TWILIGHT’S DREAMING, CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

Speaking without words

A night of laughter and fear

Divine punishment

“Many a lonely year passed as Hayaoh wandered the world with only his sword for company. His heart of stone was hard and cold and heavy within his chest for so long that he grew to used to its burden; its weight became as much a part of him as his breath, as his soul. Young and hopeful bucks often dared themselves to cross his path as tales of him spread, hoping to challenge and defeat the samurai of legend. These he slew, one and all, and the countless faces of those that he cut down ran together in his mind like spilled paint, becoming indistinguishable from one another…”

[Excerpt from The Legend of Hayaoh, a collection of squirrel folklore, circa Year 500]

 

“All right,” said Naole. The doe’s bush-like tail twitched back and forth, and her hazel eyes shone with anticipation. “One more time.” She pointed to herself.

Less than a second went by before the hybrid’s large hands and long, spindly fingers began to move. <Na-o-re.> His gestures were delivered with impressive skill and accuracy… save for that last syllable, which was the closest equivalent. Rendering her name in Old Standard had always been a tricky prospect.

“Good. And her?” Naole indicated their new companion, who sat tending the fire as she watched. The flames made contrasting patterns of shadow in her deep blue fur, and danced in the cloudy grey of her eyes.

<A-ri-a!> he signed.

“Good! What about you?”

Beaming, he pointed at himself and signed: <Re-gi-o-n!>

“Perfect!” Naole pounced and seized Legion in a hug, unable to restrain herself. She felt his fur bristle, and wondered if she had startled him… but then his long arms wrapped around her in return, and she laughed, delighted to hear the wheezing barks that meant Legion was laughing along with her.

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SOULSNATCHER, CHAPTER 3

Chapter 3

Preparations made

Shoring up the defenses

To strike at the heart

“Something evil comes a-lurking

Baring fangs, in shadows smirking:

THE SOULSNATCHER, beware!

Wander not at night alone,

Lest he take you for his own:

THE SOULSNATCHER, beware!

Meet not his gaze, his maddened eyes

And listen not unto his lies:

THE SOULSNATCHER, beware!

His razor teeth, his foul breath,

His ragged claws, all steeped in death:

THE SOULSNATCHER, beware!

Your soul will writhe in endless hell

When takes he, leaving but a shell:

THE SOULSNATCHER, beware!”

[Folk song dating from late Year 1349, attributed to Marlowe the Mad Bard]

In the deepest heart of Centralis Fanum lay the Grandmistress’s private meditation chamber. Precious few sentients were allowed here; only those of the Argenteus bloodline and their most trusted attendants ever set foot inside it. The chamber acquired a kind of mythical status over the years as a result. Many Order sistren and brethren wondered: what was behind those heavy mahogany double doors? Fabulous riches? Unseemly pleasures? Forbidden magic?

Those who wondered the most would doubtless have been disappointed if they saw the chamber for themselves. While its furnishings changed every time the title of Grandmistress passed from mother to daughter, it had never strayed much from the concept that Mistress Emeritus Lotus envisioned thirty-three generations ago: a place of peace. A place of warmth, of quiet, of contemplation.

Soft colors dominated the chamber, pastel yellows, greens, and blues. Straight lines and sharp edges were kept to a bare minimum, and there were gentle arches were everywhere. The most striking feature was the water, a natural stream that ran right through the middle of the chamber. Fragrant lotus blossoms floated lazily on the stream’s surface in all seasons of the year, a permanent tribute to the namesake of the Order’s founder. Overlooking the stream was an old spruce footbridge coated in rose-colored lacquer, arcing from one bank to the other. Though there was a throne reserved for the use of the current Grandmistress, Lily preferred to kneel on a cushion on the bridge, with candles burning low in the sconces that lined its supports. There she sat now, swathed in simple white robes, her eyes closed, her tail curled around herself, and her expression unreadable.

When Nadeshiko came through the doors moments later, she seemed an affront to what the meditation chamber stood for: in full, spotless white-and-chrome armor with greatsword at her side, as usual, not a trace of softness or gentleness in her expression, her lips drawn tight in what Lily feared would become a semi-permanent frown. “Mother,” she said by way of greeting. “I’ve just spoken with some of the head scribes of the news scrolls. They told me that-”

“Little One,” Lily sighed. Beneath her closed lids, her eyes rolled. “Please, I beg of you. Calm yourself.”

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