As soon as Barth heard the news that Quinn's body was found, he'd left Filstar Labs. His flyr zoomed over the sparsely populated Burning Wilderness until he reached Egg Harbor, a sprawling city on the northern coast of the Shallow Sea. Now he was in the morgue, which was bustling with activity after the recent megastorms. It seemed every family in Egg Harbor had lost someone, and it took awhile to find the room he sought.

  Now he stared at the dead body in disbelief. “Are you certain this is him?”

  “Whether this is Quinn, I cannot say,” answered the coroner. “There are no published fotos of him and no identifying information on the body. He went through great pains to hide from the Sheeks. Even his name is a pseudonym. He was certainly born an unknown, a nobody, but used this information to his advantage, fighting the Sheeks by his words and actions, yet never could he be found.”

  “It is not him, then.”

  “But this body matches the hair sample with one hundred percent accuracy. Did you not ask us to call you as soon as the match was found?”

  Barth stared at the body in dismay. Had the V’hogel spy tricked him? Had the hair sample somehow been contaminated, or switched with another? “You are certain this body matches the DNA from the hair sample? Not a false positive?”

  “The test is foolproof. And your detectives brought in this body from South Ranj, exactly where you said it would be found. If this is not Quinn, then the hair was not Quinn's, and Quinn is not dead.”

  Barth looked into the dead Sheepel's eyes: dark brown eyes which stared upward into space unblinking. Are you him? Are you the source of so much mischief? The brown eyes, light orange hair, six feet tall, about 250 pounds… everything lined up with the information he'd gotten during the Hake interrogations. He shook his head in confusion. “But how can it be Quinn? I have seen this Sheepel before.” He took his camera out of his pocket and cycled through the digital fotos until he found the one he was looking for. The same Sheepel popped up on the digital screen: brown eyes, light orange hair, the same arrangement of plates. It was the foto he’d taken of another foto tacked to a wall in Filstar Labs. One of the first Hakes who’d lost his life in an experiment a century ago. Long before the arrival of Quinn, the fall of Kaspari, and the latest uprising of the Hakes. That Hake had lived in another time… yet he was the exact twin of the body that now rested on a long, white stone.

  “Perhaps you have seen him many times. Perhaps he spied on you, as you tried to spy on him. You wouldn't have known it was him, were he dressed in Sheek garb at a dinner function, or in a market...”

  “You don't understand. Do you believe in the afterlife? In resurrection?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “This Sheepel is dead.”

  “Yes,” said the coroner uncomfortably. “That much is apparent. Whether there is an afterlife or not, if you needed him for questioning, it is too late.”

  “That's not what I mean. He died long ago in an experiment at Filstar Laboratories. I saw his foto and eulogy posted on the wall. See, here it is… and the date of his death–that’s ages ago! I took this foto because his face seemed familiar, and now I see why. It was the face I had been looking for from the prisoners’ descriptions, the face of our enemy. Yet, here he is again, the same face, and you say he died this week. You are certain of this?”

  “There is no doubt. He was killed in a vehicraft accident during the storm a week ago. The marks on his body confirm that he was thrown from a window as the vehic swerved to avoid a break in the road, then rolled down an embankment. His body was covered with a cloth and left beside the road. The vehic was abandoned, and its registered owners cannot be found. Yet now you say he died long ago. That is impossible. No one can die twice.”

  “I always thought the same thing. Yet never have I seen two sets of face plates align so perfectly. Take full scans of the body, then freeze it. Send the scans to Filstar Labs so they can electronically compare them to their own records. If the two are the same Sheepel, the computer will not lie.”

  As Barth left the room, the coroner looked down at the body in sympathy. It is terrible enough to live one life on this war stricken, cursed planet. I hope you did not have to live two.

  * * * * * * * *

  Almech: The Scroll of the Beginning describes events no one can recall.

  Wyvere: Then it cannot be refuted.

  A: The Scroll of the Past was written after the events occurred, merely one of many history books.

  W: Then we know it to be truth.

  A: The four Scrolls of the Present speak only in parables, so they cannot be disproved.

  W: Then what fault can you find in them?

  A: The Scroll of the Future is meaningless as no dates are given: for if the future is infinitely long, then no matter what may be penned, it is inevitable that it will come to pass, whether it be in two days or two aeons.

  W: Then it tells no lies.

  A: I do not see how you can place such value in seven scrolls with so little truth.

  W: I do not see how you can ignore writings which are so extensive yet bear no falsehood.

  A: They were written by Sheeple who know only war.

  W: They were delivered by the gods who know only order.

  A: What gods? Chaos is the only rule, and the galaxy its offspring.

  W: So you have argued before. I can see we are at a stalemate.

