"The Gathering" - Chapter 12

Dreams

It had started as a soft glimmer of silver. Acolyte Marshankall threw off his blankets and padded barefooted to where his outer robe and cloak lay hanging on the pegs lining the wall of his small room. He had just managed to stop himself from colliding into the heavy wooden chair that lay some few feet away from his study desk. In his tiredness, he had forgotten to push the chair back to its original seating.


By Selene’s watchful eye, that was close, he swore softly. He pushed the chair gently back to its original neat position. Another glint of silver flashed, near the corner of his eye. There it is again! he almost crowed out loud.


The little glints and glimmer of silver had tantalized him almost to distraction. At first he thought it was just a figment of his imagination, but the flashes of light became more and more insistent. It has even now intruded upon his waking hours. Acolyte Marshankall--Yuri to his friends and fellow Acolytes--was not usually given to a hyperactive imagination, although he could be somewhat idealistic. If one were pressed, the description given about him would either be “quietly serene” or “dreamer” would be the one most often used. He had almost screamed in frustration once when he pointed out the pinions of light after one evensong rite to his fellow Acolytes and was greeted by looks of blank confusion and concern.


I’m not crazy, he kept telling himself. The sentence became almost mantra-like as the sightings became more and more frequent.


He shrugged on his outer robe, pulling in his cloak after the garment had settled in place. His stockinged feet went into the ankle boots that was part of every Acolyte uniform. Thus attired, he felt that he was ready to take an active part in anything that may transpire. He grabbed the small cudgel that he had kept as part of his basic weapons training and slid a small dagger under his belt. Feeling suitably fortified, he walked carefully to the door, putting his ears to it and listening to the sounds echoing in the hallway of the dormitory.


Satisfied that the sounds were merely echoes of devotionals coming from the main temple, Yuri cracked the door open a finger’s breadth and peered out. 


The hallway was empty, and silent save the echoing drone of midnight prayers brought to him by the masterful acoustics of the complex architecture.


He took to his heels, his edginess making him fly down the corridors lighted by silvery luminescence of the heatless torches that servants of the Silver Maiden favored. He came to the door leading to the inner walls where it encircled the recreation gardens that all Acolytes tended as part of their novitiate. That was the last where he had seen the soft silvery glimmer before evensong repast.


He edged the door open carefully, mindful of the creak it emitted when the door is opened. He needn’t have worried. It is as if the Heavens itself had aligned with him--the door opened soundlessly. He peered out, carefully scanning the outlying grounds in case there are other Acolytes--or Selene forfend, one of the Silvershields or Silver Walkers about. He didn’t feel he was up to being castigated by one of the ranking clergy members for violating his curfew. He let out a small sigh of relief; no one is about.


As if on cue, the soft silver glow appeared. However, instead of winking out just as he had registered it in his line of vision, the glow seemed to be in constant now, as if waiting for him to come.


If Selene wills it, he prayed silently. 


He stepped out, closing the door gently. It clicked shut, almost portentously signifying a possible new route for his path of life. If Selene wills it, he prayed again.


Yuri made his way carefully. His left hand was loosely grasped on his cudgel, while his right was placed on the handle of his dagger where it was tucked in his belt. The was no fear in his heart, for he knew the temple grounds were hallowed against all but the darkest of intents. As Selene wills it, he murmured softly, gently segueing into the evensong prayer that had always been his favourite since he was but a child of five.


Our Lady bright in the heavens
Blessed be thy name
Our Mother up in the heavens
Shinest thou in glory
Blessed be thine light
Joyous be our fate
In light we dance
In dark we sleep
Comforted in thine hands


“Scant comfort this night’s tidings I bear you, my son,” the voice came, soft and whispered. It did not come from any direction in specific, but rather from all around. Even as he felt the tremor the voice had incited deep within his soul, Yuri knew with the surest certainty that he was in the presence of divinity.


He made his way faster, where the silver glow seemed strongest in a copse of weeping willows. Even as he neared, the silvery radiance became more pronounced and he squinted as he made his way--as if looking into the heart of the purest star. 


“Forgive me, Divine Lady,” he whimpered as his eyes burned with tears at the harsh white light. “My eyes cannot see you--” he broke off as the glow slowly diminished in intensity and he could make out a form of a tall slender figure garbed in white satin embroidered with silver standing under the tallest of the willows.


