clothes, that she was in a lowly caste. Still, there didn’t seem to be any of the usual disgust behind the statement. It was as if the man didn’t really mean it, but was speaking to her that way out of habit. That was new.

She was fairly certain he was the servant in the kitchen the night she’d broken in, and the one who had almost caught her.

Without a word she reached into her pocket and pulled out the diary.

The man stopped halfway through the process of closing the door and froze, looking down at her offering with narrowed eyes.

“Come in,” he said simply as he opened the door and stepped aside to let her pass. “Wait here in the foyer, I will…speak with the master.”

Keyla looked around the entryway as he walked up the stairs opposite the door. In the daylight, it was much more welcoming. The floor was a series of black and white marble tiles in a diamond pattern, which shone slightly from the light coming through the windows. It gave the area an airy feeling. She thought it was silly, spending money on something like that floor, when it could easily serve its purpose as wooden planks. Even nice, polished planks would leave much coin left over for other things like food, or more of that jasmine and clove perfume.

She glanced up the stairs, but couldn’t make out the hallway table where the flacon was, from where she stood.

The sound of footsteps came from above and the servant appeared from the top of the stairwell.

“Come”, he said simply.

Keyla clutched the diary in her hands and walked up the stairs to join him.

The man sniffed, then turned to lead her toward the library.

Inside were more people than Keyla had expected, and her eyes widened before she controlled her face and brought it back to a neutral expression. A quick count told her there were ten visitors, but only a handful of them were dressed as splendidly as she expected. The others were their servants, perhaps? Yet they all seemed to be standing as equals, both men and women.

All turned to look at her as she entered, and she tried to mask her gulp. She had never liked attention.

“Goodness. Dekkar here didn’t tell me how young you were, child.”

The man speaking must be Mr. Teknar. His build fit the silhouette she’d seen through the keyhole that night. He wasn’t ugly, but she didn’t find him particularly handsome either. He was relatively slim, with a thin mustache that didn’t connect under the nose, and shaved chin.

She didn’t respond. The servant, Dekkar apparently, was still behind her, blocking the doorway. Her pulse quickened but she tried to breathe normally.

“Or perhaps not as young as you first appear,” Teknar said as he looked more closely at her. “Petite to be sure, and certainly undernourished. I suppose that would have stunted your development.”

The others in the room watched the two of them without comment, occasionally sipping their drinks.

“Not one for idle talk, are you? Well then, Dekkar says you’ve my property with you. Are you… returning it?”

Keyla forced herself to raise her hands, both of which were now tightly gripping the diary, so he could see it.

“Ah, yes. I was a mite upset when I found that missing. How did you come by it?”

Keyla glanced at the others in the room. She could detect no malice in their eyes, but a guarded curiosity of sorts. Dekkar was still behind her, and the urge to shuffle from foot to foot was hard to suppress. She was always nervous when an exit was blocked.

“You’ve nothing to fear here, girl. You obviously know who I am. Harming a young girl would tarnish my reputation in ways I care not to explore.”

She swallowed and licked her lips. They’d gone dry and felt cracked.

“I stole it from Father Chantol earlier this week,” she finally said. Her voice, despite her nerves, came out evenly. She silently thanked Selah, pleased to avoid embarrassing herself.

“Stole? You’re a thief, then. A member of the guild?”

Keyla shook her head. “Never.”

Teknar waited a moment but when it was clear she wasn’t going to elaborate, he continued.

“And how did you know that this belonged to me?”

“Because Father Chantol paid me to steal it from you the night before,” she responded. Mr. Teknar seemed to be a very intelligent man. She’d learned at an early age that giving up too much information freely gave power to the other person. She would be honest with him, but if he had to earn it, he would respect her more for it. If she was to get answers out of him, she needed him to see value in her.

Amusement sparkled in his eyes.

“So you’re the mysterious thief who jumped from my window that night. I’m pleased you didn’t hurt yourself.”

She shrugged.

Ice clinked in his glass as he set the tumbler down on the coffee table in the center of the room. He stepped toward her, opening his hands in front of him as he did so.

