Resurrection (22 page)

Jeggred smiled at the demon and stalked forward.

When Danifae turned back around to face the chasme, she again wore a seductive smile.

Pharaun could not help but admire her. The woman was not as powerful as Quenthel-that was clear-but she was as skilled a manipulator as Pharaun had ever encountered. Pharaun thought back to his encounter with Jeggred in the chwidencha tunnel. Pharaun had said that Danifae was manipulating the draegloth; Jeggred had answered that Danifae was instead manipulating Pharaun and Quenthel.

Pharaun began to suspect that both were likely true. Where Quenthel was raw power, Danifae was skillful subtlety. Both women were dangerous. He was coming to believe that either could be the
Yor'thae,
or perhaps neither. In truth, he did not care, as long as he came out of it with his life and his position.

Danifae looked back to Quenthel and Pharaun and said, "To the mountains then, Mistress Quenthel?"

Quenthel nodded, her face a mask of impassivity that poorly hid her anger.

Jeggred took the smiling Danifae in his arms, and the chasme wrapped both of them in his legs. Vakuul's wings beat so fast that they became a barely visible blur.

"Heavy," the demon said, in his whining voice but managed to get off the ground. "So heavy."

Quenthel turned to the nalfeshnee and allowed him to scoop her up in his huge arms. His wings too began to beat, and somehow those absurd little appendages bore his huge bulk aloft.

"Follow, wizard," Quenthel called.

Pharaun sighed, called on the power of his ring, and took flight behind them.

They soared high over the Demonweb Pits, flying into the teeth of the wind. They stayed below the souls but above the highest of the tors. The nalfeshnee cradled Quenthel against his mammoth chest. Her hair whipped in the wind. The chasme held Jeggred and Danifae close.

The creature pawed at Danifae as best he could while they flew.

Despite their respective loads, the demons moved at speed, and Pharaun struggled to keep up. He could hear nothing over the roar of the wind other than the muted buzz of the chasme's wings. Rain pelted his face.

Taking flight allowed them to avoid the difficulties of the harsh terrain, and they devoured the leagues quickly. On foot, they would have had a five or six day trek to the mountains. Flying at the rate they were, Pharaun expected to reach the mountains around daybreak, perhaps a bit after.

He surveyed the plane below him as he flew. From above, the surface of the Pits looked like diseased skin-blistered, scarred, pockmarked. Lakes of acid dotted the ground, spider carcasses lay everywhere, and great crevasses split the landscape like scars.

He looked ahead toward the mountains but they remained invisible in the darkness. He could see the glowing souls, though, flying toward the mountains' base, toward the Pass of the Reaver.

He replayed the demon's words in his mind:
You cannot attempt the pass and live,
Zerevimeel had said. Then,
I
will think fondly of your soul being devoured by the Reaver.

Pharaun decided that he would rather keep his soul than not, but he still flew on.

She sat near the edge of the tor praying to the Dark Maiden for the strength to face the challenges ahead.

Above her, swirling vortices of colored energy still dotted the sky. With each passing moment, one or another of the vortices ejected a glowing soul into the air. With each moment, a worshiper of the Spider Queen died somewhere in the multiverse and the soul found its way to the Demonweb Pits. The process was as regular as a clockwork. Halisstra watched it happen time and again, and each time the newly arrived soul fell into the never-ending line of spirits floating toward their dark goddess, their eternal fate.

It would go on that way until the multiverse ended.

Unless Lolth died.

She watched the souls moving methodically toward their doom and wondered if Danifae was among them. With the Binding between them severed, Halisstra would not have sensed Danifae's death. She fervently hoped that her former battle-captive still lived.

Thinking of Danifae sent a surge of hope and fear through Halisstra. Danifae had told her once, as they stood together in some ruins in the World Above, that she had felt Eilistraee's call. The battle-captive had spoken those words when she had come to warn Halisstra that Quenthel had sent Jeggred to kill Ryld.

Danifae had
warned
her.

There was a kinship between them, Halisstra knew, something born in the Binding that once had joined them as master and slave. She
knew
that Danifae could be redeemed. And since Halisstra had given herself fully to the Lady of the Dance, she would be able to help Danifae along the path of redemption-as long as she wasn't already dead.

An overwhelming sense of regret tightened Halisstra's chest, regret for a life ill-spent inflicting pain and engaging in petty tyrannies. She had wasted centuries on hate. Tears threatened, but she fought them back with a stubborn shake of her head.

The wind gusted, sliced through her prayer, cut through the song-spider webs, and called out for the
Yor'thae.

The word no longer held any magic for Halisstra. She felt no pull.

She looked up at the eight stars that seemed so much like the eyes of Lolth and vowed, "No one will answer your call."