“It is I who should apologise, my son,” the soft voice came again, gentle like the sweetest chimes carried by the wind. “Sometimes, I forget how fragile mortals are.”


A hand reached out to him, cupping his chin. He looked up at the face before him. It was a face both young and mature; the skin flawless and smooth like new milk yet the lime-green eyes beheld a wisdom far beyond comprehension or ken. The hand that cradled his face was warm and he forgot the slight chill of the early spring as he looked on at the face of his goddess.


Selene Silvershield, goddess of the moon and stars. Known as the Silver Maiden, she had introduced the gift of witchcraft while her golden twin Shakti introduced the more awesome bounty of raw magic into the world when it was first created. Selene, with her divine consort Rahu the Dark ruled the night, while keeping it safe from the trepidations of evil and harm that might come.


“What audience do you require, Blessed Lady?” Yuri stammered out as he righted himself into an alert stance, stopping short of a salute. “I could have the Lord and Lady of this temple ready in but a few minutes!”


A gentle was his only answer, followed by, “They will but sleep still, my son.” A pause. “It is with you that I wish to grant audience.”


“Me, my Lady?” he sputtered, incredulous. “But I am only a lowly Acolyte!” he protested feebly.


“Even a dragon may be brought low by an ant,” Selene answered, her eyes gently crinkling in amusement at his confusion. “Now, heed my words …”


His world disappeared in a haze of sliver mist, and he found himself in an alien place. Gone are the temple complex, the inner garden that he had been standing in. He recognized that he is standing on a sidewalk and he almost quailed ion fear when he turned his attention to the road running beside it.


Alien contraptions, they were growling and screeching in pitches he had once encountered emitted by a female wildcat. People were contained inside them, suffering no harm even though they seemed to have been ingested by these awesome monsters. A larger species of the metal monsters screeched to a halt in front of him, and vomited people who did not seemed to be the worse for wear as they bustled off its maw, covered by a folding combination of metal and glass.


These people were dressed differently. He recognized something that looked like a lighter version of a greatcloak, but the variations of the modes of dress made his mind reel. He blushed furiously as a young woman passed by, her daring décolletage exposing matter-of-factly her generous cleavage and a small teasing peek of her stays, her skirt itself was barely covering the inviting mounds of her buttocks as she sashayed on poniard-like heels.


“She must be a Joymaker,” he murmured, cannot help but appreciate the undeniably female attributes the woman had displayed. It’s no secret that the followers of the Lord of Joy treasure good looks and its associated attributes.


“By another name, perhaps,” Selene’s slightly amused voice came. She materialized besides him. “I ask you to observe those two,” she pointed out to a plain building., fronted by large display windows where he could see the interior caters as an eatery of sorts. 


The door of the entrance opened, and two people came out. It was obvious from their bone structures and body language that they are related. Both were dark haired and dark-eyed, the young woman having shoulder-length curls while the man’s hair was trim to medium length but with minimal care. 


“You will meet those two soon on your journey,” the goddess advised him. “Grant them all aid in your power.”


“Journey?” Yuri asked, incomprehending.


“You will leave the fastness of the temple and become a Journeyman cleric,” Selene intoned, all formal and solemn. “You have completed your studies and novitiate with distinction, my son. Now is the time to put those learnings to use.”


Around them, the hustle of the alien street faded out and they were once again in the garden within the copse of willows. Yuri bowed and dropped to one knee.


“Bless me Lady,” he requested, “So I may work your will. Fortify my strengths. Shore my weaknesses. Gird me in your radiance so I may light the darkest of paths.”


“All this, and some,” his goddess answered, laying a gentle touch on his brow. “When you awake, this will be but a dream.” the voice continued, slowly. “Rest, child. You will need all your strength soon enough.” It gently faded out, ending with, “Follow the path through the darkest of woods, invoke the Green Lady’s name and garner her favour--and finally, make your way to the city of five races.”


“Follow the path through the darkest of woods,” Yuri repeated, committing the instructions to memory. “Invoke the Green Lady’s name and garner her favour. Make our way to the city of five races.”


“Yuri! Yuri!” he heard his name being called. He turned but no one was there. That was when the slap came.


“Aargh!” he flailed about, seeking his unseen assailant. He stumbled, and fell forward onto his face. Instead of the soft grass of the garden grounds, his temple cracked against cold stone flooring. He shut his eyes against the pain.


