Chapter IX: Shooting Down Heaven

The sun sat amid the lip of the horizon, casting its rays on the golden city of
New Celest. The choir of Japhiel's Tabernacle rang beautifully in the morning,
only mirroring the precious notes of praise that were being sung in the
Tabernacle of Raziela. Though, it was the Tabernacle of Japhiel that found
Catarin sitting in the last pew, hands folded, and a look of blank longing
etched along her line-drawn face. She shut her eyes, closing them as tightly as
she could before opening them again slowly. The supplicants were rising to join
in the hymns to Japhiel, and at any other, Catarin would have been happy to
join. Now, though, her thoughts were on an impending figure that loomed heavily
in her near past. How did I not see it? she thought to herself. How did I not
know that one of my own would leave like this? The painful memory stung deeply
and ravenously, making her stomach turn on itself and her eyes sting from the
tears that sat there. Just last night, the call of a some sort of wolf had
shattered the air and her wits, with a young novice and her together on the
road outside of Glomdoring Forest. It had been a new moon. Damn it, Catarin!
What in the Nil is wrong with you? You damned well knew that it was a new moon!
A new moon! The one time of the month that she not only prayed that the
Magnagorans stay within the confines of their disgusting city, but also prayed
that the Night followers would leave her well alone. If it weren't for that
treaty between New Celest and Glomdoring right now, I'd march right in there
and take him right back out. Her analytical side told her that wouldn’t do
either. Upon seeing the fae who moved about Druken, as he emerged from the
forest to greet them, the novice had simply gasped in admiration and awe.
Catarin had felt something, something horribly dark, twist itself around the
novice and she. Her novice was swept up by the stories of the Glomdoring
Forest, and like an enchanted maiden, ran into the forest head long and into
what torture, she daren't think of.

She closed her eyes again, her prayers to Japhiel and Elohora rising from her
lips in whispers, her hands tightly woven before her in prayer. Evil, damned
creatures! Light strike you where you stand! Someone placed a hand on her
shoulders, and it was only then she found out she was shaking quite hard. She
looked up to find Metea giving her that look she always gave when she was
offering herself as a crying bench and a leaning post. Catarin took the chance
swiftly, moving over so that Metea could sit beside her and listen to her woes
and worries.

Outside of the Tabernacle of Japhiel, Neerth was walking half-blind with a
stack of books balanced in his arms. He teetered back and forth, swearing quite
unLightlike and catching dirty looks from the occasional passerby. Oh, I'd like
to see you carry these bloody books! Then tell me which of us is not upholding
the Light! His arms hurt from carrying them all the way from the Great Library
located at Mount Avechna. I pray someone kicks me for not taking the
Aetherplex, he thought moodily as he veered back and forth in-between people
and buildings. The New Celest Library loomed before him a few minutes later,
and he praised the gods, each and every one of them, thoroughly for the
beautiful sight.

Once the doors closed behind him, he was seen climbing a flight of stairs with
sweat beading on his brow. Silence hung in the library, thick and undisturbed,
until someone who sounded awfully similar to Neerth was heard shouting,
"SHITE!!". That, mixed with the sound of hundreds of books falling down a
stairway somewhere nearby, caused the silver cat sitting atop of the library
roof to pick up its head and look down just in time to see Neerth busting out
the back door of the building. A coy smile played itself across the silver
cat's mouth, or what seemed like a smile, as it lay down and watched Neerth
kick at the air as he disappeared into another building nearby. It stood after
a while and sauntered off back the way it had come, a vibrant and masculine
chuckle ringing after it before it, like the soon-to-come evening sun, was
swept away on the midsummer breeze.

-------
Chapter V: Those That Never Pass

The sun sat sacrificially on the horizon, the last few remnants of the day
falling into the blissful embrace of night. Shadows eagerly grabbed at the
edges of the Glomdoring Forest, racing like little children across bough and
bush in a meticulous game of tag. The Ravenwood Tree stood as a vigil at the
heart of the forest, spiders clinging to its leaves and branches as they, too,
created their own havens of safety. Someone stared off into the darkness that
was coming quickly from the east, a warm breeze carrying with it the smell of
fertile earth and fresh air from the nearby mountains that cradled the forest
maternally. They watched from afar, noting the night as a barghest sat
obediently nearby. Night was coming, and it was not without plans of its own.