  Second Debate of Wyvere and Almech, 500 BC

  Both day and night, the new white star burned intensely over the northern lands, and ever its halo grew wider. The Sheeks both feared and hated it, for while the image could not be a machination of the Hakes, neither could it be explained away as a natural effect. This gave weight to the Hakes' claim that the orb was a prophetic sign, described in the Seven Scrolls, marking the arrival of a great Hake Leader who would wrench control of the planet away from the Sheeks.

  Hans had never concerned himself with the Seven Scrolls, but there was no escaping the stories going around, especially what he'd heard from Quinn in the short time before his death. Hans knew if a Hake was preparing to replace Quinn, sparking new tensions and dragging on the endless war, that leader would have no choice but to begin his career at the Site of the Seven Scrolls, for this is where the scrolls said he would first reveal himself.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Thus, while wandering the shore of the Shallow Sea, it had not taken him long to find a group of Hakes who themselves were traveling to the temple in Selfar. They had already secured use of a small ship to cross the sea, and readily accepted Hans into their company, crossing the next day without incident. But on the opposite shore, still hundreds of miles from the temple, they were stuck again as the Sheek Authority had confiscated all Hake vehicrafts, and it was illegal to sell them back to the Hakes, or aid the Hakes in migration. Eventually, however, they found a Sheek willing to sell them a hand-powered wagon for the journey across the plains, though this used up the savings of the Hakes and made the Sheek the wealthiest Sheepel in the town.

  After an exhausting trip and with aching arms, the band of pilgrims came within site of the Tablelands of Selfar, crossing over the very road Hans had traveled on months ago. If only I had waited here for them, he mused. It would have been much less stressful.

  “It was in this very region that I had to abandon my vehicraft,” he remarked. “Since then, I traveled hundreds of miles at the mercy of the Sheeks, all for nothing. Imprisoned, in flight, in danger… nothing good has come from this war.”

  “The Leader will win the war, and all will be restored,” said Berbo as he pushed the wagon’s hand pedals alongside Hans.

  “I don't see how this can be repaired.” Hans looked out over the plain. The last time he’d been here, it had been an endless sea of Flowering Shortgrass waving in the breeze. Since then, wildfires had swept across it, leaving a thin layer of ash coating barren ground. Great cracks cut through the land; the wagon had to be lifted over them in many places. 'Truly it is a hand powered wagon,' Berbo had joked. Nearby a hot spring gurgled mud, which stank of dead fish. Far above came the drone of a helicraft. “Great. Here they come again. If they say they're Hakes don't believe them.”

  There was nowhere to hide. The helicraft swept down on the band and out stepped a Sheek policeman. “Sorry fellas. I don't care where you're going, but you can't have that craft.”

  “If this thing is a craft, then my finger is a ray gun.”

  “The law is the law. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the good of the empire.”

  The Hakes had no choice but to abandon the wagon and continue traveling on foot. Even as they walked, more and more Hakes joined them. Hans learned that the Hakes had been kicked out of the Burning Wilderness and the communities that had popped up so quickly were abandoned. Many of these Hakes returned to their hometowns, but some were intrigued by the message of Quinn, who had himself declared that a new leader would be unveiled at the Site of the Seven Scrolls. The stream of travelers grew as it moved alongside the Tablelands, flowing ever south.

  This part of the journey was uneventful except for the third morning when Hans noticed something that made his heart leap–a V'hogel was traveling with a group ahead of him. He ran forward and recognized it at once. “V'han?”

  “Is V'han.” The V'hogel turned and gave Hans a peculiar stare. “Is Hans?”

  “Yes, is Hans!” Hans rushed forward to embrace the V'hogel. “Where have you been? I missed you!”

  “V'han is here. Is Hans go to seven scrolls?”

  “Yes, we’re all going there. Will you walk with me?”

  The V'hogel did not answer, but took its place at Hans' side as they walked.

  “You haven't seen Quinn's suitcase, have you?” asked Hans uneasily.

  “Quinn is broken. Why is suit casing?”

  Berbo sidled over to Hans and whispered into his ear. “What is that creature?”

  “He is V'han, a V'hogel. He may look strange, but he is a good friend.”

  “They say the Sheeks use such as spies.”

  Hans glared at him. “Leave me alone. You don't know anything about him. I met him when he first came down from the hills. He is no spy.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Hans ignored him, grasping V’han’s claws and pulling the V'hogel away from Berbo. From then, the two traveled between the larger groups of Hakes and no one approached them.

  At last the stream of weary travelers broke upon the southern face of a great cleft in the Tablelands. Below a heavenly wall of marble was a valley of green grass tipped in shimmering dew, spared from the fires that had swept the plains of Selfar. The air was cool this close to the southern ice cap and Hans pulled his shirt tight as he took in the view. The temple itself was a low, single story building sprawling from one end of the valley to the other. It was simple and unadorned, built with adobe bricks despite its proximity to the marble cliffs. The Scrolls stated the marble cliffs were sacred, though this did not stop anyone from quarrying marble from the Tablelands further away from the temple. The area was designated by the Authority as a historical and religious site, meaning Hakes could freely congregate around the valley without fear of attack. Thus a great camp of tents and blankets had formed around the building, without governance and order, for all were waiting for either Quinn (though he had been reported dead) or another leader to take command. Occasionally a general or officer of the Hake Army who had escaped conviction tried to rally the population to resurrect the army, but always the Hake priests gave an order from the temple that the leader was due soon, and until then all must wait.

