“The Stiltways are humming with stories of werewolves,” Julith replied. “The tales have spread a little bit into the city at large, but seem to be mostly dismissed as drunken ravings. No one except High Luck Shoondeep seems to have made any connection to you, though.”
“I hope it stays that way,” Feena said bitterly.
After her experience at the Cutter’s Dip three nights before, she had hastened back to Moonshadow Hall, sticking to Yhaunn’s more brightly lit streets. A quick leap over the kitchen wall had brought her back to safety once more—but it hadn’t been until she’d collapsed into a chair in Julith’s room that the harrowing danger had really hit her. She’d tracked the servants of Malar in Arch Wood, even fought vampires in Selgaunt, but a mob of unarmed drunks had almost brought her down. Feena had given fervent thanks to Selûne for her deliverance—even if it had been at the arrogant hands of Keph Thingoleir—and paid serious attention to Julith when she suggested that maybe another approach was needed.
Even if that approach failed to yield results, it was better than risking her furry skin chasing Sharrans that might or might not exist. Besides, with Julith to support her, there was more than enough to keep her busy around Moonshadow Hall.
They approached a door that opened onto the cloisters.
“Ready?” asked Julith.
Feena smoothed the simple pale blue gown that the seamstress had prepared for her and checked the silver web in her hair.
“Ready,” she said.
Julith pulled open the door. Feena walked through, passed across the shaded walkway, and stepped out into the golden light of afternoon that flooded the courtyard.
Around Selûne’s sacred pool, a group of about a dozen people were gathered: representatives of the city’s merchants, craft guilds, the Nessarch’s office, and the high priests and priestesses of the council of temples—even Colle Shoondeep. Velsinore and Mifano were there as well, Mifano making restrained conversation with various people while Velsinore kept a critical eye on the acolytes who moved among the group, offering chilled wine.
“Thank you all for coming,” Feena called.
Conversation stilled and faces turned toward her as she walked across the grass. The acolytes made a silent, graceful exit, except for one who quickly brought wine to Feena and Julith before departing. Feena inclined her head to her guests. They returned the gesture—some more enthusiastically and graciously than others. Colle barely nodded. Mifano’s bow was deep but cold and stiff. Velsinore didn’t move at all.
Feena ignored the three of them.
“As some of you may know,” she said, pronouncing each word as clearly as she had practiced with Julith, “it has become a tradition at Moonshadow Hall to open our doors to the poor of Yhaunn on the night of the new moon in what we call the New Moon Beneficence.”
“And a wonderful tradition it is, too!” said Endress Halatar.
Feena nodded in acknowledgement of her praise and said, “It is always popular, and it has won Moonshadow Hall much favor in the less wealthy parts of the city. The New Moon Beneficence was never intended to bring worshipers to Selûne, however, only to provide some relief to the poor. We can’t help all of them, though. Each new moon, we find ourselves turning people away. That’s why I would like to invite you all—other temples, the city, merchants, and guilds—to share in this act of charity. All of us are wealthy. If we work together one night a month, we would be able to provide for many, many people.”
The group reacted in startled silence, glancing among themselves, some with an expression of immediate skepticism, some with cautious interest. Velsinore and Mifano, of course, looked ready to spit fire, but they didn’t dare say anything—challenging their Moonmistress-Designate in front of outsiders would only highlight the division within Moonshadow Hall. Feena held her breath. The reaction was exactly what Julith had predicted, and if only the guests would react in accordance with the rest of the young priestess’s expectations.…
Colle rose to the occasion. “Preposterous!” he blustered. “The poor will certainly benefit, but once word came out that this was all Moonshadow Hall’s idea, how would that make the rest of us look?”
Feena let out her breath. “As you yourself said in our last council, Colle, it’s a great shame when temple competes with temple. If the announcement is phrased properly, all Yhauntans will see is the group of us working together for the common good. It will benefit all of us—” she nodded to the representatives of the city’s civil authorities—“Temples, merchants, and guilds.”
