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The Day the World Was (Chapters I-III) by Marina
Winner for June 2007
The only peak of light shone from two candles nestled into the right side of a
ravenwood desk, shadows casting themselves in abundance about the edges of the
circular room and along the contour lines of the only presence nearby. She
stood at a balcony, watching the setting sun with something kin to a solace
about her unwavering and still form. The day had been uneventful, filled with
the petty squabbles that made it oftentimes difficult for her to get away and
simply rest within her own quixotic thoughts. Age had taught her to keep her
tongue, even when she wanted to lash the simpering idiots back into whatever
holes they had originally crawled out from. If I have to listen to one more
damned political nonsense strung sentence, I swear to the Mistress, I'll lose
whatever sanity this place has left for me. Her piercing eyes moved to the
Master Ravenwood tree far below Night's Needle, their intense gaze catching the
sight of the recently arrived denizens she would have to deal with sooner or
later. Preferably the latter, she thought to herself grimly before she turned
around and walked into the confines of her study. With the recent invasions of
Serenwilde and now the compromised treaty between New Celest and Glomdoring,
she was finding herself more at odds with her own thoughts. She shot a glance
to the desk, parchment paper and ink gleaming beneath the candle light like
children waiting to be taken to bed. Shayle was more than sure she would have
to put aside her own mental thoughts and get to work eventually, but that time
was yet to come. A heart-thuddening yawn came from beside the desk, as a large
creature poked its sleepy head above the desk and gave her a glare, as if to
say, "Are you still brooding?" A slight smile crept to her lips, unconditioned
by the day's weariness. Nae need to worry, my dear. Not exactly brooding;
simply patiently waiting. The dog-like creature, the barghest, simply snorted
loudly before disappearing behind the desk to resume its evening nap. Just like
a cat, I swear.
That brought her mind back to the beginning of what had caused her such
irritation this evening. Work, work, and more work. Not to mention that the
Shadowdancers were in dire need of more supplies, and the villages were hardly
meeting the quotas demanded for the Glomdoring's protection. She shook her
head, her mane of blackberry hair cascading about her small shoulders and
sweeping over her irridescent faeling wings. I wouldn't dream of tackling
either of those issues just as of yet. Mistress be merciful, I don't have the
patience at the moment. A knock rang at her study doors, their massive forms
carved from the same wood as her desk and everything else in the study. What in
Nil is it now? She quickly moved herself behind her desk and took a deep breath.
Without needing to reach out with her mind, the person behind the doors was
already known. I didn't spend my entire life not knowing these people, she
thought to herself before the door opened of its own accord, allowing Shamarah
into the study.
"Am I interrupting anything, my Queen?" came Shamarah's voice, as he poked his
head into the room. No, she wanted to say, but you damned well know that you're
invading a moment of peace I rarely get. Instead, she offered an inviting smile
and motioned to the one seat that sat before her desk with an elegant gesture.
Without a second question, Shamarah moved to the seat, the study door closing
behind him, and sat himself down.
"What is it that brings you to my study, Shamarah?" Shayle asked politely,
seating herself after her geust had been seated. Her regal black gown folded
just right about her, not a single thread nor fold out of place. She could
almost envision herself from another's point of view, regal and quiet, powerful
but not too unapproachable. Just right, or so she hoped. Shamarah watched her
for a moment before he told her of the news she carried. "Serenwilde forces
have been seen in Faethorn, my Queen. I was wondering if I should take this
information to the Seneschal, but I knew you would have a word or two for me."
"Where were they seen?" she asked, her face masked by the shadows that were,
thankfully, plentiful enough to hide the fleeting furrow of her brow at such
news. What are those fanatics trying now? "By the Lady and the Lord, my Queen."
Well, that wasn't exactly news, but whatever the Serenwilders were doing, it
meant bad news for the Shadowdancers and the forest in the end. The Crow
followers could handle themselves, afterall, she quickly thought as she looked
over to her barghest, who was now wide awake and watching Shamarah with an
eerie intellect that was unfathomable, even to her. Shayle went over the last
few times the Serenwilders had been seen in Faethorn within the past few days,
finding their appearances far too uncomfortably in line with something she was
not sure of. A cough brought her out of her thoughts and back into the study.
