Queen's Night

A'Shiel sailed through the perpetual sunset of the aether. A scape that never changed in hue or direction. Always the falling plume of sunset off to the right, no matter which way one sailed, and the vast expanse of the void all around. He had traversed the aether many many times and knew its ley lines without need for venom. "One more left, Jahar," he said to the spider on his forearm. Once, long ago and many travels before, Jahar had been resplendent. Bejeweled with a motley of colors. Now, the spider was as aged as A'Shiel. Dull and autumnal.

Jahar crawled slowly with her ten legs to A'Shiel's shoulder. Her milky eyes stared off into the distance. A'Shiel scratched her between her ten eyes, "Soon we can rest. Soon, the cycle will begin anew."

Ahead of them stood the rocky outcropping of Tarles, the village of A'Shiel's forewarned death. Distance was a vague thing in the aether. One moment, the floating mass of rock was miles ahead. The next, they were right near the docks. There were a few ships docked, their crews having no choice but to spend Queen's Night at such a small village. Unfortunate, but not as unfortunate as not taking the opportunity to participate. Queen's Night was the one holiday celebrated in every realm of Eydenghar. Even the ones so far removed they had no contact with outside realms. Very few remembered why they celebrated, and A'Shiel was one of the few.

A'Shiel steered the boat into the makeshift harbor. Nothing more than a cliff face adorned with crenellations to anchor one's vessel. A'Shiel dropped the fenders over the side and readied the anchor. With a bump, the ship came to a halt, and he drove the spike into the man-made crevice and hit the button along the rod's end to make it open. With Jahar hidden safely within his robe pocket and his satchel slung over his shoulder, A'Shiel touched two fingers to his forehead, muttered, "Thank you T'Clara," and mounted the wharf.

"Two silver to dock!" Came the call from a gruff looking Harbor Master seated on a chair, whittling away at a slab of wood.

"Two silver!" A'Shiel scoffed. "What is this, Aerlin!"

The Harbor Master shrugged without looking up, "Queen's Night, pay or move along."

"Surely," A'Shiel puffed out his chest, "You can make an exception for a bard on such a night."

The Master ceased his whittling and looked up. One of his eyes was nothing more than a scar, and the other skimmed A'shiel up and down. With a huff, the Master went back to whittling, "Everyone's a fucking bard on Queen's Night. Nice try but you don't look like no bard. Where's your instrument?"

A'Shiel shook his head with annoyance, "I'm not a minstrel. I'm a bard. A storyteller."

The master had a laugh until he coughed and hocked a thick glob of phlegm. "My wife's a storyteller. My son's a storyteller. Shit, even I've been known to tell a tale or two."

A'Shiel lowered the cadence of his voice by an octave, hand slid into his pocket ready for a dose of venom if need be. He walked calmly toward the Master, "That you may all be. But, do you know the tales before the Fragment? Have you sailed the realms of Eydenghar? Have you committed to memory the histories of the Divines?"

The Master cocked his head to the side, "Nah. But I know old Salial is sleeping with half the women in town. And I've got a good one about a rat in a shack."

A'Shiel sighed, ready to take the venom, when a voice, low and calm, but powerful enough to cut through the air said, "Let him be Urani."

Urani scowled at the newcomer, "Ain't no Hallowed business here, Tiene. You just run your mouth somewhere else, and I'll run my business."

A'Shiel took in the knight with some surprise. Tiene had made no sound as they walked up, though their body from the neck down was covered in armor. A'Shiel knew the knight wasn't covered in armor, but melded with it. He also knew the face of Tiene. They had been his first memory. The memory of his own death.

Tiene leveled a steady glare at Urani and said, with measure, "Don't make it my business then. Let the bard be. Besides," the knight looked toward the town, sounds of revelry issued forth, "it's about time for the crown to pass. No other visitors this late." Their voice took a serious tone full of promise, "I think your business here is done."

