The word no longer held any magic for Halisstra. She felt no pull.
She looked up at the eight stars that seemed so much like the eyes of Lolth and vowed, “No one will answer your call.”
Halisstra didn’t know what Lolth intended for her Yor’thae, and she didn’t care. She guessed that killing the Yor’thae would hurt Lolth, possibly weaken her. And she knew that Lolth’s Chosen could be only one person: Quenthel Baenre.
“I’ll kill your Chosen, then I will kill you,” she whispered.
The wind died down again, as though quieted by her promise.
Halisstra looked out over the blasted landscape of Lolth’s realm, over the piles of torn spider parts and carcasses. She wondered where Quenthel was at that moment. She suspected that the Baenre priestess was already in the Demonweb Pits, making her way to Lolth, just another of the damned drawn to the Spider Queen.
“I’m right behind you, Baenre,” she whispered.
She sat for a time in silence, alone with her goddess, staring up at the infinite stream of spirits floating to Lolth. After a while, she took out Seyll’s songsword, put its flute-hilt to her lips, and played a soft dirge, an honorarium for the lost souls above her. The notes carried over the barren landscape, beautiful to her ears.
If the souls heard her, they made no sign.
The wind rose, as though to overwhelm her song, but Halisstra played on. Though she knew it was not possible, she hoped that somewhere, somehow, Seyll heard her song and understood.
When she finished, she sheathed Seyll’s blade and stood. Looking into the sky, she held forth her hand, palm up, and curled her fingers—making the symbol of a dead spider, blasphemous to Lolth.
She could not help but smile.
“This is for you too,” she said.
On impulse, she shed her armor and shield, drew the Crescent Blade, and danced. High atop a ruined tor on Lolth’s blasted plane, Halisstra Melarn whirled, spun, stabbed, and leaped. Except for the wail of the wind, there was no sound to which she could move, so she danced to a rhythm that pounded only in her head. Joy filled her, more and more with each step, with each turn. She became one with the weapon, one with Eilistraee. She was sweating Lolth from her skin, shedding her own past with each gasping, joyous breath.
Her hair whipped behind and around her. She could not stop grinning. The Crescent Blade felt no heavier in her grasp than a blade of grass, the tiny green plant that covered much of the World Above. The weapon whistled through the air, creating its own tune, playing its own song.
Halisstra danced until sweat soaked her and her breath came hard. When she finally finished, exhausted and elated, she collapsed, the ground on her back. Grace filled her. She felt she’d been purified, worthy at last to wield the Crescent Blade.
Thank you, Lady, she thought to Eilistraee and smiled when a cloud temporarily blotted out Lolth’s eight stars.
She lay there for a time, doing nothing more than reveling in her freedom.
Sometime later she rose, walked back near the edge of the tor, and re-donned her armor. As she was strapping Seyll’s blade to her back, a hand closed on her shoulder, momentarily giving her a start.
“Feliane,” she said, turning to face the kind, almond eyes of the surface elf.
Feliane smiled warmly. “You did not wake me for a watch. I slept through the day. How late into the night is it?”
“The night is several hours old,” Halisstra said, securing Seyll’s blade in its scabbard. “We should awaken Uluyara.”
Feliane nodded. She said, “It was your laughter that awakened me.”
“I’m sorry,” Halisstra replied. She was not aware that she had been laughing aloud.
“Don’t be,” Feliane replied. “It allowed me to watch you dance.”
To her surprise, Halisstra felt no embarrassment.
“It was beautiful,” Feliane said with a smile. “I saw the Lady in it, as clearly as I’ve ever seen her in anything.”
Halisstra didn’t know how to reply, so she dropped her eyes and said only, “Thank you.”
“You have come far in only a short while,” Feliane said, stepping past her to look down on the tor.
Halisstra nodded. She had indeed.
“May I ask you something?” Feliane asked.
“Of course,” Halisstra said, and something in Feliane’s tone caused Halisstra’s heart to race.
Feliane asked, “What drew you to the worship of Lolth in the first place? The faith is … hateful, ugly. But I can see that you are none of those things.”
Halisstra’s heart thumped in her chest. She wasn’t sure why the question affected her so. A tiny seed in the center of her being stirred, but no immediate answer came to her.
She thought for a moment and finally answered, “You give me too much credit, Feliane. I was hateful. And ugly. Nothing drew me to Lolth. Nothing had to. I was raised to worship her, and I enjoyed the benefits associated with my station. I was petty and small, so awash in spite that it never occurred to me that there might be another way. Until I met you and Uluyara and saw the sun. I owe you both much for that. I owe the Lady much for that.”
Feliane nodded, took her hand, and squeezed it. The elf said, “May I ask something else?”
Halisstra nodded. She would hold nothing back from her sister in faith.
Feliane took a breath before asking, “Did you ever think that what you did in her name was... evil?”
Halisstra consciously decided not to hear an accusation in the question. Feliane’s face held no judgment, merely curiosity. Halisstra struggled to articulate a response.
“No,” she answered at last. “I’m ashamed now to say it, but no. Faith in the Spider Queen brought power, Feliane. In Ched Nasad, power was the difference between those who ruled and those who served, those who lived and those who died. It’s not an excuse,” she said, seeing Feliane’s expression grow clouded, “just an explanation. What I did then, what I was, it shames me now.”
Staring thoughtfully into the darkness, Feliane nodded. The silence stretched.
Finally, the elf said, “Thank you for sharing yourself with me, Halisstra. And do not be ashamed of what you were. We are made anew each moment. It is never too late to change.”
Halisstra smiled. “I like that very much, Feliane. It gives me hope that someone else I know might be redeemed.”
Feliane smiled back.
They stood quietly for a moment, listening to the wind.
“We should awaken Uluyara and start moving,” Halisstra said.
Feliane nodded but did not turn to go. Instead, she said, “I’m afraid.”
The words surprised Halisstra. She had never before heard such an admission from another female.
After a moment, she put her arm around Feliane, drew her close, and said, “I am too. But we’ll find strength in our fear. All right?”
“All right,” Feliane replied.
Halisstra turned to her, held her at arms length, and said, “The Lady is with us. And I have a plan.”
Feliane raised her thin eyebrows. “A plan?”
“Let’s awaken Uluyara,” Halisstra said.
Feliane nodded, and they walked back toward the temple. Before they reached it, Uluyara emerged.
“There you are,” said the high priestess. “Is everything well?”
“It is,” Feliane said with a smile. “Halisstra has a plan.”
Uluyara frowned. “A plan?”
Halisstra wasted no words. “I believe I know why Eilistraee put the Crescent Blade into my hands.”
Uluyara’s brow furrowed, and she said, “We already know why, Halisstra. You are to use the blade to kill the Queen of the Demonweb Pits.”
Halisstra nodded. “Yes, but we’ve been thinking that I would use the blade only against Lolth herself. But I think Lolth would be weakened if her Chosen never answered her call. I need to deny her her Yor’thae. I need to kill Quenthel Baenre.”