"Ah, yes. Aye, this will indeed be news. Thank you, Shamarah. I will be sure to
alert the Seneschal immediately," she said with a genial smile, as she lowered
her head and stared at the blank parchments before her. Taking this as a
dismissal, Shamarah rose and left, leaving behind no traces of his presence.
Damn it all. This is the last thing I need right now. She cursed herself for
not having seen the signs before. If those twaddling children think they will
undo everything the Glomdoring Forest has been working on thus far, they are
extremely mistakened. She could feel a headache beginning to thrum within her
temples, with the promises of not going away anytime soon. A gruff snort came
from beside her desk, the barghest watching her with those same keen, irisless
and whiteless eyes. "Yes, I know. This will have to be dealt with soon, if not
now. And not one word about this to anyone before I can get to the Seneschal.
Understood?" she snapped impatiently in response, not even giving a glance to
the beast who put its head back down without another word, or rather, sound.
"All right. Fine, I'll deal with it now," she said as she rose, whispering a
quick word of command as the room filled with the fae she had called her own
since she could remember. They swarmed about her, sullenly, and trailed behind
her as she strode forward towards the door. Quickly, before she could reach the
door, she simply vanished as she sent herself towards the Seneschal's presence,
leaving behind the two flickering candles and a room that offered more
headaches than it was worth.
In her absence, the barghest was left to slumber. A presence flitted about,
however, dark and malign, though terribly powerful. A chuckle rang in the air,
the barghest raising its head and staring into the darkness of the night
outside. It was a new moon, lightless and fathomlessly dark. Throughout the
forest, a bloody-drenched howl was heard coming from the Night's Needle. Back
in the study, Viravain watched and contemplated, with a grinning barghest next
to her, from a patio where darkness was surely gathering in quiet musings.
Chapter II
The round council room was darker than normal, barely lit by sconces that held
what remnants of beeswax candles they had from the prior week. The smell of
furled and ancient parchment paper plagued the air, with several dusty old
chairs held up by pedestals. Each chair had its own direction its back faced,
each one facing inwards towards the middle of the circular room. The tension
was as thinly spread and tightly woven as a New Celestian harlett's virginity,
each council member either grimacing, fuming, or down-right enraged. Shayle
watched each of them from her chair, newly upholstered because the fabric had
long since been worn down by the...former holder. Thankfully, that was twenty
or so terms ago, she thought to herself as she noted each and every person
present. Shamarah stood on her right, and the prince of darkness, Druken, stood
on her left. She daren't blink nor waver beneath the gaze of the others, and she
had quickly and repeatedly told both Shamarah and Druken to remain quiet unless
they were directly spoken to. The tempers of Night's Council was in no mood for
outbursts, especially right now.
The stirring and fidgeting of the angry council came to a hault when the
Seneschal entered the room from an alcoved door off to the northeast of the
room. He strode inwards, his eyes carefully hooded and emotionless. He wore the
typical outfit for a council meeting, black trousers with a buttoned down black
shirt, matched ever-so-carefully by the gray cloak that shifted out behind him.
Oblique and to the point, Shayle said to herself as she noted the clothing. This
isn't going to be another meeting. Xenthos was livid, and someone was going to
pay for their insolence, either with title or by blood. She hoped the first.
Though, she was reknown for her apathy, bloodshed got overly used and the mess
it left behind was not worth the trouble it caused afterwards. Xenthos sat down
in the Seneschal's chair, a larger ravenwood chair carved intricately in the
form of a crow spreading its wings out in midflight. Silence settled over the
room, as Xenthos looked to each of them, finally ending with Shayle. Their
stares pierced one another to the deepest core, each one daring the other to
either blink or look away; neither of them did either. "Trouble", came his
voice into her mind. "You heard already, I take it?" She subtly nodded in his
direction, making it look as if she were simply brushing aside a stray bit of
her hair from her eyes. "Aye, I have. You and I both know that this isn't going
to be easy, especially since the last assault those idiots made on us." She
watched the color burn into his eyes, their normal colorless hues quickly
changing a burning and intense blood red. "We'll deal with this one, as we have
the others." She simply replied before cutting the mental conversation short.
