Mistress of the Night

by Don Bassingthwaite

  Velsinore was waiting when they arrived back at Moonshadow Hall. “Moonmistress-Designate,” she said, “there’s a matter we—”

  “—must discuss,” Feena finished for her. If there was anything she was growing to dislike more than tending to matters outside of Moonshadow Hall with Mifano, it was tending to matters within the Hall with Velsinore. “What is it this time?” she asked in resignation.

  “The New Moon Beneficence.” Velsinore turned as she spoke and walked briskly through the gate into Moonshadow Hall, the Waning Crescent sword banging against her leg. Feena had to hasten to follow, lengthening her stride as best she could in the billowing skirts.

  “What’s the New Moon Beneficence?” she asked.

  The nights of the new moon were generally a quiet and contemplative time for the followers of Selûne, a recognition of the only time that the moon didn’t sail the sky. Feena couldn’t recall any significant events of Selûne’s worship that took place during the dark of the moon.

  “A charity feast instituted by Mother Dhauna several years ago,” Velsinore replied. She turned along an inner corridor, heading for the long hall that was the temple’s refectory. “She conceived of it as a way of extending Moonshadow Hall’s good works in the city. All who wish to attend are welcome, whether they follow Our Silver Lady or not, and together we drive back the darkness with song.”

  As she spoke, a warm note entered Velsinore’s voice. Feena looked sideways at her. She had known Velsinore almost as long as she had known Mifano, though not so well. When she and Mifano had been novices and later acolytes together, Velsinore—several years their elder—had already been a priestess, with little time and less patience for her juniors. Ironically, she had ended up in charge of the acolytes’ dormitory. She had found a swift distrust for Mifano and his flirtatious manners, but it had always seemed to Feena that she reserved a special and immediate dislike for her. If punishments were handed out for bad behavior, they always seemed to fall more heavily when Feena was involved. Eventually they had developed a cool distance that had enabled them to get along, and before she left Moonshadow Hall to rejoin her mother in Arch Wood, Feena had even discovered a grudging respect for Velsinore. The priestess might have been cold and stiff on the outside, but her passion and devotion ran deep.

  “That sounds like a wonderful way to pass the new moon,” Feena said.

  “It has been one of Mother Dhauna’s wisest innovations,” agreed Velsinore. “As the new moon is less than a tenday away, it’s past time to begin planning the next Beneficence. The High Moonmistress has always been closely involved in the celebration. I presume you will want to keep up that tradition.”

  Feena’s stomach sank. “You want me to speak at the feast?”

  “It is expected.” Velsinore pushed open the doors of the refectory. The temple’s cook waited for them beside one of the dining hall’s long tables. The table had been stacked with account books. Velsinore gestured toward them. “But for now, you need to plan the menu.”

  Feena stopped dead. “What?”

  “You need to plan the feast,” said Velsinore. “Idruth can give you suggestions, of course.” She laid a hand on the stacked books. “These are accounts of our food stocks and of the sums budgeted for the event. You’ll find menus of previous Beneficences as well, if you want to follow the easy path and duplicate one of them. Naturally, I can understand if you would prefer—”

  “Velsinore,” Feena interrupted, “is this really necessary?”

  She fought to keep anger out of her voice, but didn’t succeed. The cook flinched back. Velsinore stood firm. When she answered, her voice was cool. “The Moonmistress-Designate assumes the High Moonmistress’s duties, does she not?”

  Feena’s hands were trembling. She forced them to be still.

  “Fine,” she growled. She glanced at Idruth and the cook flinched back another step. “A side of beef,” she ordered, “and four young pigs—more to round out the servings if that’s not enough to feed the number of people who come—”

  “Ah, meat,” said Velsinore. She picked up a reed pen and made notes on a scrap of parchment. “Of course.”

  Feena sucked in her breath. “What do you mean by that?”

  Velsinore looked up from the parchment. “Nothing at all, Moonmistress-Designate.” Her voice was as calm as ever, but her eyes were hard. “Now,” she asked, raising the pen, “would you like all this meat cooked or should we just leave it raw?”