--++--

Shayle lay next to Xenthos in a large, ornate bed of ravenwood. Sheer black
drapes gathered at the canopy above, fluttering in the cool night breeze. She
had found him more than willing to take her in a lustful manner, satiating
himself within her flesh before falling asleep beneath the watchful eyes of
applauding shadows. Her mind was not so complacent. It raced along the events
that she knew were of importance, but to what degree, she will still unsure.
Damn it all, she thought wearily. I can't do this. Forsaking sleep, she rose
carefully so as to not wake her husband, grabbed a night robe that hung at the
foot of the bed, and draped it about herself. She escaped to her study in
Night's Needle, lighting the candles carefully until she was satisfied with the
light they bore.

The day had brought on too many trials, too many things that tested her. The
Night Council was now up in arms about the latest Serenwilde attacks. They had
become more frequent, with four night hags and seven denizens found slain at
the very heart of Ethereal Glom. At the heart of my home, Shayle noted with a
heavy heart. The funeral arrangements had already been made, thankfully, by
Xenthos. She blessed him for that and was thankful for his foresight. They've
never been this brash before, she said to herself as she looked around the
room. They've never attacked us directly in Ethereal Glomdoring. Not like this.
A Shadowdancer novice had found the bodies; a small and frail elfen girl who had
just recently joined the guild. Shayle had sat with her in her study for several
hours, leaving her barghest and fae to glare at anyone foolish enough to knock
on the twin doors. Poor thing will probably never forget that sight, she
thought as she shook her head sadly. Maybe it is better she saw it before she
entered into her powers as a Shadowdancer. Shayle's mood had gone from
miserable to outright enraged upon hearing there had been more attacks on a few
of her older Shadowdancers. They had gotten away safely though, with enough
information on who had tried to kill them. Because that's all those fanatics
know how to do. Kill.

The next few hours were spent in solitude, Shayle staring out onto the forest
below from the balcony. The presence of Mother Night was very strong this
twilight, with the moon hardly glistening in the black sky. She could almost
feel the presence of the Great Spirit wrapping around her in the breeze,
caressing her and quieting her turbulent thoughts.

"You mustn't frown so deeply, Shayle," came a voice from behind her. "You'll
get frown lines." She turned to find Viravain watching her with hands clasped
before her, like a virgin of the shadows brought to life. Shayle curtseyed
deeply, her bathrobe cascading down about her in folds of thin white velvet.
"If you were paid for thinking, my child, you would be much richer thank
Richter himself."

Shayle smiled at the joke, though it was light and Viravain was never light or
appeared without a reason.

"Forgive my mind, Lady Viravain. It has yet to be coaxed to sleep," she
replied, rising from her curtsey to give the goddess a smile. Viravain nodded,
her black hair flowing down her pale shoulders and onto the hardwood floor. A
moment of silence passed, with divinity and mortality watching one another as
if trying to read the other's mind. Neither broke their watch, and neither
dared look away.

"I sense a great weariness within you," Viravain said observantly, moving
passed Shayle to grasp a hold of the railing on the balcony. "The night is
beautiful, is it not?" Shayle remained silent, letting Viravain speak as she
listened. "One should be careful about offering thoughts to the night. Not even
it knows when to slumber and leave the world of the awakened behind." She turned
to look at Shayle once more, giving her a gentle smile before her form simply
faded into the shadows of the night. Shayle walked to where she had stood and
looked down onto the forest. Sometimes, one's own worst enemy can be one's own
thoughts. She did not move from that place until the dawn, casting her senses
out into the Glomdoring Forest and letting her spirit walk among thorn beast
and spider. They knew well her sole desire and purpose in doing this, and never
once did they speak of it to another living thing.

--==--

A figure snapped its head up, having dozed off, and looked about frantically.
Something had caused it to awaken abruptly, and the figure's stark white eyes
searched frantically and obsessively along the forest floor below. The barghest
beside it had already been awake and was sniffing at the air, searching for the
same thing that had brought the figure out of dreams plagued by searching hands
and staring eyes. A passerby wouldn't see the figure until it was too late;
until they had fallen under its curse and spell. Though, none did and none
would for the night. The figure wrapped its black robe about it tighter and
laid its head back against the tree in which it sat. But it knew something was
out there. Watching. Waiting. And when that something came to find the figure
in the tree, it would soon regret ever taking to the hunt.

