In the hushed silence, the one that normally accompanies places of learning, books towered. The old stone was shadowed and dusty, but the books were surprisingly clean, showing a reverence for the written word that mere rocks could never attain.

In-between the towering piles of books a shadow drifted, looking from left to right  in the dimness, cloth whispering as it passed. The shadow paused, a stray portion of light reflecting brilliantly in the darkness before being stifled again as the shadow turned and fingers lifted a book from its resting place...

Suddenly the warm light of a lantern appeared around one of the shelves in the hand of a round old lady in the stern habit of the Judge, causing the shadow to turn around with a jerk and drop the book in surprise, falling onto his behind as they tripped over their clothes.

“Young master! What in the name of the Judge are you doing here? You know that your parents will want you back for dinner soon!”

The boy looked up, wide eyes blinking for a few moments before he spoke, childish voice grave and serious even then, “We’re inside the temple Mrs. Penny.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just wander about willy nilly! And just look at this, leaving a book just lying there in the dust!”

With a bustling motion the lady moved forward, immediately tending to the book as the little boy stood up, brushing off his slightly over-long habit and watching curiously as she replaced the book with loving care.

Now he was not a normal boy. Most would wonder why she hadn’t tended to the boy first, or told him off more thoroughly, or cart him back. However he could clearly see she hadn’t tended to him first because he was 6 and could look after himself.

“Are books that important?” he asked instead as the woman picked up the lantern again and stared at him as if he’d just asked whether demons were bad.

“Of course books are important! Don’t tell me you’ve never had a chance to read a good one?”

“The only ones my parents give me are silly,” he retorted, “they’re mostly about ducks.”

At this the woman looked as if she wasn’t sure whether to be amused or appalled, “Well a boy with your kind of mind should be reading much more interesting things than that, let’s see let’s see, where to start...”

And so, dinner entirely forgotten, the boy trotted after the librarian, habit swishing slightly as it swept the floor behind him.

--

Time passed, and as the librarian watched, the boy wandering the library grew, the tuft at the back of his head becoming a flowing horsetail, the habit being let out and replaced until he wore the well-tailored one of a full priest drifting behind him. The strides grew longer, more measured, normally looking down at a book in his hand, finger tracing a particular reference as he fixed it into his head, occasionally rubbing the bridge of his nose in thought.

Fascinating, the man thought to himself as he replaced a book back on the shelf. Our family history is long indeed, he commented and frowned slightly. It was true it was fascinating... yet something was niggling at the back of his mind, something didn’t quite fit, was slightly out of sync.

Howitzer Voltanis Elderwood, aka Howitz paused for a moment with eyebrows drawn together, then the book was back in his hand again, nimble fingers flitting through the pages before he stopped, finger resting precisely on where a former Elderwood wrote of his prayer at the heart of a battlefield. There. That was it. Now, what had struck him as odd?

A rub of the bridge of his nose, a stern glance as he turned the words over in his mind. He was still thinking it over later as he joined the other priests for worship. The words rolled over him as his thoughts drifted, watching the candles suspended in their dishes swayed. He considered timing it for a moment, but then simply watched the shadows on the carving of the Judge behind it.

First the shadows stretched one way, then the other, then back... Howitz frowned again, watching as one side of the face, then the other, was obscured. Light and dark, just like their habits. Wait...

In a swift but concealed movement the book was open in his hand. That was it... whenever the diary had mentioned the praying of he or his fellows, it had been familiar, but there WERE subtle differences. Even comparing it to what he was hearing now he could spot the alterations. Smiting seemed almost unmentioned by half his ancestors, and the Judge was, in all honesty, dedicated to punishing the guilty. An image of blood and hammers wrapped in darkness came to mind. Yes, dark places and torture chambers.

But all the other Gods have Darkness AND Light, he thought furiously, looking at his habit, at the shadows, Our God is dedicated to balance and justice, so why is he the only one to have no Light?

THAT was what had been disturbing him. Most of his fellows were so zealous, and yet he was a scholar, it had been like there was something fundamentally different between them that he had always put down to his interest in learning, the urge to find what really happened. However... what if they simply held a different aspect of the god close to their souls?

Had he been following the light side of the Judge without realising it?

The man remained seated where he was even after the others had left, simply looking down at the book in his hands. He... he had always been a sensible and somewhat serious person, not prone to wild flights of emotion or fancy, but currently his cool head was failing him.

It felt like the foundations of his life were crumbling into darkness and hammers below, while above was light and the fluttering of pages. It was hardly much of a choice.

For once, the scholar allowed himself a smile, just a gentle smile to himself. So... this was what finding your calling meant.

~The beginning.