“Why then, after successfully breaking into my home and leaping out into the night with my possession, are you returning it?”

“I have questions.”

A smile came to Teknar’s lips to match the crinkles at his eyes. “So you’ve read it.”

“Yes.”

“And you want to know why the church is doing everything it can to keep this knowledge off the streets.”

“I already know that. It’s a threat to their establishment.”

One of the older, well dressed gentlemen cleared his throat and looked sideways at Teknar, but her host ignored him. The woman next to him tilted her head as she looked at Keyla.

“I too, have questions,” Teknar said. “For one, how is it that constables came to my door two days ago and brought me in for questioning on the suspicion that it was I, or someone in my employ, who stole from the church?”

Time to give up some of her information as a show of her worth.

“Because I stole the pocket watch your wife gave you the night I took the diary, and I left it on the floor of Father Chantol’s office as I fled the scene to cast suspicion away from me.”

He raised an eyebrow, then his eyes widened in acknowledgment. “Yes, from the music room! I haven’t used that room in a fortnight. I forgot I’d left it in there. You made yourself at home here that night, then.”

“I didn’t visit the third floor. Once you left the office I retrieved what I came for, and left.”

Teknar nodded and Keyla took a moment to glance around the room again. They were all staring at her as if she were a curiosity they’d never seen before. She shifted from foot to foot a couple of times before locking her legs in place. The scrutiny was uncomfortable and very, very unfamiliar.

He sighed. “Well, while I didn’t particularly enjoy being questioned, I had an irrefutable alibi for that night. In the end it is what it is, and you’re here now.”

Keyla had expected him to be more upset, but his amused smile curled the corners of his mouth once more. He also still hadn’t moved to take the diary from her.

She watched as Mr. Teknar looked around the room, making eye contact with each person present. He even waited to receive nods from who she thought were servants, before turning back to her.

“Before I continue, I find myself at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

Right. Simple etiquette. “Keyla,” she replied.

He bowed to her. “Keyla, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. We always welcome inquisitive minds who seek to challenge the teachings ingrained in Ryk’s culture and open themselves to a broader truth.

“We,” he lifted his arms to motion to the others in the room, “are Margaanites, and we would see the church’s power diminished.”

Keyla looked at the others in the room once more. Dekkar had moved in and was no longer blocking the door. Instead, he had picked up a glass of the amber liquid as well, and was sipping it as he leaned up against the back of a leather chair. That was quite unlike a servant to do.

He looked at her again, his gaze piercing her own. “You look so very familiar,” he said, his voice trailing off uncharacteristically. Several heads nodded in agreement. Teknar cocked his head as if listening to something only he could here, then seemed to regain his focus.

“We do not agree with all of the Ryk’s laws. The caste system, for instance, limits the citizenry for incredibly stupid reasons,” Teknar continued. “We act the part in public, but behind closed doors all present here have committed to cast aside the traditional hierarchy. Dekkar here still maintains my household, but also has his own room on the third floor. We’ve converted the servant’s quarters in the kitchen into a second pantry. When we are at home, he is simply my friend and employee.

Martha here, as you may well guess by her garb, is a servant down the street. She is only a servant due to society, however. She’s just as quick of intellect as I.”

The woman snorted.

“Well, perhaps she is even smarter. Regardless, the system is illogical and only serves to empower the church. Do they not refer to us as their flock, whom they tend? Who holds the power in a flock? The Shepherd, for the flock are mindless animals who follow the shepherd, wherever he may go, without question. That is what they want.

And so we maintain our respective roles in public, but meet in secret to explore ways in which we might alter society’s perspective.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” the elderly gentleman who’d cleared his throat earlier whispered to Teknar.

“Elfrad, my friend, look at her. Look closely.”

The man bristled at hearing his name, but moved his eyes over Keyla. After a moment of studying her face, he sighed, and seated himself in the leather chair behind him.

“What does looking at me have to do with anything?” Keyla asked.