Halisstra didn't know what Lolth intended for her
Yor'thae,
and she didn't care. She guessed that killing the
Yor'thae
would hurt Lolth, possibly weaken her. And she knew that Lolth's Chosen could be only one person: Quenthel Baenre.

"I'll kill your Chosen, then I will kill you," she whispered.

The wind died down again, as though quieted by her promise.

Halisstra looked out over the blasted landscape of Lolth's realm, over the piles of torn spider parts and carcasses. She wondered where Quenthel was at that moment. She suspected that the Baenre priestess was already in the Demonweb Pits, making her way to Lolth, just another of the damned drawn to the Spider Queen.

"I'm right behind you, Baenre," she whispered.

She sat for a time in silence, alone with her goddess, staring up at the infinite stream of spirits floating to Lolth. After a while, she took out Seyll's songsword, put its flute-hilt to her lips, and played a soft dirge, an honorarium for the lost souls above her. The notes carried over the barren landscape, beautiful to her ears.

If the souls heard her, they made no sign.

The wind rose, as though to overwhelm her song, but Halisstra played on. Though she knew it was not possible, she hoped that somewhere, somehow, Seyll heard her song and understood.

When she finished, she sheathed Seyll's blade and stood. Looking into the sky, she held forth her hand, palm up, and curled her fingers-making the symbol of a dead spider, blasphemous to Lolth.

She could not help but smile.

"This is for you too," she said.

On impulse, she shed her armor and shield, drew the Crescent Blade, and danced. High atop a ruined tor on Lolth's blasted plane, Halisstra Melarn whirled, spun, stabbed, and leaped. Except for the wail of the wind, there was no sound to which she could move, so she danced to a rhythm that pounded only in her head. Joy filled her, more and more with each step, with each turn. She became one with the weapon, one with Eilistraee. She was sweating Lolth from her skin, shedding her own past with each gasping, joyous breath.

Her hair whipped behind and around her. She could not stop grinning. The Crescent Blade felt no heavier in her grasp than a blade of grass, the tiny green plant that covered much of the World Above. The weapon whistled through the air, creating its own tune, playing its own song.

Halisstra danced until sweat soaked her and her breath came hard. When she finally finished, exhausted and elated, she collapsed, the ground on her back. Grace filled her. She felt she'd been purified, worthy at last to wield the Crescent Blade.

Thank you, Lady, she thought to Eilistraee and smiled when a cloud temporarily blotted out Lolth's eight stars.

She lay there for a time, doing nothing more than reveling in her freedom.

Sometime later she rose, walked back near the edge of the tor, and re-donned her armor. As she was strapping Seyll's blade to her back, a hand closed on her shoulder, momentarily giving her a start.

"Feliane," she said, turning to face the kind, almond eyes of the surface elf.

Feliane smiled warmly. "You did not wake me for a watch. I slept through the day. How late into the night is it?"

"The night is several hours old," Halisstra said, securing Seyll's blade in its scabbard. "We should awaken Uluyara."

Feliane nodded. She said, "It was your laughter that awakened me."

"I'm sorry," Halisstra replied. She was not aware that she had been laughing aloud.

"Don't be," Feliane replied. "It allowed me to watch you dance."

To her surprise, Halisstra felt no embarrassment.

"It was beautiful," Feliane said with a smile. "I saw the Lady in it, as clearly as I've ever seen her in anything."

Halisstra didn't know how to reply, so she dropped her eyes and said only, "Thank you."

"You have come far in only a short while," Feliane said, stepping past her to look down on the tor.

Halisstra nodded. She had indeed.

"May I ask you something?" Feliane asked.

"Of course," Halisstra said, and something in Feliane's tone caused Halisstra's heart to race.

Feliane asked, "What drew you to the worship of Lolth in the first place? The faith is… hateful, ugly. But I can see that you are none of those things."

Halisstra's heart thumped in her chest. She wasn't sure why the question affected her so. A tiny seed in the center of her being stirred, but no immediate answer came to her.

She thought for a moment and finally answered, "You give me too much credit, Feliane. I was hateful. And ugly. Nothing drew me to Lolth. Nothing had to. I was raised to worship her, and I enjoyed the benefits associated with my station. I was petty and small, so awash in spite that it never occurred to me that there might be another way. Until I met you and Uluyara and saw the sun. I owe you both much for that. I owe the Lady much for that."

Feliane nodded, took her hand, and squeezed it. The elf said, "May I ask something else?"

Halisstra nodded. She would hold nothing back from her sister in faith.

Feliane took a breath before asking, "Did you ever think that what you did in her name was… evil?"