When he opened his eyes, he found that he was lying on the floor, tangled in his night’s robes and blankets. He sensed someone in the room and turned. His friend and fellow Acolyte Hamish Grell was squatting over him, his rotund bulk overshadowing him.


“Are you alright?” Hamish asked. He stood up and offered a hand to Yuri.


“I--” Yuri was about to answer him, but broke off as he cast about him. Besides the fact that he had apparently went to bed with his outer robe, nothing had changed. The chair was still in it’s position before he had righted it before leaving his room. His cloak hung on its peg, undisturbed. His cudgel and small dagger was still on the shelf where he usually kept them. He grabbed onto Hamish’s hand and rose from his prone position on the floor. “I think so.” he answered finally. “I had the weirdest dream,” he offered by way of explanation. 


Hamish harrumphed. He had always been the more practical-minded of the Acolytes, not having much use for mystical dreams. “Well, you had best forget about dreams for now. The Silvershield wants to see you,” he said.


“Lord Cavin wants to see me?” Yuri asked. “Do you know why?”


Hamish shrugged. “I know, though, that you don’t keep the Silvershield waiting!” he warned, wagging his finger in a friendly reminder. “I advise you be quick about it.” he turned and made to leave but tossed an aside, “Tell me all about it during the noon repast!”


Yuri went to his nightstand and splashed cold water onto his face. After a brief deliberation, he stripped off his robe and tunic and laved some soap water on his upper torso and cleansed them hurriedly. His inch-long cropped hair presented no problems, and after swilling some rose-water around in his mouth decided he was as presentable as he could be.


He made his way to the offices of Lord Cavin Rutledge, First Silvershield of the Order of Bright Moon. High ranking clerics are known as Silvershields, while ranking witches within the clergy were know as Silver Walkers--or Brightwalkers to the lay populace. The heavy oak doors fronting the antechamber of the office is open, and he could hear the soft baritone of the Silvershield as he performed a dictation to his personal aide.


He knocked sharply on the jamb and announce himself surely, “Acolyte Marshankall reporting for audience, sire.”


The middle-aged yet still robust man halted in mid-step where he was pacing slowly about the carpeted floors of his office. “Ah, there you are, my boy,” he greeted the Acolyte cordially. He turned to his aide, “We shall continue later,” he informed the fifteen-year old novice. “Please have some refreshments sent over for three.”


“Right away, my Lord,” the novice replied smartly. He packed up his writing kit and bowed respectfully to Yuri before leaving them. He hard the aide ringing for the maids as the door closed.


“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Yuri interjected as the Silvershield waved him to a chair. “Refreshments for three?”


“Oh yes,” Lord Rutledge answered by way of confirmation. He was in the midst of tamping his pipe when the door opened.


“Cavin, really!” came Lady Amanda Kendall’s protest as she bustled in. “The Healers have told you time and again, smoking is bad for your lungs!”


The plump and popular Silver Walker matron clucked disapprovingly as the Silvershield winked at her and lit his pipe. Yuri sensed a camaraderie between these two highest ranking officials of the temple, that he felt somewhat shy in the easy bantering that followed.


“I’m fifty-six, woman!” Lord Rutledge huffed out, a billow of smoke expelled as he snorted at the matron. “Goddess knows a man needs a few vices to even things out, eh Yuri?” he winked at the suddenly uncomfortable Acolyte.


“Oh, don’t tease him so, Cavin!” Lady Kendall reprimanded him. “Have your smoke and then we’ll get down to business.” She turned to Yuri and laid a motherly hand on his shoulder. “And how goes your studies young man?” she asked. “I was told by Prime Andra that you mastered the mind-shielding discpline flawlessly. Is this true?” Her pale green eyes held a tacit approval and an unspoken compliment.


“Yes, milady,” Yuri nodded. “She said it came very naturally for me.”


“That’s good,” she patted his shoulder approvingly. “And how goes your studies in rhetorics and the devotionals?”


Yuri sensed that Lady Kendall, despite the seemingly innocuous line of questions were gauging his character based on his answers. Despite her apparent matronly bustling, this is one woman he did not want to disappoint.


“Passing fair, milady,” he admitted. “I followed the devotionals that was taught me by the Journeyman where I was raised.”


“And why is that, my dear?”


“Forgive me for saying this,” he prefaced his statement, almost wincing as he launched into his pithy explanation. “I find that the more formal methods of prayer sends me to sleep.”