Urani scowled from knight to bard, tossed his whittled stick, and said, "Fine!" He kicked himself from the chair and headed to town, mumbling curses with each step. "Deevie Hallow… glorified time keeper… business it is…"

A'Shiel remained silent. The chill of memory made him a frozen statue. All the Reapers had the same pale, androgynous face, but A'Shiel knew that face. That face, this place, and the sword at Tiene's side had haunted him since conscious birth. Tiene watched Urani hobble away and then turned toward A'Shiel, "I haven't seen the sign to the moon demon in some time."

'It's too soon,' A'Shiel thought as he swallowed and said, "Oh… it's something my grandmother taught me."

Tiene looked A'Shiel over, the latter searching for some speck of recognition. Then the knight touched two fingers to their chin, mumbled, "Forgive them H'Thar," turned toward the village and called over their shoulder, "I'll meet you later. You've got work to do."

A'Shiel shuddered as the silent mountain of metal ambled away. He opened his pocket and whispered, "I'm not sure if that was close or what," then proceeded into town.

Tarles was in full revelry for Queen's Night, or at least as full as a small village near the cusp of the aether could be. Children and adults ran about, a crowned individual leading the way. When the crowd caught the crowned person, a new member took the crown, and the chase resumed. 'They shouldn't be laughing,' he thought. The revelry was a discord to his ears. The ignorance of the laughter and cheer, at odds with what he knew.

A'Shiel let the joyful throng pass and slid his hand into his pocket. His fingers found the fangs of Jahar. "One last look," he mumbled as the fangs sank deep. There was no pain, but he could feel the steel-like barbs push into his flesh. A slight tingle ran the length of his arm until it met his chest, where it turned into an inferno that begged to be released. The world shifted in his view. No longer were the clay buildings with cloth door flaps simply buildings, nor the robbed citizens simple constructs of flesh. Everything was a series of lines and colors, a beautiful web. Buildings were hubs of knotted lines, the threads connected to some of the celebrating people. The threads had various levels of thickness and brightness. A'Shiel ignored the mass of threads and sought out the one he needed.

Beyond the crowd, so far, A'Shiel could barely see was a thread that pulsed and pulled at the web itself. Thick and strong, it shimmered through a rainbow of colors. He could feel the pull of the thread like the currents of the aether. He found himself humming off key, an ancient song, as he cut through the layers of thread to the beacon:

Pass the crown and the burden

Wolves they howl all uncertain

Blind they sail through the aether

Never find our maiden.

Blind they be to her favor

Sickness to unleash

Hallowed in their fervor

'Gainst our maid's decree.

Red Skies was the name of the tavern the thread's pull led him to. He had to close his inner eye to stifle the brightness of the thread and get a proper look at the place. It was more dirt than clay, barren cloth drapes hung over the windows, and the front tarp was split in four sections, only one of which seemed intentional. A'Shiel had left the jocularity of the town behind some dirt paths. If it weren't for the single beam of lamplight that swirled through the fragmented doorway, he would have thought the place abandoned.

With care, A'Shiel cupped Jahar in his hand and brought the spider to his face. "It is time." Jahar used a hairy leg to stroke A'Shiel's finger and a low vibration issued from the spider. "Now, now. We both knew long ago this was the end." He stroked the spider lovingly, and Jahar leaned into the caress. "Now," A'Shiel set the spider down, "We both have work to do." Jahar bobbed her body in way of farewell, then scampered down the alley next to the tavern. A'Shiel looked after the spider's leave, memories of the glorious arakhnis, and his own time together swelled in his throat. With a deep sigh, he turned to the flap of the Red Skies.

As he pushed through the front flap, stiff and slimey at the same time, he was greeted with an interior just as grim as the exterior. A lone lamp hung near the bar, bereft of stools. There were few low tables scattered along the back wall, no pillows to be found. Silence hovered in the air above the only two patrons, idly sipping at dirty cups, cross-legged on the dirt floor. The bartender extended no greeting. She just stood behind the bar and stared numbly into a bucket of water filled with used dishes.

