The scene hadn’t changed. The blind prostitute still sat among her dead children, carefully transforming one book into another.

Baraam whispered, “I don’t recognize the language she’s writing in.”

The seer’s face drained of blood and she choked out, “It’s in a language that won’t be written for five-thousand years…”

“How’s that possible?”

“Some evils are so pervasive, they cast shadows in both directions. The larger the evil, the longer the shadow. In this, that book is without peer.”

“Destroy it now!”

“I dare not. It’s magical in nature and has its own protections. I’ve never felt such power. This is beyond me. To destroy it, you’ll have to take it to the Academy.”

“That’s hundreds of miles away.”

“The sooner you get started, the sooner you’ll return.”

“No. No way. I don’t want to get involved.”

“You’re already involved. One of your whores is dead. The only question is what are you going to do about it?”

“She’s not dead-”

“She’s dead in every way that matters. And the question still stands.”