  Wolf. Beast. Monster. Velsinore didn’t say it, but she didn’t need to. It was clear where her feelings lay.

  Feena whirled around—skirts rustling, bodice clenching, coronet pinching—and stormed out of the refectory without another word. In the hallway outside, novices and clergy alike scrambled out of her path. Feena strode down the hall and up the ramp to the temple’s second floor and Dhauna Myritar’s quarters. She raised her fist and hammered on the door.

  “Mother Dhauna!” she shouted. “Let me in.” There was no response. Feena pounded on the wood again. “I’m not going away this time, Dhauna. We’re going to talk!”

  There was still no sound from the other side of the door. Feena reached down and rattled the latch. It was locked. Feena took a step back, hiked up the froth of her skirts, and threw her shoulder against the door. Then again.

  With the second blow, wood splintered. With a third, the lock tore free and the door slammed open. Feena released her skirts and stomped through.

  There was no one in the High Moonmistress’s quarters. Everything seemed to lie just as it had on the evening when Feena had first arrived, but neither Dhauna nor Julith were present. Feena clenched her jaw. Could they have slipped out of Moonshadow Hall while she was away at the council of temples? When Dhauna had spent so much time shut away, it hardly seemed likely that she should suddenly leave.

  Feena’s eye fell on the books and scrolls that were piled in the sitting room. “I have even more spread out in the archives,” Dhauna had said that first evening. Feena turned and walked back out into the corridor.

  On its east, south, and west sides, Moonshadow Hall was relatively low, the better to allow Selûne’s light to enter the central courtyard. On its north side, however, it rose higher. The entire top floor of that height was occupied by the temple’s archives, which were reached by a narrow, little-used ramp located along a dark corridor conveniently close to the quarters of the high priestess. Unlike the high priestess’s quarters, though, the archives were protected by a substantial door that was banded with iron and secured with a heavy lock. Normally the lock was open so that any member of the clergy, should they feel the desire, could consult the archives.

  It was locked.

  Feena pounded on the thick wood and called, “Dhauna! Julith! I know you’re in there. If you don’t open this door, I swear by the Bright Lady of Night that I will get an axe and chop it open!”

  A faint flutter of noise from within suggested that she hadn’t been wrong and that her threat had been heard. A moment later, the door opened. Julith grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her.

  “Does anyone else know we’re here?” the dark-haired priestess whispered.

  “If they have half a brain, they might figure it out,” Feena grumbled as she marched on, leaving Julith scurrying in her wake.

  Moonshadow Hall was one of the earliest major buildings built in Yhaunn. Its archives were correspondingly old and extensive. Because it was the largest temple of Selûne in that part of Faerûn, it had also become the repository for records gathered from even older shrines. Whenever a hermit-priestess died, whenever a remote chapel was finally allowed to collapse, whenever another temple simply needed to clear the dust from its vaults, old records and tattered tomes were sent to Moonshadow Hall to be preserved for the greater faith of Selûne. Row upon row of high shelves crammed with books, papers, and scrolls filled the archives. Feena had never much liked the place. It was too quiet for her, too full of dead, dry words. As she walked i
nto the dusty shadows, she almost had to fight against the muffling silence to keep her rage burning.

  She found the High Moonmistress skimming a book that was a full handspan thick. Cool magical light shone from a humble paperweight, casting illumination across the book, an inkwell and pen, a tray with a half-eaten bowl of soup from lunch, and a scattering of parchments crowded with scribbled notes. Dhauna glanced up sourly as Feena approached.

  “I told you no one, Julith! I don’t want to see anybody.”

  The old priestess had been lying when she said it was only the vestments that made her look wasted, Feena realized. Without them, Dhauna looked even more aged and frail. The sleeves of her simple, soft robe had been pinned back so they didn’t tangle in the pages she turned.

  Feena stepped forward without giving Julith a chance to reply and said, “Mother Dhauna, I need to talk to you.”

