Father Zajhera didn’t seem surprised. Brother Qown supposed he should have expected that. Father Zajhera knew a great many people and a great many things.

“The people responsible for the attack included a Doltari woman named Senera. She released magical smoke that choked its victims—it’s how almost everyone died. However, I also saw what she did, so she wouldn’t be overcome by the smoke herself.” Brother Qown reached out and drew a line in the air, tracing out the sigil. It glowed but didn’t do much else—although Qown assumed the air around the glyph was clean and pure. The demonstration would have been more obvious if he’d drawn the glyph near smoke.

Father Zajhera’s expression shifted fast through several emotions, including anger, before settling on unhappy concern. He stared long and hard at the rune, before sighing and leaning back in his chair.

Brother Qown had known Father Zajhera for his whole life. He knew how to read the man’s moods.

“You know what this is, don’t you?”

“It’s a sigil,” the elder priest said, then shook his head. “No, I apologize. That makes it sound like a toy one might paint on a child’s nursery for luck. What you have just drawn is a symbolic and equivalent representation of tenyé, an object’s true essence. Tell me, this woman, Senera, did she keep a small stone on her person? A necklace or jewelry? Perhaps this large? A crystal?” He held thumb and forefinger a few inches apart.

“No, nothing like—” Brother Qown paused. “No. No wait. Not jewelry, no, but she had an inkstone. A small one. She kept it tucked into her bodice, pulling it out when she cut herself. She used her blood to draw that sigil on her forehead. I thought it was ritual magic.” He frowned. “I still think so. That brush must have been made from hairs pulled from all her Yoran soldiers. Sympathetic magic would have ensured her ‘sigil’ ended up on everyone’s forehead simultaneously.”

“Yes,” Father Zajhera agreed. “Astute. Even more astute to notice the sigil itself and use it to your advantage. I’m proud of you.”

Brother Qown blushed. “Father, I—thank you, but that glyph is what worries me. What is its nature? Where does it come from? I put no tenyé into its creation. It should have no power, yet every time this sigil is drawn, its magical effect is the same.”

For a long time, Father Zajhera said nothing. He sipped his tea as he contemplated his response. Finally, he said, “This woman, Senera. If that is her real name.” He nodded to Brother Qown. “The stone she used is no river rock. It is the most dangerous of all Cornerstones: the Name of All Things.”