Halisstra consciously decided not to hear an accusation in the question. Feliane's face held no judgment, merely curiosity. Halisstra struggled to articulate a response.

"No," she answered at last. "I'm ashamed now to say it, but no. Faith in the Spider Queen brought power, Feliane. In Ched Nasad, power was the difference between those who ruled and those who served, those who lived and those who died. It's not an excuse," she said, seeing Feliane's expression grow clouded, "just an explanation. What I did then, what I was, it shames me now."

Staring thoughtfully into the darkness, Feliane nodded. The silence stretched.

Finally, the elf said, "Thank you for sharing yourself with me, Halisstra. And do not be ashamed of what you were. We are made anew each moment. It is never too late to change."

Halisstra smiled. "I like that very much, Feliane. It gives me hope that someone else I know might be redeemed."

Feliane smiled back.

They stood quietly for a moment, listening to the wind.

"We should awaken Uluyara and start moving," Halisstra said.

Feliane nodded but did not turn to go. Instead, she said, "I'm afraid."

The words surprised Halisstra. She had never before heard such an admission from another female.

After a moment, she put her arm around Feliane, drew her close, and said, "I am too. But we'll find strength in our fear. All right?"

"All right," Feliane replied.

Halisstra turned to her, held her at arms length, and said, "The Lady is with us. And I have a plan."

Feliane raised her thin eyebrows. "A plan?"

"Let's awaken Uluyara," Halisstra said.

Feliane nodded, and they walked back toward the temple. Before they reached it, Uluyara emerged.

"There you are," said the high priestess. "Is everything well?"

"It is," Feliane said with a smile. "Halisstra has a plan."

Uluyara frowned. "A plan?"

Halisstra wasted no words. "I believe I know why Eilistraee put the Crescent Blade into my hands."

Uluyara's brow furrowed, and she said, "We already know why, Halisstra. You are to use the blade to kill the Queen of the Demonweb Pits."

Halisstra nodded. "Yes, but we've been thinking that I would use the blade only against Lolth herself. But I think Lolth would be weakened if her Chosen never answered her call. I need to deny her her
Yor'thae.
I need to kill Quenthel Baenre."

Her sisters looked at her, confused.

Halisstra said, "Don't you see? I was meant to meet Quenthel Baenre during the fall of Ched Nasad. I was meant to learn of her quest to awaken Lolth. Eilistraee's hand is in all of this. I see it now. Quenthel Baenre is Lolth's
Yor'thae.
If I kill her…"

Then maybe I can kill Lolth, she thought but did not say.

"Then Lolth will be vulnerable," Uluyara said, nodding.

"Are we certain?" Feliane ventured. "The prophecy of the Crescent Blade did not speak of the Spider Queen's Chosen."

"I am as certain as I can be," Halisstra replied, knowing that she was not certain at all.

Feliane did not hesitate. She said, "Then I am convinced."

Uluyara looked from Feliane to Halisstra. After a moment she blew out a sigh, touched the holy symbol of Eilistraee she wore around her neck, and said, "Then I am also convinced. How will we find Quenthel Baenre?"

Halisstra wanted to hug the high priestess.

"She is here, somewhere in the Demonweb Pits," Halisstra said, "trying to reach Lolth. I am certain of that too."

"Then we must find her before she reaches the Spider Queen," Feliane said. "But how? Follow the souls?" She indicated the damned souls streaming high above them.

"No," Halisstra said. "We must locate her more precisely."

Uluyara understood Halisstra's meaning, and said, "The Baenre will be warded. A scrying spell will not work."

"She will be warded," Halisstra conceded, "but she bears an item that once was mine, a healing wand that she took from me after the fall of Ched Nasad. That will aid the spell." She looked her sisters in the face. "It will work, and that it does will be a sign from the Maiden."

"She may sense the scrying," Uluyara said.

Halisstra nodded and replied, "She might. Let us trust in the Lady, High Priestess. Time is short." Halisstra felt the moments slipping from her.

"I am with you, Halisstra Melarn," Uluyara said with a smile. "But to scry, we must have a basin of holy water."

Halisstra scanned the top of the tor, looking for any standing pool of water left over from the rain. Uluyara and Feliane spread out to help search.

"Here!" Feliane called after only a few moments.

Halisstra and Uluyara hurried over and found Feliane standing over a small puddle of foul water that had pooled in a declivity in the rock.

"That will do," Halisstra said.

"I will hallow it," Uluyara said, taking out her holy symbol.

She held the medallion over the water and offered a prayer of consecration to Eilistraee. As she chanted the imprecation, she took a small pearl from her cloak and dropped it into the water. The pearl dissolved as if it was salt, the rime of filth vanished, and the water cleared. Uluyara ended the prayer and stepped back from the puddle.