"Greetings," A'Shiel said and walked to the bar, each footstep elicited a sound much too loud for the demure establishment. "Holy Queen's Night," he said when he made it to the bar, the tender still lost in contemplation. "Seems like you could use a bard."

The bartender lifted her head, thick locks of hair unmoved by the motion. "Half a silver," she said in a dismal tone.

"Half a silver?"

She nodded, "Best price in town. You'll have to sleep in the parlor, but wine's decent."

A'Shiel shook his head, "But I'm a bard."

The bartender shrugged, "Don't care what you are. If you have silver…" she gestured to the tables.

"Now, now," A'Shiel said, "a bard with coin in their pocket is a very poor bard indeed."

The bartender gave him an apathetic look and repeated, "Half a silver."

A'shiel tapped into the venom coursing through his veins and opened his inner eye. He could see the bartender's thread, dull and frayed. He reached out with the vibration of his voice, "We may have started wrong." The waves of his voice coated the bartender's thread, seeking to fill in the gaps. "My name is A'Shiel, and I'm a bard. What's your name?"

The bartender's pupils dilated slightly, her shoulders remained firm, "Ramisa. This is my tavern."

A'Shiel used his voice to caress Ramisa's thread, coaxing it into a smooth serpentine spiral, "Ramisa. So nice to meet you. It seems your tavern could use a bit of barding."

A smile threatened Ramisa's mouth, "I do like music."

A'Shiel's eye twitched but did not affect his voice, "I'm not a minstrel. I'm a bard, a storyteller."

Ramisa's thread fought back as she said, "Oh… I don't know if my patrons would care for that."

A'Shiel readied his voice to fight further, then a small voice said hesitantly, "We like stories, mom." A'Shiel turned to look and was blinded by the pulse of light that exploded from the small boy. He quickly shut his inner eye, still dazed from the brilliance.

"Sanur," Ramisa said, "you should be sleeping."

Sanur gave his mom a sheepish grin, "But it's Queen's Night. You're not supposed to sleep on Queen's Night."

Before Ramisa could respond, A'Shiel interjected, "If I may. Perhaps I could entertain the child with a few stories until they fall asleep. Surely that's worth a cup or two?"

"Please, mom," Sanur pleaded.

Ramisa looked from her child to the bard and, with a resigned sigh, pointed to a low table in the corner, "Okay. But one story, and keep it down. I don't want you disturbing my customers. And after your story, you can leave or pay half a silver for the night."

A'Shiel looked at the two sole patrons, who had not once looked up from their cups, and back to Ramisa, "Agreed." He offered his hand to Sanur, "Come. I have much to show you."

Sanur grasped A'Shiel's hand eagerly and was soon leading the bard to the table. "Sit here, uncle," the child said, indicating a corner next to a cloth flap that undoubtedly led to the child's bedroom. Sanur flopped down in a cross-legged position easily and asked, "So what story are you going to tell?"

A'Shiel groaned with the full weight of his age and sat with his legs straight out. "Oh…" A'Shiel tapped his chin in thought. "How about the tale of Quecohl?"

"Kway-Kohl…" The boy said the word slowly and tilted his head to the side as if a thought hit his ear. "Does it have magic? We like magic?" he said more question than statement.

A'Shiel glanced around the room, wondering who the boy was asking. "Of course it has magic, my boy. It has all kinds of magic."

"And a hero?" The boy kept his head tilted and quickly added, "And a heroine?"

'A Gemini?' A'Shiel wondered with a sly glance at the door flap behind him, but he feared to open his inner eye again. "Both, obviously." A'Shiel said. "It's a story about a brother and sister," he leaned in as if telling a secret, and the boy leaned in as well. "A Gemini," he whispered. A'Shiel barely caught the tiny squeal that hovered behind the tarp, but the boy's excited smile was confirmation enough.

"Oh yes, yes," Sanur said and hopped onto his knees. "We want to hear that story!"

