Vaza felt relieved and ashamed for stomping off, quite like an elephant escaping a mouse. Gncing in a mirror, he straightens out his jaw-length hair and rearranged his robes.

  The Head Imanjar’s office is absolutely covered in mirrors. Sunshine from the windows bounces off of them, leaving dizzying rainbow trails where the beveled edges of mirrors fractures the light. Pcing his hand on a round golden globe, Vaza calls out “Victory’s vassal summons Magpie.”

  “Magpie reporting!” answers what is certainly not his reflection. In the mirror across from Vaza’s desk, a cloaked figure with glittering, intelligent eyes watches the Head Imanjar. “I always do love seeing what you’ve done with the pce. So sparkly. I very, very much approve.” The thin face seems much more mischievous and a good deal less mysterious as a wide grin splits his face.

  “I know you were named for a bird, do you have to act like one?” replies Vaza. Regardless of his words, his cheeks do seem to be tinged with a pleased pink. While the mirrors were not installed for the purpose of decoration nor communication, Vaza is gd they are so well received by others. After all, he would never want anyone to know why he actually installed them. He clears his throat and continues. “How is the situation in Ferner’s Glen? Silnarion has not attended a council meeting for the st five years.”

  “They are just as reclusive as ever. I stayed in the local pubs three days straight— it’s got these quaint little rooms upstairs you can book for a single silver a night. Imagine! I couldn’t reserve a rooster’s hen house for that much in the capital. I put on a jolly good show I did. Made myself seem wise and everything. I modeled myself after that old, curmudgeonly professor and I must say I’ve never heard anyone sound so pompous in my life. I think I might have given myself a good thump on the head if I had heard myself talking— well I can’t since I’m myself you know. But anyways, not a hair of Silnarion could be seen anywhere.”

  “Why in the world would you do that, you old trouble maker? I’m sure you would have gotten twice as much information out of those vilgers if you had just spoken like this. And I’m not surprised about that. I may have to pay myself a visit to Silnarion myself if their silence continues.”

  “Well, I wanted to try out something new. I wouldn’t bother visiting. What’s the point? It’s just some old backwater.”

  “I take it you will be returning to the Capital then?”

  “Oh, not quite yet. I met this old man that grows turnips. I really must get his recipe for turnip stew before I get back. I want to experiment.”

  The reflection in the mirror flicks back to that of Vaza. Approaching the mirror, he touches his reflection. He had changed so much since he became Head Holy Imanjar of the Deity of Victory, becoming a person the little milk maid of the past could only dream about. The Deity of Victory had answered his wish, rewarding his service with a reflection of his inner spirit: a self that matched what he knew to be true rather than what he was forced to be. Magpie had also changed, but in such a way that Vaza could not help but worry. Being the representative of the Deity of the Dead and Mourning was not an easy task.

  Vaza closes his eyes as he recounts the old nursery rhyme from his youth.

  One for sorrow,

  Two for joy, Three for a girl, Four for a boy, Five for silver, Six for gold,Seven for a secret never to be told.

  Eight for a wish,Nine for a kiss,Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,Eleven for health,Twelve for wealth,Thirteen beware it's the devil himself.