Colle blinked, his bluster countered, and Feena turned to Endress. Julith had suggested that the old priestess would be the most likely to support the idea. Feena was relieved to see interest sparkling in her eyes.
“High Mistress of Revels?” she asked. “What do you think?”
“You know I love any excuse for a party.” Endress chuckled. “Especially one for a good cause.” She tilted her head. “But there would be a tremendous amount of organization involved.”
“With your help, I don’t think it would be difficult.” She looked to the high priest of Ilmater, the suffering god who was traditionally the patron of the impoverished. “Sir?” she asked humbly.
He nodded slowly and said, “A burden shared is a burden more easily borne. You have Ilmater’s blessing.”
“And Deneir’s,” added the High Scrivener of the Lord of All Glyphs. Feena held back a grin. Julith had said that the two priests, the most conservative members of the council of temples, would agree with each other. Another prediction fulfilled!
“And Waukeen’s, as well, Moonmistress.” The priest of the goddess of wealth bowed toward Feena. “Generosity is the root of success.”
Feena heard Julith let out a little gasp beside her. Waukeen’s priest had been among those the priestess had judged would be the most difficult to convince. That he had come around so quickly was almost a miracle! Feena bowed back to him, honoring him with a deeper bow than he had given her.
“Thank you,” she replied.
The representatives of the Nessarch, the council of merchants, and the craft guilds were still communicating among themselves with whispers and skeptical glances. The merchants’ representative finally looked up and cleared his throat.
“The idea seems to have merit,” he said, caution plain in his tone, “but none of us can offer our full approval without consulting our members. And with the new moon only tomorrow night, we couldn’t organize meetings in time to give you an answer.”
“Of course,” said Feena. She couldn’t hold back her smile anymore and it spread across her face just as the warmth of triumph spread through her belly. “I didn’t expect that you could. That’s why I would like to invite you to attend—”
“Feena!”
From the window of her sitting room, Dhauna Myritar’s voice drifted down into the courtyard, piercing and demanding. It didn’t sound like the High Moonmistress was frightened or in pain, however. Feena clenched her teeth behind her smile and carried on.
“I would like to invite all of you,” she said, extending her arms to encompass the group, “to attend tomorrow’s New Moon Beneficence as my guests. I think you will see—”
Dhauna’s second call was more strident: “Feena!”
Feena winced and glanced at Julith. The other priestess gave her a sharp nod of encouragement. Feena drew a breath. “I think you’ll see how much need there is for this type of cooperation and how much good we would be able to do if we were to work togeth—”
Feena!
The call was magical, echoing inside her head as loudly as if Dhauna were standing right next to her and shouting in her ear. Feena gasped and actually staggered. Julith caught her.
“Feena, what is it?” the young priestess whispered.
“Mother Dhauna doesn’t want to be ignored,” Feena grunted. She stood and offered her guests a bow. “Please excuse me,” she said. “It seems there’s something I must see to.” She laid a hand on Julith’s s
houlder. “Julith can tell you anything you need to know. Thank you very much for taking the time to come and speak with me.”
She turned—and Mifano and Velsinore turned as well, moving to intercept her as the rest of the group converged on Julith. She shot the pair a hard glance.
“Not now,” she snapped.
“Feena—!” Velsinore began angrily.
Feena glared at her. “I said not now!”
She crossed the courtyard at a swift stride. As soon as she was beyond the cloisters and inside the temple, she broke into a furious run, hastening up to the High Moonmistress’s quarters before Dhauna could try calling her again.
The high priestess stood at the door, waiting for her.
“Do you ever intend to come when I call you?” the old woman asked.
“I was busy, Mother Dhauna,” Feena snarled. “Did you look out your window? I was in the courtyard meeting with people. Important people!” She stormed past Dhauna and into the sitting room. It was dark. The High Moonmistress had drawn the curtains against the sun. Magic lit the desk in a puddle of light. Dhauna closed the door and waddled over to the desk.
Feena looked at her and frowned. “Where are your canes?”
“I put them aside,” said Dhauna. “Selûne gives me strength.”
