The group gathered in the common room to break their fast just as the fourth bell resounded throughout the city. It was simple fare—fried eggs, potato, and meat, wrapped in a grilled flatbread that Ashja had wolfed down in many port towns—but it stuck with her until the midday meal. As she drank down the last of the honeyed tea, another port town staple, Sister Egathra appeared in the doorway.

“Ah,” she said, waving away a proffered mug, “I wish I could, but I must return to the temple before noon prayers.”

“Very well,” replied Ashja, “allow me a moment to get my things.”

With that, she raced up the stairs to their rooms. She pulled on her gambeson, slipping the harness and scabbard of her greatsword over her shoulder, settling it across her back. Then, she secured her belt around her waist. Her gambeson was tight in the shoulders, making it hard to move. Though she didn’t expect to go to battle in the city, this was Port Freehaven, after all. As she descended the stairs, she saw the rest of the group settle their weapons, armor, and bags into place.

Sister Egathra led them east through the narrow streets and into a poverty-stricken area. The group drew a few sideways looks from the inhabitants of the poorest district of the city—Bottom’s End. Ashja noticed the looks, but when she tried making eye contact, the person inevitably looked away. Several minutes’ walk from the inn, the companions arrived at a small hovel.

Sister Egathra pulled a key from her belt pouch and unlocked the door, pushing it open for the others to enter before her. The tiny shack had two small rooms—the first was four paces across and three paces wide. Ivy pushed past the cleric and entered first, eyes scanning everything.

When Ashja entered, her eyes took in the clutter of the main room. Books, scrolls, parchment, quills, ink pots, and other tools of the scholar’s trade littered almost every available surface—including the floor. A cot, jammed into one corner, held a wadded wool blanket, and a small writing desk took up the space below the window to the left. Across from the door they entered was another door, hanging loosely by a series of worn leather straps that acted as hinges.

Carefully walking across the floor so as not to leave boot prints on the papers, Ashja and Ivy made their way to their respective targets—Ashja to inspect the door across the room, and Ivy to examine the contents of the desk. Zantu and Rayus followed Ivy into the hovel.

“These books are about places I’ve never even heard of,” said Zantu, wonderment coloring his voice.

“‘The Dwarves of Makarajan,’” read Rayus. “Never heard of them,” she said as she handed the book to Zantu.

“They’re a small dwarven tribe in the southern Dragon’s Tail mountains to the west of the Sylvan Wood and the Great Plains,” replied Sister Egathra. “That is the strange thing,” the priestess continued, bafflement coloring her voice, “Mal had several books along these lines when she returned. Before she disappeared, she had no interest in such far-flung places. Her interests mostly lay in scribing, in the intricate calligraphy and adornment of books and scrolls.”

Ashja propped the door open to the room in the back. As she surveyed the room, she saw simple items for everyday living: a shelf along the far wall held dry goods; a barrel in the corner overflowed with clothing; a small cook-stove sat on a table below a small window. Then, she saw the outline of a trapdoor in the far corner. Before she could enter the small space to search, she heard a gasp from behind her and turned back into the main room.

“Her journal,” whispered Ivy, opening the book and riffling the pages.

“Hey,” said Rayus, picking up a scrap of paper, “look at this. A ‘to-do’ list.” The elf handed the slip of paper around for everyone to read.

• Get some sleep!
• Talk to Capt Gutmark
• Turnips
• Update diary
• Examine travel log
• Get some sleep!

“Who’s Captain Gutmark?” Ashja wondered aloud after reading the contents.

“I don’t know,” replied Sister Egathra. “Although I admit I don’t get out of the Temple District much.”

“Hmm. Sounds orcish. How about the diary? Find anything interesting in it, Ivy?” Ashja asked the small elf.

“Not a lot, not yet,” Ivy replied, eyes glued to the pages, fingers tracing the letters.

“Well, keep at it, I’m going to see where the trapdoor leads,” said Ashja, tip-toeing through the strewn papers.

Zantu and Rayus were both picking up parchment, scrolls, and the few bound tomes left in the room. Ashja reached the other room and squatted beside the lines in the floor. Feeling around for a ring, her fingers finally found what they searched for. Gripping the metal, she straightened her back, then her legs as the trapdoor lifted at her feet, revealing a staircase leading into darkness.

She let the trapdoor bang lightly on the outside wall of the shack, whispering a simple Light spell. The sconces along the wall on the stairs glowed with soft light.

“Wait for me!” Ivy shouted from the other room.

Ashja moved down the narrow stairs, greatsword leading the way. Back to the wall, she slipped sideways down the long staircase. Sister Egathra followed close behind, Ivy at her heels.

Reaching the bottom, Ashja had enough light to see the room was all but empty. Sister Egathra lit all eight wall fixtures—two to a wall—bathing the room in a soft yellow glow. Empty bookcases lined the walls, a display case between two of the cases along the wall opposite the stairs. The faint smell of cut wood scented the air. Ivy searched the room, but found nothing—not even a blank parchment.