  “I don’t have time, Feena.” Dhauna began to turn a page, then stopped and squinted at it. “Did I just read this?” she muttered, and flipped ahead, then back again. She looked up at Feena with an angry glare. “Our Lady of Silver, do you see what you’ve made me do?” she spat. She slammed the book closed hard enough to make the glowing paperweight jump and the cold soup splash. “I didn’t summon you to Moonshadow Hall just so you could start interrupting me, too!”

  Feena stared at her, at the stacks of books surrounding her, and an ugly suspicion formed in her mind.

  She narrowed her eyes and said, “You intended to name me as Moonmistress-Designate from the moment you sent for me!” She stalked up to the broad table at which Dhauna sat. “With me to handle your duties and keep Mifano and Velsinore busy, you were free to continue your research! That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you really needed me to come to Moonshadow Hall.”

  “Yes!” snapped Dhauna. “Yes, it is.” She put her elbows on top of the book and propped up her head on her hands, rubbing her palms against her eyes and forehead. “I know it’s not what you were thinking when you agreed to help me—”

  “It isn’t,” Feena said. “You said you needed me.”

  Dhauna looked up at her. Her eyes were tired, like drawn shadows at dusk. “I do need you, Feena,” she said, raising one arm and gesturing around her. “All this … most of it I’ve accomplished in just the last few days and nights.” There was a weary desperation in her voice. “Velsinore and Mifano are running you ragged, aren’t they? I couldn’t keep up with that and my duties to the temple and still try to work out what Selûne is trying to tell me. I told you, I didn’t—don’t—dare trust anyone inside Moonshadow Hall. They might be the very source of the danger. Even turning to Julith was a risk, but I know that I can trust you. You were the only one I knew I could safely put in charge. If you’d only come sooner.…” She rubbed her eyes again. “A tenday, Feena. Give me a tenday and I think I’ll have all the answers.”

  Feena turned and glared out into the darkened recesses of the archives. Her fists were clenched so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her palms. The headache the half moon coronet had given her was pounding like a hammer in her head.

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “Feena, I can’t—”

  “Tell me,” Feena pressed, looking down at the old priestess. “If I’m going to put up with Mifano and Velsinore, I want to know that it’s worth it. I want to know what we’re dealing with. What have you found so far?” She forced her fists open. “What are these dreams?”

  She heard Julith hiss softly in warning, but Dhauna held her hand up.

  “No, Julith. It’s all right.” She sat back in her chair. Her eyes focused in the shadows and she said, “The dreams fade quickly, but with each one I remember a little more on waking. The situations vary from dream to dream, but some things are always the same—a profound unease that builds to horror. Sometimes I’m walking through a dark passage. Sometimes I’m just sitting in the courtyard of Moonshadow Hall at night, with nothing reflecting in the sacred pool but stars. Sometimes I’m actually swimming in the pool—or maybe in the sea—alone. Wherever I am, the unease comes over me. Suddenly there are voices and something is dreadfully, terribly wrong. I know the voices, but what they’re saying makes no sense. They’re all around me, threatening to overcome me.”

  Dhauna’s voice tightened. Her hands were wrapped around the arms of her chair.

  “And there’s something behind them,” the old woman continued, “something very old, and no matter how terrifying the voices are, that thing is even worse. No matter how I try to escape it, I can’t. Sooner or later, it’s going to catch me and it’s going to consume—”

  She gasped, and her voice broke. Feena felt as if she couldn’t move, spellbound by the tale, but Julith stepped around the table and moved to the old woman’s side. Dhauna took Julith’s hands.

  “I have to finish,” the high priestess said. She looked at Feena once more. “I always wake up before it catches me, but just before I do, I realize that I’m carrying something.” She gestured around them. “A book. That’s Selûne’s clue, Feena. I’ll find the answers I need here.”

  Feena drew a slow breath and said, “There are a lot of books here, Mother Dhauna.”

  “Yes,” the high priestess agreed, “but I think I understand other parts of the dream now, too. Selûne’s faith is ancient, among the oldest in Faerûn. We’ve had our dark times. The consuming horror with many voices … the old terror that destroys tranquility?” She leaned forward and whispered one word. “Heresy.”