She’d used magic to bolster herself, just as she had on the night of the Full Moon Blessing. Feena’s eyes narrowed.
“What’s going on, Dhauna? Why did you call me?”
“I’ve unlocked the meaning of the dreams.”
Feena stared at her in surprise for a moment, then asked, “What?”
Dhauna scowled and said, “Are you deaf? Is that why you don’t come when you’re called?” She shoved her chair out of the way and bent over a series of books and scrolls laid out on the desk. “I said I’ve unlocked the meaning of the dreams. I know what Selûne has been trying to guide me toward.”
There was only the barest trace of triumph in her voice and no joy at all. Feena hesitated before asking, “You’ve uncovered the heresy?”
“Yes and no,” Dhauna replied, gesturing. “Come look at this.”
Feena stepped over to the desk and looked down at the collection of records laid out there. Dhauna pointed at the first of them, a book of dark, greasy parchment. The ink on the pages had bled badly over time, but the book was clearly written in the angular Dethek script used in the region of the Moonsea.
“This is a record of inquests held at the House of the Moon in the city of Thentia,” said Dhauna. “It came to Moonshadow Hall about a hundred years ago, but parts of the record are as much as two centuries older. This was written in about 1194.” She cleared her throat and read, “ ‘Mirela, Fela, and Iwna Telsk, the three sisters who tended Selûne’s shrine at the trade moot of Glister until the Year of Sinking Sails, stand accused of the New Moon Heresy. As the sisters perished in that year, we declare that none may judge them save Selûne herself and in memory of their long years of true faith, declare them acquitted of these false and heinous charges.’ ”
Feena frowned again. “I’ve never heard of the New Moon Heresy.”
“Neither had I,” admitted Dhauna. “I wonder if the Thentians had either. The Year of Sinking Sails was 1180 Dalereckoning. It’s almost as if it took them fourteen years just to assign a name to whatever those three priestesses did. And Glister is only a remote crossroads even father north than Thentia. To have crossed that distance and endured so many years of investigation, the rumor must have been something shocking.” She put her finger on the entry. “But as soon as I found this entry, I knew it was what I was looking for. Then I found this …”
She moved her finger to a scroll of cracked parchment that was being held flat by a shoe on one side and the moon’s road tiara on the other. The scroll had been written in the bold curves of Thorass that Feena could read herself. “ ‘And long be chanted the name of Marrigan, who heard the call of Selûne and turned her back on the Gray Wolves to become a hero of the New Moon,’ ” she read out loud. She looked at Dhauna. “Wait. Here it sounds like the New Moon Heresy is something highly regarded.”
“This scroll is a transcription of legends told by the more civilized of the Uthgardt tribes of the Silver Marches in the northwest beyond the Anauroch desert,” said Dhauna. “The scroll is centuries old, but the stories are probably even older.”
Feena’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve heard of the Gray Wolf Uthgardt tribe,” she gasped. “They’re werewolves!”
Dhauna nodded and said, “And savages by all accounts, so a Gray Wolf following the call of Selûne must have been something. Unfortunately, that’s all the scroll has to say about Marrigan. Two clues about the New Moon Heresy, yet still nothing clear. But then …”
She reached for a folded leaf of fine vellum and carefully opened it.
The vellum had been used to take a rubbing of some stone inscription. The carved words were in both Dethek and Thorass, in two columns of characters. Feena took the vellum gently and held it up to read the ghostly words.
To the memory of Niree Swifthands. In Elmwood, a Hero of the New Moon Pact, in Chancelgaunt, a Heretic. Murdered in treachery and jealousy there at Bright Lady’s Tower in the Year of Lost Wayfarers, 757. Selûne guide her to rest.
“Chancelgaunt is the old name for Selgaunt,” said Dhauna. “The rubbing was taken in the Temple of the Half-Moon in Elmwood, an ancient village on the south side of the Moonsea.”
“I’ve been there,” said Feena. “I don’t remember seeing this memorial.”
“It may well be gone or by hidden now—the rubbing was made almost four hundred years ago, two hundred years after this Niree Swifthands was executed at Selûne’s temple in Selgaunt.”
