Pointing toward the sky, Odessa asked:
“What do you know about the science of the heavens? Ages ago, in Mesopotamia—the cradle of ancient civilizations—the Sumerians lived. The discoveries they made in astronomy were recorded in books such as the Testament of Abraham and, more often, on clay tablets. They named their kings after the sun, the moon, and the stars, viewing them almost as divine beings.”

Abraham, hearing his own name mentioned, could not help but ask:
“The Abraham in that book—do you mean the prophet Abraham?”

“Yes,” she replied. “At least according to most people. In fact, some scholars believe that the figure known in Sumerian history as Abum Rabum—‘the Exalted Father’—was actually him. That book contains important knowledge on astrology and spiritual sciences. And Prophet Abraham was not the only one interested in the study of the skies.”

Mark and Abraham exchanged startled glances before asking:
“And who else?”

“Since astrology was the most esteemed science of those ages, the prophets often spoke of the stars, sharing news and knowledge about them to draw people’s attention. In doing so, they taught that the heavens, too, belonged to Allah, and that whatever truths they conveyed were by His permission. Among all prophets, however, the one who stood a step ahead in this field was Idris. The group fascinated by the celestial sciences of that era, and passionately devoted to the stars, came to be known as the Sabians.”

Mark interrupted:
“I think most people who dealt with astrology were alchemists, but the ones who encouraged star-worship were the others, if you ask me.”

Abraham turned to him.
“According to you, anyone with knowledge is an alchemist. And who exactly are these ‘others’ you keep talking about?”

At that moment Mark froze, unsure of what to say, his face flushing red. Fortunately, Odessa came to his rescue.

“Enough. Close your mouths and keep your commentary to yourselves. I’m still speaking,” she said sharply before continuing.
“Astrologers infer certain predictions about the future by studying the paths and positions of the twelve zodiac signs and the seven heavenly spheres. And since these seven spheres could be observed more easily, they grew excessively fond of them, even crafting statues and worshipping them. In short, they regarded the positions, gatherings, conjunctions, and oppositions of these bodies—along with lunar and solar eclipses—as signs of great events yet to come. Thus, astronomy and mathematics advanced significantly.”

Then, turning to the two young explorers who listened with growing curiosity, Odessa asked:
“So tell me, do you think there are only twelve constellations and seven spheres in the sky?”

“We can’t possibly know,” Mark replied. “Besides, as you know, our island is almost always covered in mist and clouds. But I suspect there are far more stars up there.”
Then he leaned toward Abraham and whispered:

“They might have built that tower simply to observe more stars, more spheres—whatever they truly are,” Mark suggested.

Abraham replied,
“As I said before, if that had been their purpose, they would have constructed proper spiral stairways like the ones in our homes, not those shallow protrusions on the wall. Forget the tower for a moment—focus on the real question: Who is this girl, and how does she know all this?”

Turning back to Odessa, he asked,
“So what are you, exactly? A Sabian, a believer, a pagan, or just an ordinary alchemist?”

Odessa frowned and shot back,
“Why do my beliefs concern you? What difference does it make? I’m only telling you what I learned from my parents. Surely you don’t imagine I gathered all this knowledge from a few books I happened to find? Of course I learned it from my father as well, who has read countless Sumerian tablets. And don’t bother asking about my mother and father either. I honestly thought you two were scholars of this island.”

“You’ve only just met us,” said Abraham, eyeing her with growing suspicion. “You know nothing about who we are. How could you possibly assume we’re scholars?”

Odessa hesitated for a breath, then delivered her answer cleanly:
“I said I thought—I never said you truly were. Since I didn’t know you beforehand, all I could do was guess.”
Then she continued:

“I’d like to ask you—since you’re clearly not scholars—do you truly believe these constellations or spheres rule over us? Is that why certain predictions based on their positions turn out to be correct? Are they gods too? It’s much like my earlier question; the answers may differ, yet they run along the same line.”

Odessa smiled faintly.
“Very well, let me answer this one too,” she said, and began:

“God appoints the clouds as heralds of rain. But that does not make the cloud a god. Likewise, the constellations and spheres are nothing more than signs of events yet to unfold. They do not bring about, create, or direct anything themselves. And besides, the sky contains far more than seven spheres—certainly more. Some believe there are at least sixty.

“And if we consider the Milky Way, the Kehkeşan, and other such star clouds, there may be even more realms above us. The truth is, we possess no means today to observe them clearly. If we could chart the position and orbit of every constellation and sphere, perhaps then we could read the signs in full and speak with certainty about the future. Astrologers are right only because they glimpse a fragment of the signs.”