Ashja paced the width and length of the space—it was five paces wide and twelve paces deep. Larger than the hovel above. Odd. She could not see any additional bracing that should keep the shack from falling through the dirt. Senses alert, she felt no magic, but was uneasy in the closed space. The room felt like any other. The faint aroma of pine and earth permeated the cool air. A quarter bell later, Ivy led the three back up the stairs and into the main room, disappointment etched on her angular features.

“Check this out,” Rayus called out as they entered the room. “‘This morning I woke exhausted,’” she read. “‘I feel as though I spent the night fighting, not sleeping. My head is pounding and I feel drained. I must go to the temple, but I will confine myself to light tasks this day.’ It’s an entry dated about six years ago,” the elf announced.

“Let me see,” demanded Ivy, taking the journal from Rayus. She skimmed the surrounding entries but found nothing interesting. She looked up at the older elf. “Is that all you found?”

“Oh, no,” said Rayus. “A few more were just as interesting, most notably,” she said, gently taking the book back and turning to a more recent entry, “this one is dated about a year ago.” She handed the journal back to Ivy.

The god help me! What happened? I awoke from some strange dream to find that five years have passed! Egathra told me I had been excommunicated from the temple four years ago for violating the sanctum! Surely this is madness!

The young elf looked up from her reading, concern clouding her features.

“Here’s another one dated about six months ago,” Rayus turned a few pages and pointed.

Life has returned to a sort of normal. I have managed to win back my place in the temple, although my reception has been muted. The other priestesses and acolytes seem relieved and I have heard whispers of my being “back to my old self.” I have many questions about those missing years, but it seems best to simply move on with my life. Knowledge will come in time.

Ivy glanced around at the others. “I wonder what that meant, ‘back to my old self?’”

“I don’t know,” replied Zantu, “but the entries get even more worrisome. Look at this one.”

Egathra says that Somya was asking after me again, that she was worried about another “episode.” Maybe she’s just worried about the temple, but surely I’ve proven myself by now! My life is mine again, and I’m not giving it up!

“I wonder what that means, ‘my life is mine again’?” asked Ivy. “Did she find something out that she didn’t write in her diary? And who is Somya?”

“Maybe,” replied Rayus. “But look at this entry from two months ago.”

The dreams came again last night. I don’t know that I’ll ever get a good night’s sleep again! I dreamt of cities as tall as the clouds and creatures so alien in form that I cannot describe them. I wonder, does this have anything to do with my lost years, or is this some new kind of torture?

“I suspect that whatever happened to her those years ago, was happening again,” said Ashja.

“As do I,” replied Zantu. “And it appears she also suspected. Look at this,” he pointed to an entry written barely a month ago.

It’s now clear to me I must find answers if I am ever to make the dreams stop. Kafrin and Somya tried to discourage me, though I think they fear more about what might happen to their precious temple. A pity their compassion does not extend to the living.

“You’d think the priestesses and Abbess would want to help one of their own,” muttered Ivy sourly.

I feel as though I am being watched. Please, goddess, do not let this be yet another milestone along the road to madness. I will take my dagger with me in the morning. In a city such as Port Freehaven, an elf can’t be too careful. Especially with pirates in the harbor.

“That last entry was written just a few days before we arrived,” said Rayus. “I wonder what happened between then and now.”

“I don’t know,” said Sister Egathra, concern layered with fear tinged her voice. “But if you could find out, I would be eternally grateful.”

“We’ll find out what happened,” stated Ivy with conviction. “I’ve been looking for her for more than ten years and have never been so close, I’ll find her.”

In the distance, Ashja heard one bell ring through the door to the hovel.

“Do we have everything we need?” she asked. “Have we looked at everything?”

Zantu nodded.

“It looks like most of the parchment and scrolls are empty, like her writing stash was overturned and searched. I can’t imagine a scholar keeping a mess like this,” he said.

As he spoke, Ivy was straightening the desk with as much care as if it were her own.

“She wouldn’t,” the young elf stated. “Mal was always the neat one, picking up after me.” Ivy stacked the blank parchment pieces, piling them neatly atop one another. Then she set them carefully in one corner of the small desk. When she finished, she looked up at the others. “Shall we find out about pirates?” she asked innocently.

The party escorted the priestess back to the temple. As they walked, she answered one question that had gone unanswered in Mal’s hovel.

“You asked who Somya is,” Sister Egathra began hesitantly. “She is… secretary… to the Abbess. She holds considerable power in the temple, as well as in the city. I believe she was born and raised here on the island and is as familiar with the history of Port Freehaven as anyone can be.”

“How long has she been a priestess?” asked Rayus.

“Oh, she isn’t a priestess. She is the right-hand to the Abbess. Mother Kafrin doesn’t make a decision without her counsel.” She lowered her voice and whispered conspiratorially, “Somya is dedicated to her own ambitions, the temple, and Kafrin—in that order.”

The companions glanced at each other as they continued toward the temple.