“There’s no temple to Selûne in Selgaunt.”
“There was six hundred years ago. Ironically, it was abandoned and demolished not long after 757. Its library was brought here.” Dhauna opened the final book on the table, a grand tome bound in silver and white leather. “Eighteen Kythorn, the Year of Lost Wayfarers,” she began.
Feena moved around to read over her shoulder.
I, Brima Chintamn, High Moonmistress of Bright Lady’s Tower in Chancelgaunt, declare the ancient Pact of the New Moon to be ended. The lands and goods held by it and its former members are forfeit and are to become the property of the temple of Selûne to which they lie nearest. Its tales and legends are declared false and are to be purged from archives and expunged from memory. Its members are declared heretics. Those in our custody have been tried and found guilty—they are cast out of Selûne’s grace, in body and in soul. Should any remain free, let them also be cast out of Selûne’s grace. Their heresy has damned them. I pray that Selûne’s face turn away so that their souls walk in darkness until the end of time.
I, Rian Liurandel, Priestess of the High Moonlight of the House of the Moon in Waterdeep, concur and so pray.
I, Zarran Tonnos, High Moonmistress of Moonmaiden’s Hall in Murran, concur and so pray.
I, Bero Falabara, High Moonmaster of the Crescent Shrine in Alaghôn, concur and so pray.
I, Jolara Nightnever, High Moonmistress of Moonshadow Hall in Yhaunn, concur and so pray.
The list went on, another half dozen high priests and priestesses—though not the high priestess of Elmwood—adding their condemnation.
“Moonmaiden’s grace,” breathed Feena. “What was this Pact of the New Moon and what did they do?”
Dhauna began flipping back through the book as she explained, “According to the records of their trial, the New Moon Pact was an order of priests and warriors in Selûne’s service throughout the north and west of Faerûn. They were never large, but they were ancient—this makes passing mention of events centuries before the trial, which would fit with the Uthgardt legend of Marrigan. And even though they were a small order, over time the Pact accumulated significant wealth and power while answering to no temple or clerical hierarchy.”
“The New Moon Pact is a strange name for a Selûnit
e order,” Feena observed. “The new moon is a dark time.”
Dhauna looked up at her. “The New Moon Pact,” she said in a quiet voice, “did dark deeds. They claimed to serve the interests of Selûne that couldn’t be spoken openly.”
Feena’s eyes went wide. “Assassins?” she choked.
“They were never accused of that,” Dhauna said. “They were defenders and avengers, working in secret and sometimes against the interests of the larger temples. Six hundred years later, the charges of heresy ring more than hollow.” She flipped back to the declaration of condemnation. “This passage about land and goods being forfeit to the temples—I’ve seen that in too many trumped up charges of outlawry. I think Selûne’s clergy feared and envied the New Moon Pact.”
“Because they were fighters?” Feena snorted. “I think I like these people.”
“They were more than just fighters, Feena.” Dhauna gave her a sideways glance. “The New Moon Pact embraced werewolves and lycanthropes of all kinds.”
Feena opened her mouth in amazement, then closed it again, speechless.
“An order of werewolves?” she whispered finally. “They still exist then. I’ve heard stories of the Sil—”
“Silverstars?” Dhauna finished for her. She shook her head. “The Silverstars accept lycanthropes, but they aren’t the same. Silverstars promote tolerance and harmony in Selûne’s name.” She touched the declaration of condemnation. “The Pact fought for Selûne. They moved in darkness. Maybe that’s what gave their persecutors the basis for the accusation of heresy.”
“Which was?” asked Feena.
Dhauna flipped through the book once more and indicated another passage. Feena bent closer and read:
… and over time they became corrupted by the darkness they had been commanded to fight, turning from Selûne’s light to chant and pray in unholy tongues to Shar. Worse, they then affirmed a blasphemy: that Shar was not Selûne’s sister, but the Moonmaiden herself, and that Shar was only a name given to Selûne’s dark face.
Mistress of the Night Page 17