Teknar waved his hand, dismissing her question. “Ask yourself this, miss Keyla. The priests wield powerful magick, as do the nobles. As do I, and many of us here in this room. Yet you do not. Why?”

“Because I’m a street rat.”

“So?”

“So I’m a criminal. I can’t be trusted to understand the responsibility that would come with wielding that kind of power.” She knew as she spoke that he was leading her on, and so she gave him the answer she knew he wanted.

Teknar nodded. “And yet, you came here today and confessed your crime to me. You brought the book back. You are honest, which begs the question: are you not worthy of trust?”

She shrugged and remained silent.

“We believe that the church is corrupt. They have twisted Selah’s sacrifice into a tool to oppress and subdue the population of Ryk. They’ve robbed the citizenry, they’ve robbed you, of a magick that exists inside us all. Magick that is ready to be called upon and harnessed for all our benefit.”

Everyone in the room was nodding along with his words.

“And so we find ourselves plotting behind closed doors, a hidden rebellion of sorts. We believe that Margaan may have had the right of it, at least in the beginning. Nobody here will deny that Selah sacrificed herself for the good of her people, for the good of us. But her diary only tells half the story, and given what the church has done with her sacrifice, we must question everything.”

Keyla found herself nodding along with Teknar as he spoke.

He looked toward the wall, his eyes far away, and cocked his head again. He shrugged and turned back to her.

“We’re hoping to start a revolution. We’re hoping,” he paused for emphasis, “to bring Margaan back from his exile.”

Keyla’s eyes widened and her mouth parted in shock. Was that even possible?

“Unfortunately, we cannot decipher the second half of his Diary, as it’s written in code. We haven’t found a cipher for it, yet.”

She scrunched her brows in confusion. “I read the whole thing, though.”

Only after speaking did she want to smack her forehead. She shouldn’t have given away that she could read it, if they could not!

Teknar smiled. “Margaan was a very powerful magick user. Did you read to the last page?”

“Yes,” she replied. There was no reason not to admit it, now.

“Did you notice in his writing, how he spaced each of his lines further apart than usual? Further apart than Selah’s lines appear to be?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so.”

“May I?” Teknar held out a hand to her, motioning toward the book.

Her mind screamed at her not to do it, but she held out the diary to him. She watched as he took it in one hand, and then her jaw went slack as she watched him call forth a small white ball of light in his other hand. She had never seen such casual use of magick this closely before.

Teknar turned one of the pages halfway so it stuck up in the air, and moved his white orb of light behind it.

“Look at the space, again.”

Keyla looked at the page. The empty space between the lines of his script now showed additional writing!

I feel I’m on the cusp of something dark, something we weren’t meant to know. If I can uncover this, everything will change. I just need more time!

“Margaan wrote with a magickal ink that only magick light, from behind it, can reveal. You’ve only read half of his story, miss Keyla.”

Keyla’s chest tightened at the realization that there was more to Margaan available to her. She had to get the book back, had to read what else he had to say before he was banished. She needed it with every fiber of her being.

Her mind began to race with ideas about how she could sneak back in here at night.

She looked up at Teknar. He’d glanced away from her, his eyes far away again, but snapped back and looked at her. He handed the diary back to her. She hugged it to her chest without realizing it.

“I’ve copied the book dozens of times over for all the members here, and more. You can hang onto this one,” he said.

She nodded. This time, she didn’t mention that she could read the words scribed in magick ink. They couldn’t read it, thinking it was in some kind of code, yet it appeared clearly for her!

Keyla’s thoughts raced through her mind, almost too quickly to grasp onto. She could read the book, so she could unveil Margaan’s remaining secrets and finally have the whole story. She could copy this second half into the other empty journal she’d stolen. She could… She could do none of those things, without magick light.

“You look disappointed. Do you not want it?” Teknar asked.

“No! I do! I do, I just… I won’t be able to help with deciphering it. I can’t use magick,” she replied, letting her voice trail off in what she hoped was a dejected manner. Please, Selah, let this work.

“That is remedied easily enough, miss Keyla.”

She looked up at him questioningly.

“Join us. I can teach you how to find the light within yourself.”