A'Shiel leaned against the wall, feeling a bit of the child's excitement, and made sure his voice carried behind the flap, "Well, let me set the scene." A'Shiel rummaged in his satchel and grabbed a glass jar. "This is from before the Fragment, from the land of Jahral." A'Shiel pulled out the jar, half-filled with red sand, and set it before Sanur.

"Sand?" The boy asked.

A'Shiel shook his head, "Not just any sand." He tapped the glass and made the sediment undulate. "Magic sand."

The boy's eyes widened, and his mother deposited a cup of wine on the table. "Magic?" she scoffed. "Looks like regular old sand to me."

A'Shiel flashed her a smile, "Simply a matter of perspective. It is just contained and awfully dark. See," he winked at Sanur, "where this sand comes from is a world that knows no darkness. Two suns swirl around its realm." Ramisa glanced at the jar of sand, face filled with doubt. "Indulge me," A'Shiel said and let the vibration of his voice flow throughout the tavern. "An empty bowl and the light of that lantern, and I can prove it."

Ramisa still held a visage of doubt, but Sanur barraged her with his pleas, "Please, mom. Please, just for a little bit. Please, please, please!" With a sigh, she turned to the bar.

A'Shiel spied her rummaging behind the counter for a bowl and resumed his tale, utilizing every tremor of his voice. "Jahral, was a world, not just a realm, mind you. Vast beyond even a voyager's comprehension."

As Ramisa grabbed the lantern from its hook, one of the patrons scoffed and said, "Doubt that old man. My father was a voyager. Said he saw more realms than old Salial's saw–"

Ramisa dropped the bowl on the table with a loud thump and cleared her throat with a pointed look at the patron. "Vashun," she warned.

Vashun spread his hands, "Peace. I just meant-"

"We know what you meant," Ramisa snapped, then turned her ire toward the bard, "and you! What did I tell you about upsetting my customers?"

A'Shiel raised his hands to reflect Vashun's, "Peace. I meant no injustice to any voyager. The Divines know they have granted me boon after boon in my travels. It was just a turn of phrase. Just to show how different the realms were before the Fragment." A'Shiel put almost all the remaining venom into his words, saving but a small trickle that burned with a desire to be free.

Ramisa looked as if she were about to tell A'Shiel to leave, unaffected by the vibration, but Vashun spoke up, "No harm meant, none taken." And went back to his drink. Ramisa looked from the bard to her patron, set the lamp down, and then strode back to the bar with heavy footsteps.

A'Shiel mimed wiping sweat from his brow, and Sanur giggled. "Where was I…" A'Shiel placed the bowl in the middle of the table and grabbed the jar, "Ah yes, vast beyond even most voyager's comprehension. Imagine a hundred Tarles as one realm, then a hundred of those realms, and that would be Jahral." He poured the sand into the bowl, "And the entire realm was covered in this exact sand."

Sanur leaned over the table and stared into the bowl of sand, then sat back disappointed. "It still looks like sand."

"That's because," A'Shiel grabbed the lantern and held it over the bowl, "You're not looking in the right light." He moved the lantern so the light splayed over the sand, then trailed it back and forth along the grains.

"It moved!" Sanur squealed as a wave rippled through the sand. "Mom, it moved!" Ramisa made a sound of disgust as she busied herself with the bucket of dishes.

Vashun leaned toward the table and eyed the bowl, "Parlor tricks?"

"Nay," A'Shiel said. "Come closer, good sir, and see for yourself."

Vashun thought about it for a second, then, with a groan, raised himself from the floor, grabbed his cup, and came to inspect the bowl. "Divines be damned," he whispered as he witnessed the spectacle.

"Blessed," A'Shiel said. "I assure you the Divines blessed this world." He set the lamp down, to the disappointment of both child and adult, and rummaged in his satchel for a small square of waxxed parchment. He began to fold and continued, "Now, Jahral was a vast ocean of sand, but there was but one city, Dhabru. Dhabru was built by the first Divines. A city of such wonder that even the second cycle of Divines could barely scratch at its surface. Its origin is, alas, a tale that has been lost to even one as learned as I am." He finished folding the piece of paper into a little boat and set it into the center of the bowl.