--------
Chapter VI: Forefront of Battle

Two days had passed, and with them, any hopes of calm had vanished completely.
Serenwilde was now at a full frontal assault, swarming like an army of angry
ants over Faethorn and Ethereal Glomdoring. The Night Council only had a small
warning, a glimpse from Kaervas as he sat in his nest, before the attacks
began. At the moment, Xenthos and Shayle were standing in the middle of an
uproar within the Night Council chambers, trying to speak over the incessant
voices that polluted the air with their outrage.

"Enough!" Shayle screamed, throwing her hands up and releasing enough Night
glamourie to force those about her to shut their mouths. She glared at the
faces around her, her normally calm and detached demeanor long since frazzled
like a rope of hemp that had seen its last day. They all watched her, and she
could feel their loathing wash over her in waves. All right, she chided
herself. You have their attention. Now make something of it. Xenthos did so
instead, leaving Shayle to gather her wits and try to calm the storm that was
building itself up at the heart of the Glomdoring Forest.

"The Ebonguard forces have already seen to the rear of our defenses," he said,
as if making a statement about the weather. Shayle always admired his calm
approach, especially when it came to war. Even though she had seen her fair
share of battle, she never grew used to it. I don't know who would or could,
she thought as she looked to Shamarah and Druken, who were even more tired and
baffled than she was. Her heart softened at Druken's normally gleeful face, its
smile and laughter lines traded for dark circles that sat sulking beneath his
eyes with a pair of pursed lips to match. By the gods, she thought dismally,
looking away with a sense of guilt. "Yeralih, what do you propose the
Blacktalon do at the moment?" Xenthos asked, bringing Shayle away from her
guilt, like a shadow-garbed savior, and back into the council room.

Yeralih cleared her throat, though she said nothing. Her crow-like eyes
glistened with madness, and Shayle had always thought, secretly, that Brother
Crow gave both a blessing and a curse to his followers.

"We have already bound ourselves to what land is still under our control.
Though, the follows of White Hart have made quick and short work of any land
outside of Ethereal Glomdoring," Yeralih said, a cloak of crow feathers giving
off a sickly black aura that clung to her. Xenthos nodded and turned to look at
her, making her throat and heart fall into some nether region of her stomach.
"Don't you dare," she hissed into his mind, putting as much vehemence and as
much power into those three words as she could without harming him. Xenthos
flinched beneath her glare, as if she had reached out and slapped him. "Love,
you know that we can't force the Serenwilde forces back without the
Shadowdancers," he said soothingly, not daring to push her for anything while
she was in this particular state of mind. She could feel the eyes of the Night
Council gnawing hungrily at her face, knew that the moment she showed signs of
weakness or failure to act for the greater good of Glomdoring, they would come
crushing down on her like a cloud of plague. "I will not allow you to use the
Shadowdancers as targets or as fighters. Most of them are young and
inexperienced. It would be like sending children out into a battle field!" she
replied to Xenthos, using enough Night to give him the visual of what he wanted
to ask her to do. He closed his eyes, and she knew she was damned to make a
decision that would condemn far too many to an early grave. Tears stung at the
back of her eyes, forcing her to turn away lest she fall to her knees in
guilt-ridden sorrow. Druken and Shamarah stepped forward in her place, using
themselves to shield her from the ravenous stares of the Night Council.

"We will call upon the Fae of Mother Night and assist in any way possible,"
Druken and Shamarah said in unity, each of them building mental shields around
themselves that not even a telepath could pass. Heads nodded and talk
continued, Xenthos setting up plans and leaving Shayle to exit the council
chamber with Druken and Shamarah walking behind her.

Her mind felt heavy, as if she were carrying the lives of those that would
sacrifice themselves to keep Glomdoring safe. They caused her spirit to falter,
her heart to burn with anger at what the Serenwilde forces were doing to her
nerves and to her people, and amongst the chaos that swirled within her, she
stood in the middle of it all. Mother Night, please give me strength, she
prayed quietly, making her way to Rowena with neither Druken or Shamarah saying
a single word.

Rowena looked up from a black cauldron that sat before her and let her piercing
stare fall on Shayle, as she approached her. Shayle looked up, her eyes red from
the strain that sat in her mind.

"Shamarah, Druken, please gather the Shadowdancers into the guild hall. Have
them meet outside of my office," she said, as Rowena put her arms around the
Queen of the Night. They both vanished, Rowena and Shayle, leaving Shamarah and
Druken to do as they were told. It didn't take long to gather the faithful
followers of Mother Night, for they had either been in the guildhall to begin
with or close enough that they were able to hurry to Shayle's call. They all
stood outside of the Guild Mistress' office, the young wide eyed, and the more
experienced Shadowdancers sullen and quiet.

