Mistress of the Night

by Don Bassingthwaite

  Feena flushed, but managed to keep control over her voice. “Thank you.” Ignoring Julith’s smile, she turned to Keph and Strasus and continued, “I’ve spoken to the high priest of Ilmater. He’ll take Jarull in. His temple has experience in treating victims of torture.”

  Strasus bowed and said, “Thank you.” He gestured and his staff rose from the ground to float into his hand. He nodded to both Feena and Julith. “I must go. Jarull’s mother should hear the news from me.”

  Keph cleared his throat and said, “I should come with you.”

  Strasus shook his head. “Not yet, Keph. It’s a commendable sentiment, but it’s too soon. Give Hane some time.” He touched Keph’s shoulder and added, “You’ll have enough to face you at Fourstaves House. Wait for me here. We’ll go home together.”

  Keph nodded, biting his lip as Strasus turned and walked out of the courtyard.

  Feena put her arm around him. “You did the right thing last night,” she said. “You fought for your family and friends.”

  “If I’d done the right thing in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to.”

  Feena drew him across the courtyard to the flashing water of the sacred pool. Julith paced after them.

  “If I’d come to Moonshadow Hall when Dhauna Myritar first called me,” she told him, “she might not have gone mad and we might have unraveled Selûne’s warning much earlier. But if she hadn’t forced me to attack her, I might not have met you at the gates. Every choice leads to another path. We can learn from where we’ve been, but we can’t go back.”

  Keph turned a sour eye on her and commented, “You sound more like a priestess every time we talk.”

  “I know,” Feena said, wrinkling her nose.

  “What will happen to the Sharrans?”

  “The guard has taken them into custody,” said Julith. “Those who want to repudiate the Dark Goddess will be given the chance. Those who don’t will face the law of Yhaunn for any crimes they’ve committed. We’re fortunate there were no deaths in the Stiltways. We have your family to thank for that, Keph.”

  “Oh, yes,” Keph grunted, “the wizards of Fourstaves House—always heroes.”

  “The wizards aren’t the only heroes of Fourstaves House,” said Feena, squeezing the young man’s shoulders. She turned him loose. “I think there’s something you should have.” She ran over to the cloisters and reached through an arched gate to retrieve a cloth-wrapped bundle she had left there earlier, then returned to the pool. “This is yours.”

  She shook loose the wrappings. Keph’s eyebrows rose at the sight of his rapier.

  “Quick!”

  “I spoke to Mifano this morning,” Feena said. “He’s still recovering from Velsinore’s attack. He told me where to find it and also asked me to pass on his apologies … and his admiration.”

  “I wish people would stop saying that,” Keph said with genuine shame. “I don’t even want to stay in Yhaunn. I don’t feel like I belong here anymore.”

  Feena nodded. “I know how you feel,” she said. “I can’t wait to get back to Arch Wood.”

  “Feena!” Julith cut in. “I thought we’d agreed—”

  “I know,” said Feena. “After Mother Dhauna and the others are laid to rest … a grand ceremony installing the new High Moonmistress.” She bent down and scooped up a handful of water from the sacred pool, then pressed her wet fingers to Julith’s forehead. “Julith Harkspur, you are a true priestess of Selûne and by Selûne’s grace, I name you Moonmistress-Designate and my successor at Moonshadow Hall.” She flicked the last of the water from her fingers. “The ceremony installing the new High Moonmistress will be for you. I resign.”

  Julith’s eyes went wide. “Feena, you can’t! Mifano should—”

  “Mifano doesn’t want the post. I spoke to him about that as well. He’s too ashamed of being manipulated by Variance and of how he behaved toward me. I think you should let him keep the Waxing Crescent though. He’s very good at that—he suggested holding Lady Monstaed’s properties in trust until the guard can determine what Variance did with the real Lady Monstaed when she took her place.”

  Julith simply stared, speechless.

  Feena patted her cheek and said, “You’ll do fine, Julith. You know everything about Moonshadow Hall. You have compassion and determination. After the way you took charge last night, the clergy are already looking to you for leadership.” She smiled at the young priestess. “What do you say?”