  Feena’s teeth clenched. “Heresy? Mother Dhauna, is that really—”

  “How old were you when the Time of Troubles fell upon Faerûn, Feena?” Dhauna snapped. “Eleven? Twelve? It was before you came to Moonshadow Hall, I know that, but your mother must have told you about the fear and uncertainty that came with the casting down of the gods. Heresy is worse. It’s insidious. It isn’t a test of faith, it’s torture, chaos that divides temples and turns sister against sister. Even in a faith so tolerant as Selûne’s, when heresy rises, all of us feel the upheaval.”

  “Mother Dhauna.…” said Julith in soothing tones, but Dhauna brushed her away.

  “What must be stirring now,” she asked Feena, “that the Moonmaiden herself moves to warn us about it? Feena, believe me, whatever heresy grows in Moonshadow Hall, we have to stop it. We have to …”

  She sighed and seemed to sink in on herself.

  “Dhauna?” Feena gasped in alarm.

  The High Moonmistress shook her head and replied, “I’m just … tired. Selûne’s warnings take their toll.” She cast her eyes over the books in front of her, then turned a tired gaze on Feena. “I need to get back to work. A tenday, Feena. I’m sure of it. You’ll stay?”

  Feena nodded, numb.

  “Good. Tell no one about the dreams, Feena. Even if you’re defending me.”

  “I won’t, Mother Dhauna,” Feena promised, but the old woman was already turning back to her books.

  A soft touch on her shoulder drew Feena’s attention. Julith stood beside her. The dark-haired priestess shook her head and silently gestured for Feena to follow her.

  “That’s the best she’s been in two days,” she said as she led Feena back to the archive door. Julith glanced back over her shoulder at the pool of light that surrounded Dhauna. The High Moonmistress was gingerly unrolling a scroll that seemed ready to crumble at any sudden movement. “I’m worried, Feena. She’s becoming obsessed with heresy. What if there is no heresy?”

  “You mean, what if she’s truly going mad?”

  Julith held out her hands, helpless, and replied, “I don’t know what to think. Sometimes I would say yes, but the books and scrolls that she asks me to fetch, the notes that she makes—there’s a method to them, I’d swear it.”

  “There are things to be seen by moonlight that sunlight cannot reveal,” murmured Feena. It was a favorite saying among the followers of Selûne. Sometimes the Moonmaiden’s insights could be more than a mortal mind was capable of deal
ing with.

  But sometimes the saying was just an excuse.

  Feena gripped Julith’s hand and said, “Let me know if it gets worse.”

  “I will,” Julith replied. She returned Feena’s grip—and drew her into a close embrace. “And you come to me if you need to. I’ll help you however I can.”

  Startled, Feena stiffened, but then relaxed. There was a genuine warmth in Julith’s voice and embrace.

  “I will,” she said.

  “If you need to be alone,” Julith added, “I can tell you how to get rid of Velsinore and Mifano.”

  A smile spread across Feena’s face and she stepped back.

  “No, that’s all right,” she said. “I think they’re done with me for today. But you’re right. Some time alone is what I need.”

  When silence finally fell over Moonshadow Hall that night, Feena, wearing her own blouse and homespun skirt once more, slipped out of the chamber that Velsinore had reluctantly assigned her and down to the temple’s kitchen. At the back of the big room there was a stout door. Feena murmured a prayer to Selûne that nothing had changed substantially since her days as an acolyte at the temple, and drew back the door’s heavy bolt.

  The door swung open on a small kitchen herb garden built onto the side of Moonshadow Hall. Feena closed the door behind herself and stepped through the dew-damp beds to the wall that surrounded the garden. A squat, weathered pillar that might once have been a statue was right where she remembered it, if a little mossier and a little more deeply sunk in the ground. She stepped carefully on top of it and reached up.

  As an acolyte, she had just barely been able to reach the top of the wall with her fingertips. Now she could wrap her hands securely over it. With a quick hop and a little straining, she was up on top of it then slithering down into the shadows on the other side. An alley nearby formed a conveniently private niche. Feena slipped out of her clothes and tucked them into a bundle in a corner. Then she closed her eyes, took a breath, and opened herself to the wild power within her spirit.