Shayle stood in her office, Rowena facing her from across the room. Neither of
them had said a single word to each other. They didn't need to. They both knew
what was to come, and they both knew what the consequences were going to be.
Silence hung in the air like a blanket of choking smoke, but neither of them
seemed to notice. A shadow rose from the center of the room, swarming and
building in a cacophony of voices until Viravain finally appeared from within.
She first looked to Rowena, who bowed deeply, and then to Shayle, who managed a
bow of her own.

"I know your heart is plagued with guilt, my daughter," Viravain said softly.
"But Mother Night does not forget those who sacrifice themselves in her name
and in the name of her, and my, forest." Shayle closed her eyes, releasing a
few tears that drew themselves down her cheeks and splashed down onto the
hardwood at her feet. She felt empty, as if someone had taken away her soul and
replaced it with a shoddy replica.

"I know, Lady Viravain, but that does not ease my heart nor my conscience,"
Shayle replied, taking a deep breath and using the sleeves of her robes to wipe
away her tears. Viravain smiled for a moment, a smile that was sincere and
knowledgeable. Rowena watched them both with a hint of sorrow in her thin and
drawn face. Shayle nodded and turned around, not seeing Viravain place a hand
on Rowena's shoulder. They both vanished in a swarm of shadows, leaving Shayle
to confront those who stood outside her door. She stepped out from her office
and into the crowd of familiar faces that stood watching her.

"The time has come that we take up battle for the glory and the safety of
Glomdoring," she said, letting the power of Night cascade out about the room
and into the spirits of her Shadowdancers. "For many of you, this may very well
be your first battle and your first war. I pray that you fight bravely in the
name of Mother Night and the Lady Viravain." Gods be with you, my friends. And
forgive me for what I am about to do, she thought despairingly, feeling a lump
rise in the back of her throat. "Each of you will be taken into one of the two
covens that will be forming. Most of you have not yet mastered your powers as
children of Mother Night. If you are a healer, you will remain with the rear
defense and heal those in battle. If you are a student of the Night's curse,
you will draw your hexes into the ground at the forefront of battle and hurry
to rejoin the coven that you were taken into." Shayle looked to each of them,
seeing faces that she knew may very well not return. She pushed that thought
from her mind and continued speaking.

"For those of you who are able to call upon the very anger and rage of Mother
Night, you will be taken into the first coven and preparing the ritual of the
Terror Coven. For those of you who are not able to do this, you will join the
second. Are there any questions?" No one raised one, and Shayle knew the time
of battle had come to them. She nodded her head to Synl, who gave her a grave
look before he turned and began ascending to the Master Ravenwood Tree and into
the very heart of the be-damned war. Shayle watched them all leave, nodding to
Shamarah and Druken, who both gave her a look of utter sadness before they,
too, vanished up a spiraling staircase.

Outside, the Shadowdancers gathered at the base of the towering Ravenwood Tree
and joined hands in a circle. A thundering reverberation resounded throughout
the Glomdoring Forest and well outside it, forcing beast and traveler to cease
what they were doing to look towards the dark forest. Redcaps, barghests,
sprites, and other assorted fae swarmed out of the boughs and branches of the
trees around the Shadowdancers, joining the shadowdancer who called them for
aid. Lightning cracked the night sky overhead, pouring out over the Glomdoring
Forest as nature itself gave the call to arms. As if heralding the apex of
events, at the last streak of lightning the shadowdancers that circled the
Master Ravenwood Tree vanished from sight.

They emerged into Ethereal Glomdoring to see Shayle staring off to the north.
Shadows slithered about her, hissing and screeching as their mistress waited
for the first wave of the battle to commence.

--==--
A figure stood perched in a tree, his stark white eyes staring at Shayle
intensely from a distance. Madness, complete and unbridled madness, burned at
its mind and in its eyes, screaming in a fury of voices that fought suicidally
to over power the others. Sweat poured down the figure's hooded brow, his lips
curling up into a twisted smile that revealed half-rotten teeth that were the
color of rotting skin. Its hands went about the tree it crouched in, nails that
were not only long but also lethally sharp scrapping down the bark to leave the
same markings a wild animal would leave.

Far off in the distance, the war had begun and the battle was far, far from its
end.