A'Shiel grabbed the lantern to make the sand swirl, and the boat moved. "Dhabru was a city unlike any other. It did not just exist in a single place, but roamed the swirling sands of Jahral. Ever seeking the light of the two suns." A'Shiel mimed the turn of a sun, and the boat sailed after it. "This realm was not stuck in the dimemsion of perpetual sunset as we are. No, these two suns moved across the sky. Sometimes in tandem, sometimes chasing after each other." Vashun, intrigued, motioned for another drink and joined them at the table.

A'Shiel continued, "Once a turn, the suns would sync. The lesser sun setting just as the greater sun rose. This was known as Quecohl, and, while every day saw two suns, this day was the brightest of them all. So bright that the citizens wore cloth coverings over their eyes called dawans. Many a citizen went blind on Quecohl, especially when they called the demon forth."

"Demon?" Sanur asked in fear.

"Oh yes," A'Shiel said, "a demon of pure light. The main street of Dhabru was lined with citizens on Quecohl, beating metal shields and humming hymns. They spent days in preparation, shining all bits of metal to coax the serpent of light out." He pulled a mirror from his satchel and caught the light of the lantern, "It was like a creature, jumping from shield to shield, seeking to maim and blind its taunters," A'Shiel flashed the light into Sanur's eyes, who squeaked with excitement and laughter as he shielded them.

A'Shiel made the light dance over the paper boat, warming the wax he had coated the parchment in. "They would harry the serpent through the streets of Dhabru, springing from reflective metal to reflective metal. Until, it finally arrived in the center of the city. A large amphitheater. Surrounded by seats filled with the citizens too old or frightened to coax the beast, and those whose political affiliation were too important to risk." He settled the beam of light on the middle of the boat, wax heated, and the boat bloomed like a flower.

"Oooohhhh," Sanur and Vashun said in unison. Ramisa dropped off Vashun's drink, and even her jaded eyes lingered on the spectacle.

"Here," A'Shiel said, "is where our tale begins. With a Gemini, Farrah and Farran. They shared names, as is the custom of a Gemini. But unlike our customs, in Jahral, and most of the realms before the Fragment, Gemini's were celebrated. They were seen as gifts from the Divines themselves. So, it is no surprise that the two had the best seat in the theater. Well above the menace of Quecohl, and in sight of the adoring crowd.

"They were gloriously gorgeous, Farrah and Farren. Tall and lithe, bald and ebony skinned, so dark the light of the two suns itself seemed to subsist upon their skin and make it glow. They wore bleached white clothes, golden jewelry, and each had an arakhnis on their shoulder."

"An arakhnis?" Vashun asked and sipped his wine.

"Yes," A'Shiel replied. "A beautiful creature composed of gems and fine hair. Ten legs and ten wonderful eyes."

"A spider? Ew!" Sanur shivered with disgust.

"No, no," A'Shiel said and spent his last trace of venom to convey the message of his next sentences. "Not a spider, but an arakhnis. They are creatures, not of the divine, but of the gods themselves. They descended from Nether, she who created existence itself. Who wove the web of the aether and filled it with realms and life. They are sacred creatures that should always be treated as such. For they choose a special recipient of their magic." A'Shiel paused, gauging the boy's reaction, and only continued once Sanur seemed to accept it as fact.

"The Gemini ruled Dhabru with benevolence and were much loved for it. On this particular day of Quecohl, they had enacted their first big change. No longer would the amphitheater be steeped in blood as had been the tradition. The barbaric custom of sacrifice to the serpent of light would be no more. So, when the essence of Quecohl entered the sands of the theater, it found no blood, no flesh, no victims. And," he leaned into his audience, "it became angry."