  It frustrated Hans that a group of priests hiding in their refuge safe from all the troubles of war held so much power over the Hakes. He was burning with anger, though it was undirected, unfocused. He knew not whether it was the bombing of his home, the long time since he’d seen his friend Zak, the strange disappearance and reappearance of V'han, the death of Quinn, the burning of the world, or the tiring journey across Selfar that upset him most. Everything was unacceptable, but he wasn't sure whether to blame the Hakes or Sheeks, the priests or the army, his peers or himself. He squeezed his way through a densely packed entryway and entered the temple. At once, he found himself in an immense room, the ceiling low, supported by pillars, but the walls far away and every square foot packed with Sheeple. It took him a while to move to the front of the crowd, but at last he reached the interior wall of the room. Here the Seven Scrolls, handwritten by Wyvere centuries ago, were displayed in glass cases. Before them stood a Hake priest, aged in years, his speech slow, as if every syllable came with great effort.

  “Who is he?” Hans asked a bystander.

  “He is called Zekrye. He is least of the priests, yet oldest. Some think he is the one who will be named Leader, for he stands here every day, teaching, and has done this since his priesthood began, yet never has he taken a higher position, always giving it to another.”

  “Then you think he is biding his time, until he claims all authority due him?”

  “He continually denies it, but none believe him. So we wait–and listen.”

  Hans didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. If Quinn could not lead the Hakes to victory, what chance did this old teacher have?

  “Old one,” called Hans with a scoff, “Are you the one I came to see? Are you the Leader who will free us from the Sheeks? I can scarcely believe it. Yet, this is what I hear.”

  Zekrye frowned. “Why do they say I am he? This they also said of Quinn, that he would win all battles and lead forever. And now Quinn is dead, so they turn their lying eyes to a new idol. Yet I assure you, the Leader is near. The time is right, the star declares it! He will arrive soon.”

  Another called, “How can you know this, if you've never met him?”

  “I'll tell you,” answered a large Sheepel near the back. “This priest has read the Seven Scrolls for seventy years, perhaps eighty! He has deluded himself with them. He has read them so many times that his mind thinks of nothing else–it invents prophecies and gives him useless prattle, indistinguishable to the common Hake as being from a God–or from a nut!”

  Zekrye raised his hand to silence the crowd. “You yourselves believe in the scrolls. You know that they speak of a Leader; this is why you rallied around Quinn, and Mahoj before him, and Ertius before him; but none of them were the one. Look around you–the time is now right. Quinn has prepared the Leader's way, and I have prepared this building for him. The Leader is near, and I shall not die until I have seen him walk through these doors. From the moment the light appeared in the sky, I knew that he had come.”

  “But, where is he?” asked Hans. “Across this planet the Hakes suffer persecution and loss, but the Leader is silent, as if he fears the same fate as Quinn. You say he has come, yet never has he been seen.”

  A woman with red eyes and hair joined Hans. “Yes! You come with nothing but words. You taunt us with your useless babble. Must we take matters into our own hands? Shall we appoint a leader if you will not?”

  Zekrye spoke once more and the crowd hushed, focused on this Sheepel whom they wished spoke the truth, yet at the same time, did not believe.

  “What is it you desire from me?” he demanded. “Do you wish to hear wisdom? Then, hear this: I see a gemstone, an almost perfectly cut jewel of many facets, set upon a black cloth and shining in the light. But, woe to that stone! I see its deformities; I see the defects hidden in its interior. I see the one who will take that gemstone and throw it in the trash heap for the rabble in the alley to scrounge for. They will kick and fight over this worthless stone, completely oblivious to the perfect one those with wisdom shall seek!

  “Do you wish to hear prophesy? Will that convince you? Then, hear this: I assure you that each and every one of you will lay eyes on the Leader before my death.”

  “Let’s kill him now then,” muttered a Hake near Hans. “Then we will know whether he speaks the truth.”

  Hans clutched the knife in his pocket, finding its touch comforting as the tension escalated.

  Zekrye stared straight at Hans. “You come with knives and guns under your coats. Your minds are as evil as the Sheeks', who seek only their own gain. Do you wish me dead? Is that what you yearn for, that my words might stop? Then consider yourselves blessed, and hear this: Even now, the Sheeks are on their way to attack this sanctuary. After today, you will hear my creaking voice no longer.”

  Wyvere wrote his then-modern translation of the Seven Scrolls in 500 B.C. using even older copies as his source, but these have long since deteriorated and no copies of the pre-Wyvere text exist.