Xenthos frowned in her direction disapprovingly. She shot him a look that
would've caused the earth at her feet to scream in horror. He simply shrugged
his shoulders and turned his attention to the others gathered. Kearvas sat in
the chair to her right, and to her left, a woman she was not accustomed to
seeing. She thought little of it, turning her attention to Xenthos as he began
to speak.
"As you all know by now, the Serenwilde Commune has been seen within Ethereal
Glomdoring," Xenthos said as he willed his voice to fill the entire chamber,
not that he had to try particularily hard. The room seemed to have a life of
its own, echoing anything said to the point that it was well heard by anyone,
no matter where they were in the council room. "Our denizens, Brother Crow, and
Mother Night will be sure to protect us from harm." There was a murmur amongst a
few of those seated. Kaervas rose his voice above the noise and spoke, his words
carefully and delicately chosen. The only thing delicate about Kaervas, Shayle
thought sarcastically, was his background.
"What about our young and our novices?" he asked, having earned the tale of
being the first to volunteer if battle was involved. Or bloodshed. Xenthos
looked to Kaervas, quirking a sharp eyebrow and nodded.
"They'll be kept well protected," he responded, though Shayle knew better than
most that the young novice was always the first to jump into battle. I've had
to show my fair amount of novices just what battle truly entails. Shayle was,
by no means, a seasoned fighter, but she wasn't helpless either. She had her
hand full of secrets to use, in case someone stepped out of line or someone
tried to bring her harm. Leave the fighting for the fools who offer to take it,
she thought to herself. Mistress knows, I don't have the time to take up the
blade and go rushing into battle like a Celestian martyr. The council was held
for several more hours, going over things that would be needed in order to
bolster defenses and maybe even prepare for a counter attack. This sort of
thing never really had to do anything with the Shadowdancers, so Shayle let her
mind wander off to worthier things that begged her attention. At the moment, the
Coven of the Night was growing in size. But not fast enough, she said to
herself. We can't even call down a Terror Coven if our lives depended on it,
much less go out into battle like a group of heretics with purpose. The image
made her skin crawl. Too many had she lost to previous wars. Their memories
were burned forever in her mind. They were the main reason why she learned
quickly, and painfully, that if she were to ever survive in Glomdoring, she
would have to become self-guarded and extremely careful.
Xenthos called her name, and she looked directly at him and smiled. He
flinched. In fact, most of those present looked at her for a moment with shock.
She hadn't smiled like that for years, not unless she had a revelation; she had.
"How often does the Serenwilde forces attack the other two entities we know as
New Celest and Magnagora?" she asked, putting a little bit of Night into her
voice as to soothe those present. Shamarah and Druken both looked to her,
sensing the change in the flow of magic that emenated out from her. "How often
have they gotten into a tavern brawl?" No one responded. Brainless oafs, she
swore mentally as she continued. "Wouldn't it be horrible if something were
to...," she stopped herself, as her mind sought the right word.
"To...happen...to bring the Serenwilde forces into conflict with someone else,
besides ourselves?" There was a murmur of voices at that moment, each one
leaning over to their trusted advisors and whispering into their ears. Xenthos
watched her with a steel grin, emotionless, save for the bit of pride that
gleaned in his eyes. She could almost taste the agitation flooding out, being
replaced by a surge of conspiracy and misplaced blame. She couldn't help but
let the smile stay, ignoring the stares from Shamarah and Druken as she put
more Night into her glamourie than she had before. It washed over those
present, save for those two Shadowdancers beside her. Even her husband, Xenthos
and Seneschal, was brought beneath its intoxicating blanket. She knew very well
that this would be unmoral, but as far as she was concerned, she was tired of
the Night Council bickering amongst itselves and vying for their own agendas.