A'Shiel focused the beam of light on the facsimile of the city, "With its anger, it grew erratic. It spun throughout the arena, a wail of anguish coming forth." The iron flecks he had put into the wax hit the sulfur on the parchment and let out a shrill whistle. Sanur and Vashun rocked back from the sound, and even Ramisa cocked her head at it. The other patron had not said a word, but A'Shiel saw the beleaguered man look up in curiosity.

A'Shiel kept the light focused on the facsimile as he continued, "The wail gained in such power the stands shook, and the citizens screamed. They fled. All fled save for the Gemini and their most trusted advisor, the Magi Marilus." Iron-soaked disgust entered A'Shiel's voice, "Even their guard fled. A most heinous treachery that cursed them with pale skin, forever cursed to blister in the fury of the sun's wrath."

"The Hallowed Curse," said the lone and, before then, silent patron.

"Yes," A'Shiel said, but the man had returned to his cup. "The Hallowed Curse. But that is another tale. This is the tale of the Gemini. As everyone fled up and out of the arena, the Gemini strode forth. Heads high and resilient. In their wake, the magi. The magi…," A'Shiel trailed a bit, sadness in his voice, "was not as brave as the Gemini, and faltered on the steps that led to the floor of the arena and the fury of Quecohl."

Sanur held his head high and said, "But I bet the Gemini didn't."

"No," A'Shiel said in a quiet voice, "they did not. They walked hand in hand in perfect stride, unhindered by fear, into the maelstrom of light. They stood there, the lesser sun already set, and the greater soaring through the sky. All the while, Quecohl sought its vengeance in flames." The facsimile began to smoke, then a lone ember caught, and it was soon engulfed in flame. The sand around it spiraled as it sought the heat. "The fury of the greater sun reflected the wrath of Quecohl. And, as the Gemini stood stoic, the magi shielded his eyes in cowardice, and the sun itself plunged into the arena." The fire consumed every bit of the parchment until only ashes remained. Which were quickly swallowed by the churning sand.

They all stared into the sand, silent as the last mote of ash was consumed. Ramisa broke the silence, "Then what?"

"Yeah," Sanur said, "then what?"

Vashun nodded his head, "Seems as if we all wish to know, bard."

A'Shiel looked up at his audience, eyes filled with water, "Then the darkness came. And then destruction. I would like to tell you that the fury of Quecohl destroyed the city, but it was the fury of the populace that did. A mob of people that had never witnessed darkness before sought light the only way they knew, fire. They believed the lack of sacrifice had angered Quecohl and sought his forgiveness with the blade and blood. For this, they received their own curse, scales sprouted on their skin. Forever cursed to seek the sun or perish."

"Lyven," the quiet patron whispered with a shudder that belied his own experience in the aether.

A'Shiel studied the man and wished he had paid more attention to the patron's thread before shutting his inner eye. "Yes," he nodded at the man, "the Lyven."

"Wait," Sanur said, head tilted, "I thought you said this story was a heroic one. Where's the happy ending?"

A'Shiel had a sad smile, "Well, if you want one for this story now, just know that with the night also came the ability to see the Hollow Moon. The perfect halo of ethereal light that connected all realms to the aether. But," he studied the boy, "If you want one for the whole story, well, you'll just have to find that one yourself." A'Shiel finished his wine in one gulp and groaned on his way up, "Guess that's my story. I must be on my way."

"Awww," Sanur sulked.

"Now Sanur," Ramisa chided. "He promised you one story, and that's what you got. Even if it was a bit," she eyed A'Shiel, "dark?"

"Apologies," A'Shiel said. "With age comes an utter lack of awareness. Perhaps," he smiled at the boy, "I'll give you a better one next time."

"You better!" Sanur said, beaming.

"Sanur!" Ramisa looked aghast, and Vashun laughed. "Apologize!"

Sanur looked down in shame, "I'm sorry, uncle."

A'Shiel patted the boy's head, "No harm meant, none taken." He nodded to Vashun and then Ramisa, "Thank you for the hospitality."

