Inside the Fifth Point, the ShopKeeper was hunched over his worktable. He had pushed aside the cogs and wheels of the clock he’d been tinkering with and spread out his quest papers—charts, booklets, maps that would span the entire room when unfolded, calendars that began before this stardust-speck of a planet even came into existence.
Most of the papers had been made by the ShopKeeper himself, the work of many, many, many lifetimes. But some had been made by those who had fallen before, and a few had even been written by Elementals—that is, humans.
Here was what the ShopKeeper knew: He knew a Starling had fallen. He knew the third Elemental had the quintescope. He knew that the book and the containers had been picked up by the other three.
Here was what the ShopKeeper did not know: If the third Elemental had found the Starling. If the four Elementals had found one another. If they were beginning the task of growing the Light.
He hoped that all those things had happened, but if they had, he would have expected the third Elemental to come back this afternoon seeking more information, seeking answers.
No one had come.
What if he had read the Elementals wrong? Oh, it was tricky to find exactly the right four! Each one had a part to play, and those parts were so intricately interconnected. The third was the most concerning. She was young and her Light had obviously been dimmed by some recent change.
But that shouldn’t matter. No one started a quest full of Quintessence.
“She must be the one,” he whispered. “She must be the one for the Starling.”
Even more disconcerting, last night he had set up his quintescope and scanned the town of Four Points, searching for the Starling. He had found the trails of Quintessence, golden paths that circled and crisscrossed over hills and down streams and through woods. They were everywhere, those Quintessence trails.
But the Starling herself was nowhere to be found.
Fallen Stars were unpredictable, of course. Some immediately charged into populated areas, terrifying Elementals and occasionally burning down whole towns. Some climbed to great heights and leaped again and again, exhausting themselves in a desperate effort to get home.
And some hid.
The Starling, the ShopKeeper was sure, was hiding now.
Usually, he could find those who hid, using his quintescope. The Light of Quintessence could be seen through most Elements, but, alas, the scopes were not perfect. Metals, in particular, often proved impenetrable. His own shop had iron in its doors and in its ladders and in the spire above, and so even if the shop’s inside was filled with Quintessence, that iron would prevent anyone from seeing the Light from the outside—even with a quintescope. And the ShopKeeper remembered a Starling who had once hidden in a steel storm-water tunnel for nearly two weeks until it was almost too late.
Almost, but not quite. He had found that Starling in the end, and his Elementals had sent the Starling home.
The ShopKeeper would find this Starling too.
He would go tonight. He would search for her on foot.
But he didn’t have much time left.
The blue light flickered, off and on, off and on. The ShopKeeper studied his papers.