Soon, the council ended, and she bid those gathered farewell. Xenthos watched
her leave, a look of subtle longing glistening in his eyes. Or perhaps it was
lust. Either way, he let a tendril of lit touch her mind as she departed,
leaving promises of the bedroom plentiful in her imagination. Men, Shayle
thought to herself with a smirk, always jumping to the bed when they've won a
battle. She returned to her study at Night's Needle, finding the candles long
since extinguished and the balcony doors opened to the dark new-moon night
outside. A crisp breeze sent the curtains that stood over the balcony to sway
back and forth, catching them in a way that made it seem as if they were ghosts
from the dead that were forever caught in dance. She turned around and saw
Shamarah and Druken beside one another, one looking perturbed and the other
grinning at her with something along the lines of praise on her face.
"Well, you certainly did pull that one into play well, my Queen," Druken said
first, shaking his head in dismay as he turned around and left the study in a
blur of shadows and black. She frowned at his words, but she didn't have time
to go chasing after him. He'll be back, she thought to herself as she turned
her attention to Shamarah, who was only so happy to clap and dance in merriment
of such a scheme.
"I know now why you are the Queen of the Night," Shamarah said wistfully,
faking a dramatic swoon as a hand was brought to his forehead. "Oh, do cease
the dramatics, you stooge," Shayle responded with a grin on her face, chiding
and still remaining playful at the same time. "If you are going to swoon,
please make it more dramatic." Shamarah nodded, still grinning, before he, too,
vanished in an array of shadows and black. The study was left alone, save for
the barghest who was sleeping soundly on the rug in the middle of the room, and
Shayle, who had turned her attention to the balcony. She walked to it, grasping
the railing with her small hands, and leaned on it to let the night wash over
her. To a foreign traveler, she might look like an ethereal creature, with a
dark faelight wrapped about her and the dark night bowing before her closed and
up-tilted face. To one of her own, she was drinking in the darkness of Mother
Night and reveling in her own moment of silence. Behind her, the barghest had
lifted his head from seemingly sleeping and stared at her back. Its eerily
intelligent eyes glittered from within the darkness that bound itself about it,
their depths glowing an unnatural green glow. Something chuckled, unheard,
within the study as an incorporeal presence brought more shadows and darkness
into the room than seemed normal. The barghest continued its stare, as an
armless hand stretched out from shadows about it and petted it benignly. She
simply stared out across the Glomdoring Forest and watched the night's
darkness, unknowingly being watched by goddess and barghest herself.
Chapter III
The brightly glowing star that hovered over New Celest spread its glorious
light down onto the city walls and buildings, illuminating even in the confines
of the new-moon night. The vestiage of the Shakiniel worshippers poured out onto
the Pool of Stars below, their songs of praise causing the air to be filled with
a sweet and contemplative melody. Meleris, as usual, was of no mind to Metea,
who sat on the edge of the Pool of Stars beside him. I've not heard him talk in
quite a while, actually, she recalled with a bit of worry, but Meleris was
nortorious for keeping his thoughts to himself. She shrugged her small
shoulders, as her mane of dark autumn hair shifted down to drip lazily, too,
into the pool. The day's passing had been a long one, with little more than
more battles with Magnagoran heretics. Light be merciful, I simply wish they'd
accept the Light, so we may be done with this endless war, she thought sadly as
she turned her attention to the silence that was unusual, even for this time of
night. A lone lark rang its voice, lonely and eerie, across the sky above as
not even a single albatross added its own ear-shrieking song. Metea turned her
attention to the singing from the terrace that swarm down from a flight of
stairs, closing her eyes to dip herself into its comforting words.
"Holy, holy bright Elohora. Holy, holy praise to thee. Holy, holy bright
Shakiniel. Cherished beauty of Celestia." The song was heart breaking, but
still beautiful. I really wish the Prince would order the bards to create some
new hymns. These old ones are heart wrenchingly depressing. She knew she was
asking for the impossible. Prince Raikogen would have leapt at the opportunity,
but this new Prince, Neraka, was finding himself knee deep in politics and
war-hungry animals that they called Magnagorans. A presence flittered about
Metea's left hand, and she looked down to see a silver-furred cat patting her
hand for some attention. She couldn't help but smile at the small beast,
letting the cat have its way while it purred contently beneath her moving hand.