Ramisa stooped to grab the empty cup from the table and said, "No thanks necessary." She chewed her cheek for a second before adding, "If you want to stay, there's room in the parlor."

"Alas," A'Shiel said. "I've got another engagement." He waved his farewells and went to meet death.

At the flap of the door, Sanur's voice caught him, "Uncle?" A'Shiel turned to see the boy again in deep thought, "What was the Magi's curse?"

A'Shiel sighed, "A long one." And with that, he left behind his sand, his last tale, and his last drink. He checked the alley for Jahar but saw no sign. He left a tear for his old friend then sung a sad song of old:

Oh, the tales I have woven

And the lives I have stolen

Myths I've seen turn to lore

All the aether I've explored

A yoke, a gaes, my life's task

Please, T'Clara, let this pass

Tiene was waiting for him at the boat, sword drawn across their knees, sat in the chair that had once held Urani. "Finished?" The knight asked.

A'Shiel gazed off into the unchanging expanse of the aether. He could almost remember the beauty of the Hollow Moon. "Yes," he said simply.

"Which tale did you weave?" Tiene asked.

"Quecohl."

Tiene nodded as if that should have been obvious. Then stood, sword in hand, and came to stare out into the aether with A'Shiel. "They say," Tiene said, "that a Sower's first memory is that of their death. Is that true?" A'Shiel nodded, too afraid of his own cowardice to speak. "You know what a Reaper's is?" A'Shiel shook his head. Tiene spoke as if into the aether, still not looking at A'Shiel, "It's every life we will take."

A'Shiel wanted to say it made sense, wanted to say the balance of it all was divine, wanted to face it head held high like he hadn't before. Tiene asked, "Do you remember anything from your original cycle?"

Tears flowed along A'Shiel's cheeks as he finally got a word out, "No." He lied, afraid to speak the truth of his own great cowardice.

"I do," Tiene said. "I was a cheater. Deep in a card game, in some tavern, in some realm, those memories are fuzzy. But I do remember being a cheat. I remember winning so much silver I thought I could buy a vessel, stock a crew, and sail the aether. But… well, I was a terrible cheat. I was caught and about strung up until a Hallow walked in. I thought right then, 'Divines be praised,' but you know what happened?" A'Shiel shook his head. "The Hallow looked at me, between three thugs, blades to my throat, and just turned around to leave."

A'Shiel barked out a solitary laugh. Tiene nodded, "Now I can laugh about it, but at the time, I was angry and scared. I didn't have the appreciation for death that I do now. Well, as the Hallow was leaving and the blades were leaning in, I did what any coward would do, I blurted out the obeisance of the Hallowed." A'Shiel sucked air through his teeth. Even though the Hallows were his enemy, sacrilege was sacrilege. "Yes," Tiene said. "I tried to cheat my way out of death. Which worked. But now…" He trailed off and shrugged into the void.

They both stood there for some time, enjoying the silence of each other's company, until A'Shiel spoke, feeling as if he should share something. "Do you know why they celebrate Queen's Night?" Tiene made a questioning grunt. "T'Clara split her power of the Hollow Moon into seven crowns and sent them into the aether. They passed from one owner to the next, some by choice, some by death, but always changing and always on the move. Always getting further and further from each other." A'Shiel jerked his head toward the town, "That's what they're reenacting."

"Why?" Tiene asked after some consideration.

A'Shiel smiled, "So you Hallowed could never have all her power."

Tiene laughed, a sound that sounded normal but was completely alien from someone A'Shiel only saw as a foe. "Well," Tiene said, "that's something." Tiene continued to look out into the aether, then sheathed their sword and walked away.

A'Shiel watched the knight walk away with a feeling of relief, then fear as the darkness of the unknown closed in. "Wait," he said, and Tiene turned. "Aren't you compelled to complete your duty?"

Tiene smiled, "Didn't I tell you? I'm a cheat."