  “I … I’ll do my best.” She drew a deep breath and continued, “It won’t be that bad, I’m sure. Six hundred years ago, Moonshadow Hall survived a High Moonmistress who couldn’t talk.”

  Feena blinked. “Asha the Silent?”

  “Yes!” said Julith. “How did you know?”

  “I’ll make you a copy of The Book of the New Moon. But only if you do me a favor.” Putting her arms around both Julith and Keph, she turned them toward the brick-filled arch that stood in for the new moon gate onto the courtyard. Feena lifted her chin. “Open that up. The New Moon Pact has been reborn.”

  Variance sensed Rivalen Tanthul’s presence as the high priest entered the archive chamber. She turned and bent her head in respect.

  “Flame of Darkness,” she whispered, “Singer after Twilight.”

  Rivalen bent his head as well, but his eyes stayed on her face.

  “Vigilant sister,” he said with a trace of awe. “What happened?”

  Variance reached up and touched the long scar that cut across her right cheek and notched her ear.

  “I was not sufficiently subtle,” she said. “Shar writes her reprimand in my flesh.”

  “But you were successful.”

  He crossed the chamber to stand beside her. The Leaves of One Night rested on a cushion of black silk. The silver characters on the slates shimmered in the dimness. Rivalen examined them closely.

  “They look like Netherese,” he said, “but I can’t read them.”

  “The script looks like all languages, Father Night,” said Variance. “No one can read the text. The Leaves of One Night was cursed by Shar herself.”

  She opened the black wood doors of a cabinet and removed one of the many drawers within. Inside the drawer was a box of lead and dull gold. She took it out.

  Rivalen looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “The Singer after Twilight commands you to speak, vigilant sister. It’s time to give up some of your secrets. What do you know of The Leaves of One Night?”

  “Only that and two things more,” she said. “This is the first: touch the Leaves.”

  Rivalen extended a hand and rest it on the slates. He frowned and looked at Variance.

  “Speak a prayer to the Mistress of the Night,” she told him.

  His lips moved—and he gasped. Wonder filled his face.

  “The whispers are like the tides of Shadow!” he said.

  “No one can understand them either, also the work of Shar’s curse. But legend says that the whispers are the words of the text. The Leaves of One Night are alive—alive and bound by the Lady of Loss.”

  Rivalen lifted his hand away from the Leaves and asked, “And the second thing?”

  “Legends also say,” Variance said, “that the text records Shar’s only moment of weakness. She cursed the Leaves so no one would know it, even if it meant locking away all the other secrets of the Leaves as well—magic of ancient darkness so profound they have yet to be rediscovered.”

  The high priest breathed in then whispered, “These secrets—?”

  Variance looked at him with narrowed eyes and said, “Inaccessible, Father Night. Unless you would work against the Lady of Loss herself.”

  Rivalen fell silent, then bowed his head. “As you say, vigilant sister.” He stepped back and asked, “Is Shar pleased with the return of The Leaves of One Night?”

  “Shar is pleased, Father Night.”

  Opening the box, she picked up the slates and set them carefully inside, then closed the box and placed it back in the
drawer. Rivalen’s footsteps retreated back across the chamber. She felt his presence fade.

  She hesitated, then opened the box once more and laid a hand on the cold slate.

  “Praise be to Shar, the Mistress of the Night,” she whispered.

  The whispers of darkness filled her head. Secrets beyond measure. Incomprehensible. Inaccessible. Except …

  Variance looked down at the first page of The Leaves of One Night, at a blank spot on the black slate. A spot that should have been filled with the single silver character that shone on the thumb of Keph Thingoleir.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  In his secret identity, Dave Gross is a

  mild-mannered magazine editor with a

  fondness for foreign films, funny plays,

  and a really good pint. By cloak of night

  he patrols the streets of Seattle in search

  of miscreants, at least until it gets chilly

  or starts to rain—or if he thinks he

  heard something scary.

  Don Bassingthwaite lives in Toronto,

  Ontario. He shares a home with his

  partner, a wide assortment of books and

  games, and a ridiculously well-stocked

  spice cupboard. He is the author of

  The Yellow Silk and the forthcoming

  EBERRON® novel The Binding Stone.

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