"At least you will not sing a tearful song, little creature," she said quietly,
only receiving a blink from the cat before it decided her lap would be a more
suitable place than the hard stone fountain edge. It curled up, circling twice
like a dog, before it began to nap blissfully beneath the care of Metea. She
shook her head at the cat's contented purrs, wondering how she had let herself
go from a spiritual woman of Shakiniel and Elohora to a cat's nurse. Another
presence found itself at her side, but she didn't need to look up from her
working the cat's ears with a loving massage to know who or what it was. The
archangel looked down at the cat and smiled, putting a hand in the middle of
Metea's back. Is all well, my dear? the archangel asked, her voice comforting
and loving at the same time. Metea was thankful for the archangel's presence,
had quietly hoped that she would come to pay a visit. Aye, she replied, just
tired and over worked as usual. The archangel made a tutting noise at Metea's
response, causing the cat to open its eyes and look at the archangel with a
glare, as if to say, "How dare you wake me!" Its nap obviously ruined, the cat
stretched and yawn before jumping from the lap it had claimed and off into a
hedge of nearby bushes. She watched it go, with the archangel shaking its head
with another tut soon to follow. Those creatures are about as ill-tempered as a
child, it said in Metea's mind, who was only too glad to agree.
The two of them sat there for awhile, Metea happy to have another presence
nearby, even if they both did sit in silence. The hymns from the Shakiniel
vestment soon quieted themselves, the worshippers having long since gone to
sleep for the night. Overhead, night had claimed the basin with as little
effort as stretching a shadow. Not a single star glowed in the night sky, save
for the star that hovered over New Celest as a beacon of light to its citizens
and as a warning to its enemies. She remembered first seeing the star of New
Celest, remembered how awed she had been as she used to stare at it for hours
upon hours as a child. Though, painful memories had followed previously,
chasing her from Serenwilde Forest and from her ancestry. She grimaced at the
resurgance of the past, quickly tucking it away messily into the back of her
mind with as much mental force as she could muster. You will have to eventually
deal with that pain, beloved, came the soothing voice of the archangel. I know,
she said, but she knew now was not the time and the time was no where near in
the future either. Her elven ears and her slanted eyes that were doe-like and
quiet held the only visual representations that she was of the elfen race.
Anything else, she showed only as a mere human, save for her accent, which
could only mirror who and what she hailed from.
The Pool of Stars stirred for a moment, frothing in a sea of bubbles, before
Neraka was thrown gracelessly from its depths and onto the hard brick ground.
He blinked for a moment, picked himself up, and coughed in embarrassment at
being seen in such a humiliating pose. Metea hid a grin carefully, though the
archangel was not so humble as it gazed at him with an amused smile.
"Yes, well, good evening," he said nonchalantly, giving her a nod as he made
his way up the terrace stairs and out of sight.
What an odd creature, the archangel noted observantly, watching the terrace
Neraka had disappeared up with a look of contemplation. You get used to him,
Metea said as she mentally agreed her friend as she stood up. I suppose we
should go make sure all is well in Celestia, she noted as she turned and looked
at the Pool of Stars, knowing full well that she really disliked traveling via
its waters. The thought made her stomach swim, even after all these years. That
is a lovely idea, came the reply as the archangel simply vanished in an array of
light. With a mental groan and a swift kick to herself for being silly, she put
her hands together before touching the lip of the fountain. It only took a
moment to visualize the heavenly plane of Celestia, and with that, Metea
vanished without a trace.
Off in the nearby hedges, a silver cat sat attentively, a white light glowing
from its pale and intelligent eyes. Its tail swished back and forth, as it had
done for the entire time Metea and her archangel companion had sat quietly by
the Pool of Stars. Doman passed by only moments later, and the cat watched him
with something kin to amusement in its eyes. Even after he disappeared, the
silver cat stayed within the hedges and continued watching, as if it were
waiting for the night to shatter itself upon the blade of rightous dawn.