Mistress of the Night (28 page)

A shadow fell across it from below. Someone was coming up.

Feena pulled away quickly. Could she hide in her chamber? No. With the door open, anyone passing could see inside—and soon the novices and acolytes would be pouring past on their way to breakfast. Closing a door that had stood open all night would only draw attention.

But there was a chamber nearby that had been deliberately placed so that no one passed it. Feena scrambled silently back down the corridor and ducked into the brilliance of Dhauna's chamber. Holding her breath, she strained her ears to catch the steps of whoever was climbing—

The wail that tore across the courtyard outside struck her like a blow.

"She's dead! Mother Dhauna is dead!"

Someone had visited the infirmary. For a heartbeat there was silence, then chaos erupted as the news spread Feena could hear shouts and screams from the dormitories, cries and exclamations from the few priestesses who had remained in the temple. She could imagine the confusion amid the heat of the kitchens—the New Moon Beneficence would suddenly become a funeral feast. For a moment, all of her own grief threatened to come crashing back yet again. Memories of Mother Dhauna in better times, wise and gentle before madness claimed her...

Feena squeezed her eyes shut and sagged back against a wall.

"No," she snarled under her breath. "Enough." No more tears. Not now.

She reached up and clenched her hand around Selune's medallion, gripping it so hard that the edges of the holy symbol bit into her flesh.

Bright Lady of Night, she prayed in silent anger, how could you let this happen to someone who loved you?

Her arm tensed. The chain of the medallion strained against her neck. One tug would tear the holy symbol free…

She forced her hand open and let it fall back to her side. Rejecting Selune wouldn't change what had happened. She opened her eyes. Her gaze fell on the white book on Dhauna's desk.

Was that how the New Moon Pact had felt as their sisters and brothers turned on them? Had they questioned Selune, too?

Out in the courtyard, chaos was giving way to order as elder clergy took charge of the situation. Feena couldn't hear running or shouting anymore, but her chance to slip out of Moonshadow Hall unnoticed had passed. Whoever stood sentry at the gate would be alert. She would need to find a place to hide and wait for the right time to make her escape. She forced herself away from the wall and started to turn to the door—then stopped and turned back to the white book.

One good thing had come of Dhauna's madness, hadn't it? The New Moon Pact, condemned by jealousy and lost for centuries, had been rediscovered. Feena lifted her chin, stepped forward, and scooped up the massive tome.

If nothing else, she was going to have time to read.

By our authority in assembly, these are the heretics who shall face Selune's own judgment:

Tyver Thomdrove, called the Peacemaker, of Berdusk.

Niree Swifthands of Elmwood.

Brant Hallower of Candlekeep.

Qualise Domo of Turmish.

Rode of the Farsea Marches (died in capture).

Enshu Venerun ofChondath (died in capture).

By our authority, a bounty is also placed on any servants and close associates of them, and on the wolf called Halftail, companion of Niree Swifthands. They are cast out of Selune's grace in body and in soul. May Selune's face turn away so that their souls walk in darkness until the end of time.

Feena's head jerked. She blinked sleep from her eyes, sat back, and stretched. A night spent walking and running without rest was trying hard to catch up with her and her chosen hiding place wasn't helping. Moonshadow Hall's archives had seemed like an ideal refuge: all but abandoned, no windows to give away the small magical light she conjured, a table and chair at which to read, easy concealment among the tall shelves in case someone should happen to come by....

Then again, there was a reason no one came to the archives, wasn't there? She had to fight against the muffling quiet just to keep herself alert, and with no windows there was also no way of marking the passage of time.

She stared down at the list of the names again—the last members of the New Moon Pact. More than anything else in the great white book, those names called to her. Not that there was much else in it that had more than the faintest ring of truth. The pact had been tried by people who disdained them. Great deeds, hallowed traditions... those hadn't been important in the face of charges of foul heresy.

Selune's priests and priestesses and done more than suppress the New Moon Pact six hundred years ago. They had killed its history. Their own history. Feena clenched her teeth. There had to be something, some additional scrap of legend. She turned a page and bent back to the book.