Mark and Abraham were old friends, and they could read each other’s thoughts from the slightest twitch of an eyebrow. Both wore the same expression now—a bewildered, weary look. They had only just returned from the mystery-shrouded Outer Isle, and that adventure alone could have fed their curiosity for years.
Yet this girl had spoken of things far beyond anything they had expected.

Abraham, with his education in astronomy and history, and with the scrolls inherited from his ancestor Younus and the modest library he frequented, possessed a respectable store of knowledge.
But this girl—she spoke of steam-driven ships, astrology, social order, and countless other matters with a mastery far exceeding anything they had ever encountered.

Though they had known her only a short while, they were certain that this girl—whose knowledge and air of mystery had already captivated them—was hiding something. If her island was truly so advanced, if her people were so modern and unburdened by superstition, how was it possible that they had never once ventured to the neighboring isle lying right beneath their noses? And why did she conceal her own faith, growing irritated whenever the subject was raised? From the tone of her speech, Abraham suspected she might, like Mark, be a follower of the alchemists.

But then, who were Odessa’s family? Was her remark about “my father who read the Sumerian tablets” merely a slip of the tongue? Perhaps her father had once left the island and traveled to Mesopotamia. Yet it seemed almost impossible for a man to undertake such a long and perilous journey, move from place to place, and somehow read countless tablets scattered across that ancient land. If that were the case, her father’s age must have been extraordinary. Abraham could not bring himself to imagine that the man had obtained the Sumerian tablets the way the throne of Balkis had been brought to Solomon—instantly and by supernatural means.

Seeing that Odessa was both exhausted and hungry, Abraham asked permission to prepare food for her. Odessa, having no one else on this unfamiliar island she could trust, hesitated for a moment and pursed her lips before replying:

“Very well, I’ll wait here.”

After walking a short distance away, Mark warned Abraham that they should not place so much trust in someone they had only just met.

“I don’t know… the way she speaks, with all that wisdom—it unsettles me,” he whispered. “What if she’s one of those wicked women or witches we hear about in old tales?” he added with a smirk.

“Imagine,” he said, lowering his voice, “I was so frightened that even her beauty became a secondary concern.”

Abraham could not deny that Mark had a point, yet it simply did not suit him to abandon a young girl who had lost her way. Besides, he could not act on mere suspicion. He could not think ill of someone—much less treat her harshly—solely because of her appearance or her knowledge. Faced with Mark’s insistence, he finally said:

“All right, then watch her from a distance. Once we’ve eaten, we’ll decide together.”

When he arrived home, he saw that his mother was preparing gözleme. He had planned to put together something small and quick, but her gentle insistence—“Son, what’s the rush? Wait a little; you can enjoy it properly with your friend in the forest”—softened him, and he agreed to wait. His father was supposed to be home that day; when he heard that he had gone out unexpectedly, it struck him as odd, yet his mind was too occupied with other questions to dwell on it.

But when he returned, he was met with a sight he had not anticipated. He saw the girl being taken away by Lord’s men.

Grabbing Mark by the collar with eyes burning like flame, he demanded an explanation, but Mark shouted back:

“Didn’t you tell them where she was? Why are you yelling at me? Look—your father is standing just ahead with them!”

At a distance, Abraham could see the girl's face—anger simmering in her eyes, mingled with the wounded innocence of someone betrayed by those she had hoped to trust.

Petrus and Linda believed they were acting for Abraham’s protection. When the earthquake had frightened Linda, she had gone to check on her son; just as she was turning back, she saw a girl cast ashore by the waves of the lake. From the few words she managed to hear, she learned that the girl’s name was Odessa. Realizing that she had come from Kabil Island unsettled her even more.
Although she appreciated the girl’s composed manner and the distance she maintained from the boys, Linda’s own anxieties and prejudices whispered a single conclu­sion: the girl had to be removed before something dreadful happened.

After persuading her husband, she kept Abraham busy under the pretext of preparing food. If all went as planned, Lord’s men would take Odessa away before Abraham had a chance to return to her and Mark. Otherwise—of this she was as certain as she was of her own name—Abraham would resist Lord’s men and plunge them all into far greater trouble.

When Abraham realized that his mother had lied about his father’s whereabouts, he stormed back home, but found the house empty. Seeing her son’s furious state, Linda quietly slipped away to meet Petrus before Abraham could catch sight of her. The two would decide what they should say to him.

