Then, from the far side of the temple, came the faint glimmer of another light. The winking light approached, swinging in the hand that held it, accompanied by the muffled slap of sandals on the stones. The old man raised his head and smiled in the dark.

In a moment the stranger had come to stand before the seated figure. He raised the shuttered lantern and opened one of the small doors to let out more light. In the yellow glow of the lantern the priest studied his visitor.

“Who are you?” asked the priest.

“So, Pluell, you have come at last.”

“How do you know me?”

“You are the High Priest, are you not? Does not the High Priest have a name?”

“I have and you know it. I would know yours.”

“I think you do, sir.”

The High Priest squinted at the old face and held the lantern closer. “I have never seen you before, never.” Then he added slowly, “Have I?”

The old man shook his head. “No, perhaps not. It has been a long time since I have been in these parts.”

“You are no priest,” Pluell asserted, “though you wear the priestly garb. If you have not been here for many years, how is it that I should know your name?”

“You received my talisman, did you not?”

“I did.” He stuck out his hand and held out the black stone. The old man took it and held it up. “It is a most curious piece.”

“Yes, most curious.” The old man concealed it in his robe.

Just then the sky above was torn by lightning, illuminating the two figures in stark, unnatural light.

“The storm is upon us,” said the old man.

“Who are you?” asked the High Priest.

“I tell you that you know.”

“Bah! You’re wasting my time. I’ll have nothing more to do with you. You are keeping me from my bed.” He glared at the old man. “It was foolish for me to come.”

“And yet you came. Why, I wonder?”

The High Priest opened his mouth to speak, thought better, and closed it again.