Something shifted in the shadows.

She froze, watching the darkness, but nothing moved.

But there had been something. Feena rose slowly, her heart beating faster. Her lips pulled back from her teeth One hand sought the paperweight she had cast her light onto. She lifted it and waited.

When the shadows shifted again, she hurled it.

Illumination streaked across bookshelves and scroll racks, sliced through shadows—but revealed nothing. The glowing paperweight arced across empty space until it hit a wall and bounced to the floor. Crack. Clatter. Rrrollll...

For a moment, the archives were silent again. Then sound tickled Feena's ear, a sound that grew and condensed like mist on leaves. Whispers. She could almost make out words—almost, but not quite. And behind the words was some force—something dark and alive-something ancient. The hair on her neck rose.

I know this, Feena realized. Moonmaiden's grace, this is Dhauna's dream!

The light of the paperweight vanished like a torch plunged into water. She hurled herself to the side out of instinct and felt a cold breeze as the sound of whispers rushed past. She gasped, shaken. If it was a dream, it was like nothing she'd ever felt before.

"Wake up, Feena," she told herself. "Wake up!"

Nothing happened.

In the darkness, whispers surged like waves on the sea. Dhauna had described feeling as if the whispers were going to overcome her, that whatever ancient force lurked behind them would consume her. The whispers shivered through Feena, tugging on her body and her spirit. Fear wrenched her heart.

The shadows shifted again. Feena dodged once more.

Whispers whirled and tore at her. If the force behind them expected her to flee as Dhauna had, though, it was wrong.

Feena came to her feet howling with a wolfs voice.

It had to be a dream. Her human form flowed into her hybrid wolf-woman shape with barely a thought. She leaped into the darkness, tearing at it ferociously. Her claws shredded through the shadow. Feena tumbled free and snarled triumphantly. For a moment, the whispers stretched thin, like strained voices—then rushed back in a thunderous roar.

Feena's snarl died. She threw herself away but the dark thunder slammed into a bookcase behind her. The shelf exploded into splinters and tatters of paper. Flying wood pierced her like a tiny arrows, spattering pain against her hide. Feena yelped in sudden alarm. The force—whatever it might have been—was too powerful. She couldn't fight it face to face. She needed to get away.

A growl answered her unspoken need: Here!

She twisted. A long gray tail was just vanishing into the archive's maze of shelves. A wolfs tail!

Feena hesitated for a heartbeat, then scrambled after it. Behind her, the roaring darkness lashed at the floor where she had stood, gouging long strips out of it.

The moment she plunged in among the stacks, though, the roar seemed to sweep away into the distance. A glance over her shoulder showed what seemed like a corridor of books stretching out behind her until it twisted around a corner. How had she moved so far? She looked back around. The tail she had glimpsed was gone again and not even her wolfs nose could sniff out anything more than dust and crumbling parchment. Had she imagined the other wolf? The whispers were building again, growing in volume as if the dark force had plunged into the maze after her. If it caught her....

She whined desperately, Help!

Here!

She moved forward. Growls guided her through turns and at intersection with other book-lined corridors.

Here! Here!

She followed, though she saw nothing. She had to run to keep up—at least until the same flowing transformation as before caught her a second time. Suddenly she was a wolf, loping along easily on four legs.

But as she dashed past one intersection, the whispers surged and shadows boiled out. The darkness had found her. Feena half-turned, ready to meet it, but before she could, a form flashed past her—another wolf, but one as black as the night itself.

It vanished down the cross-corridor. The wolf-voice guiding her gave a short, commanding bark: Keep moving!

Feena moved on. The whispers faded again and after a moment Feena realized that even if she couldn't see or smell the wolf guiding her, she could hear it. Nails clicked in rapid rhythm ahead of her—and behind her! Two sets behind her, in fact. Feena twisted her neck to look past her flanks. Two wolves were pacing after her, one light gray and lean, the other white and heavier, with the bright eyes of a young animal.

Her racing heart stuttered. She had never seen these wolves before, yet she knew their names:

Niree Swifthands.

Brant Hallower.