He was surprised by the loud guffaw from the Silvershield, and the peals of laughter from Lady Kendall. The two ranking officials glanced at each other and nodded seemingly in agreement. 


“The simplest truth is often the best,” Lady Kendall averred, then dimpling into a smile as she added, “Though I certainly wasn’t expecting that!”


“Not many do, I expect,” Lord Rutledge noted. He puffed out the last of his smoke and put his pipe aside. “Now, it seems that we have an open spot for a Journeyman in our order.” He paused, his deep brown eyes fixing themselves on Yuri. “You are the most senior ranking Acolyte here. And your studies, despite your modest claims, have been completed with distinction.”


“I am only as good as my teachers, milord,” he offered humbly.


“The wheat only comes after the planting,” Lord Rutledge agreed. “Don’t play modest boy,” he smiled, waving Yuri’s shock away. “Even visiting teachers--and we all know how difficult those mentalists are to impress!--have commended on your aptitude.”


He stood up and pushed forward a small rectangular wooden box of nine-by-six measurement and opened it. Looking inside it, Yuri almost fainted with elation. Inside is a pendant of beaten silver shaped into a crescent moon--the holy symbol of Selene--and an accompanying Journeyman’s accoutrement: a chasuble of midnight blue satin embroidered in white thread the five phases of the moon, a three-inch cummerbund of the same midnight blue satin with the accompanying silver disk etched with the same five phases of the moon.


“Welcome, Brother Yuri Marshankall,” Lord Cavin Rutledge greeted him formally.






* * *




Avana spared a look of disgust at Tyvien. The male mentalist, a Class 6 telepath, had shuddered and then keeled over on the floor writhing in foam-flecked pain when he made contact with the outer barrier of the wards. After seeing to his comfort, she had went to her packs and extracted the five-by-five-inch chest she had brought along in anticipation of such event. The amethyst globe was four inches in diameter and a perfect sphere. The elven wizard had spent twenty years of her neophyte training perfecting it as part of her future arsenal. The time had come to test its efficacy: serving as a mental focus and amplifier, the amethyst globe was a spellgem--gemstones crafted for the purpose of storing and amplifying magical spells. Since the spells she will be casting had already been stored in the gemstone, the barriers will be permeated by the spells it had stored, leaving her mind and self in relative safety from any contingencies or punitive strikes the protective barrier may effect.


She carefully replaced the amethyst globe inside the velvet-lined lead chest. The scrying spells triggered from the spellgem had confirmed her suspicions. The residence of the Prime mentalist is heavily guarded, both by force of arms and by magic. Even a cursory scan from her telepathic compatriot--now rendered insensible by the sheer power of the wardings--had told her that it would take more resources than she could afford to even nick the protective barrier of the mentalists abode.  


She turned and studied Tyvien, weighing her decisions in light of what she had discovered. She noted his pain-filled writhing--even unconscious. The scrying spells had imparted to her knowledge of the many-layered defenses the Prime’s residence had in place--and one of the many backlash in store as part of its many layers of protections is a scything attack on any telepath careless enough to trigger them. The effect of the psychic retort renders any telepath not only insensible but raving lunatics for some months. She recognized the signature behind the psychic barrier as a spell worked by a spell weaver witch, one of formidable prowess and skill.


Avana comforted herself with a catalogue of her own skills and decided that she would welcome a match between her and the Prime’s pet witch. She smiled darkly at the thought, her hand moving to the slender poniard she had strapped to her sleeves.


A quick shudder and a soft gurgle came from Tyvien’s form when she drove the poniard through his ears and into his brain. His now lifeless limbs ceased their thrashing suddenly. Avana stood up from where she was straddling him, where the juncture of his maleness had been pressed close to her own female one; she had felt exhilarated during that brief moment of intimate contact. Once the rush of the kill had dissipated, she rode the lulled wave of addrenaline till her own heart had stilled to a more gentle rhythm. She stood up, daintily flicking off the imaginary lint from the front of her dress as she did.


One pawn lost, she thought. But the knight is still in play.


One powerful spellweaver, a rogue mentalist of unknown power. There are still variables she knew--three more pieces that had not been added to the equation. But for now, her part has been assured and completed. It is time to have others placed in reserve to be added to the game.


It’s time to bring in the Dark Riders.