Petrus spoke first, without hesitation:

“I only did it because you asked… but I regret it bitterly.”

He took a breath and continued.

“We always suspected Lord wasn’t a good man. We thought some of the stories were mere rumors… but when I saw his men today, I felt ashamed of myself.”

Linda waited anxiously for what would follow.

“You know that my friend’s son, Nikola, has been missing for some time. Sadly, he is the third young man to vanish in recent days. You remember the cap you gave him as a gift—the one with the blue star-shaped Seal of Prophet Solomon you stitched on it, hoping it would protect him from evil spirits…”

Linda gave a slight nod, as if to say go on.
Petrus continued:

“I saw that beret in the hands of the Lord’s men. No one except our family knows or cares about the Seal of Solomon you stitched onto it to keep Nikola safe from evil spirits. There’s no chance someone else made an identical one. And just yesterday his father told me that on the day Nikola disappeared, he left home wearing the beret you had given him. He begged me: ‘Maybe you saw something in the forest… if you suspect anything, please tell me.’ When he embraced me afterward, we both wept. So you understand… the Lord was behind Nikola’s disappearance.”

“For every father, his son is precious. Still, Nikola was a striking young man—colored eyes, naturally wavy hair, tall and handsome. His mother always feared he might attract envy. But what could the Lord possibly want with him?” Linda asked.

“I have no idea… That man is a vault of secrets. Other than a handful of his closest men, no one knows what he does in that château. Think about it—after serving him for so many years, we were allowed only into the ground floor. Who knows what lies in the upper rooms?”

As Petrus spoke, something on the ground caught Linda’s eye. Leaning closer, she noticed a faint glimmer. She picked it up—
a small pendant.

The name engraved on it: Odessa.

Petrus frowned when he saw it.
“How strange… This is the necklace of the girl who passed away. How did it end up here?”

Linda’s eyes widened.
“Oh my God! How could I forget? That girl who rose from the lake—her name was Odessa too!”

“What’s so unusual about that? Can’t it be a coincidence? Just two people sharing the same name.”

“Is there another family on this island who would name their daughter Odessa? You know as well as I do that the only Odessa we ever heard of was the Lord’s wife—the woman he hid from everyone, known only to a handful of us who once served him. She was just as mysterious as the Lord himself.

A woman handed me this pendant once, asking me to deliver it to her. She vanished before I could even ask her name. When I gave the pendant to Odessa, I remember her words clearly: ‘My dear brother hasn’t forgotten me.’

When I asked, ‘My Lady, you have a brother?’ she scolded me, telling me not to meddle in her affairs.
But you know… I was the only one who placed her in the grave.
If she had any kin, they would have come. And I’m certain she wasn’t wearing this pendant that day.”

Linda shook her head and added:

“Don’t you see it yet? Her brother must have taken the pendant back somehow and given it to his daughter—naming the child Odessa to keep his sister’s memory alive. The girl who rose from the lake said she came from the Island of the Qabils.
So the Lord must have hidden his wife Odessa and her origins so no one would know she was from the Island of the Qabyls .”

Petrus scratched his head.

“You’re saying the girl from the lake is the niece of the Lord’s secret wife. Another mystery… as if the missing youths weren’t enough. But don’t forget the greatest mystery of all.

Look at us—our hair grey, our faces wrinkled—yet the Lord still looks like a man in his twenties. I can’t help but think there may be truth in the rumors… that he might truly be immortal. No one knows the secret of his youth.”

Petrus glanced toward the narrow path behind Linda.
“Without a doubt, all of his secrets will come to light,” he murmured. “But I fear he will deal with us long before he ever lays a hand on that young man. If I were you, I wouldn’t dare look back. I’d sooner pretend to faint.”

Linda did not fully grasp what Petrus meant, but she understood well enough that the approaching figure was Abraham. Abraham stepped toward them, his gaze cutting like a blade, and uttered only one sentence:

“You feel no shame handing over a helpless soul to a tyrant—but do you not fear Allah? You no longer have a son named Abraham.”

Petrus knew that, in time, things would mend between them. What troubled him far more was the mysterious request made by the Lord’s secret informant—how the man had urged him to speak ill of the Lord. By hinting that Lord might be involved in Nikola’s disappearance, had he done the right thing… or committed a grave mistake?Under normal circumstances, he would have buried the truth without hesitation. Yet acting at the insistence of that hidden agent—had that truly been righteous?