The black wolf that had defended her: Rade.

The voice that called her, the gray tail she'd first glimpsed, was Tyver the Peacemaker.

It was the last of the New Moon Pact, She stumbled, and Niree darted forward and nipped at her legs. Feena jumped forward. The corridor gave one last twist and opened up.

She was back at the reading table. The moon glow of the paperweight had returned, though, and the paperweight itself was sitting on the table once more. The gouged floor and the shattered bookshelf had been restored. Everything was exactly the way it had been.

Except that two women—Enshu Venerun and Qualise Domo, she knew intuitively—and a man stood waiting for her by the table. Feena slid to a sharp stop, her paws scrabbling against the floor. The man, Tyver in his human form, crouched down to face her. He took her hand—abruptly she was human again—and helped her stand. His grip was cold but firm.

"Have faith and be strong, Feena Archwood," he said, "for Selune is with you."

Feena gasped with sudden certainty. "Dhauna's dreams—they were real! They were warnings!"

"They are real," said Qualise. "They're your dreams now, High Moonmistress."

"I'm not—" Feena began to protest, but her voice froze. The rite had been performed. Dhauna had named her successor—and with her death, the mantle of leadership passed on.

Feena swallowed and said, "Moonmaiden grant me strength."

"The strength is in you," said Qualise. "Understand that and you understand much."

She stepped aside so that Feena could see the table. The great white book that detailed the pact's trial was gone. In its place was another, slim and elegant instead of bloated and thick. Feena stared at it in wonder. The new book was bound in fine black leather with Selune's phases set in silver down the center of the cover. Where other representations of the phases began with a crescent and grew through half and gibbous to the full moon's bright disk before returning to a crescent, the black book turned that order inside out. On its cover, the full moon shone at the top, shrinking to gibbous, then to the half moon, then to a crescent. In the center of the cover, a hair-thin ring of silver made an empty circle—the new moon.

Somewhere close, the tide of whispers was growing again. She twisted around. Rade had joined Niree and Brant. All three wolves faced outward, a growling wall of fangs and muscle. Feena spun back to the other members of the vanished pact.

"What is the darkness?" she asked. "Was Dhauna right? Is it heresy? Does Selune really want the New Moon Pact reborn to fight heresy in her faith?"

"Yes and no," said Tyver. "No and yes," said Qualise.

"All things come," said Enshu, "in their proper time." Feena looked at her. She was a stout woman with a strong face crossed by a scar. She reached out thick hands and drew Feena forward, guiding her to the chair beside the table. "Dhauna Myritar tried to move too fast. Now your time is too short."

"I don't understand," Feena gasped.

The whispers pressed in on all sides. The New Moon Pact was pulling together to make a circle around her. A look of urgency crossed Enshu's face.

"Some things should never be understood," she snarled— and shoved Feena hard back into the chair.

Feena woke to voices. Real voices.

All thought of the dream vanished. Someone was at the door of the archives. No—more than just someone. Feena caught sour tones. It was Velsinore.

The clergy of Moonshadow Hall had returned. How long had she been asleep? Feena stifled a curse and touched the paperweight, dismissing its glow with a thought. The white book was still on the table, just as it should have been. Feena flipped it closed, then scrambled out of her chair and flung herself silently in among the shelves, sliding deep into their maze. When Velsinore's voice became more than a whisper, Feena stopped and pressed herself down against the floor. The robe billowed loosely around her—loose enough to accept a change in form. Narrowing her eyes in concentration, Feena shifted and became a wolf. Sharp ears twitched, listening.

Out in the center of the chamber, Velsinore spoke a prayer and light blossomed.

"Gather them all, sisters!" the tall priestess commanded. "They'll go in the vaults with the others."

Priestesses murmured, and Feena caught the slither of parchment on parchment. They were gathering the

scrolls and books Dhauna had left laid out on the table. Someone grunted under a weight. The white book! However flawed the account might be, it was the only record of the New Moon Pact. Feena's ears pressed back and a low growl escaped her.

One of the priestesses gasped in alarm and parchment crackled sharply.