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I know something,
But I won't tell.
It started with whispers.
(Things like this always start with whispers.)
Whispers in the shadows where the moon’s light couldn’t reach. Whispers that fell silent if the lamplight came too close.
She should have noticed the whispers. But they had been at peace for such a long time. Complacency settles in when the wolf strays too far from the door. The young ones had never felt the tug of the shadows in the night. They didn’t live with the memory of the darkness.
Alina did. She had been a girl when the Sharrans last reigned. She had learned the rhymes the children chanted to keep themselves safe.
Many of her people had left Reithwin in those days. Most of the rest had followed once the sway of darkness gave way back to light. The long lives of elves made memory a curse in dark times. They did not want to live with the reminders.
Yet Alina’s family stayed. Not for the noblest of reasons, she suspected. The years following the brief conflict were prosperous ones - the Moonmaiden smiled on the towers dedicated to her honor, and the adjacent town flourished under the presence of the High Heralds. The lands grew bountifully, trade flowed freely, the population boomed in placid comfort - and the old rhymes were forgotten.
Shadows have eyes,
And ears as well.
After the whispers, came the doubt.
(Things like this could never happen here, you know - until here is there, there is here, and they are happening after all.)
“Don't say things like that,” Marna hissed when Alina mentioned the old days. “People will say you're starting trouble.”
Alina only sighed and shook her head. Arguing would be futile, and besides - they’d all see soon enough. She'd spent more than enough years yelling at the clouds to move when she was young to start again now.
Instead, she started planning. Cellars didn't stock themselves with lamp oil, and you never knew where you might need a little extra light.
Hold your light,
Keep to your own,
After the doubting came the fear.
(Things like this always thrive on fear.)
Frantic messages passed hand to hand in the market. Strain stained smudges of deep purple below their eyes.
Rumors, conjectures, and speculations took root and sprouted - who could be trusted? What friends might be safe? Which of your cousins would put a knife in your back?
“We have to leave,” Marna gasped, too wide eyes tracking little Jesper as he rolled a ball across the rug for his sister. “The children - they can't stay here, Auntie.”
Alina remembered the way her mother had clutched her close when she was small, as though gathering her child in a shawl could shield her from an evil in the night that did not sleep. How she had turned her own feet from that path so early on, whether she had hoped to intentionally avoid this moment or not. But here she was, with all these children she had never borne, still hers all the same.
“Where will you go?” she asked gently, always gently. She knew the dread that would set in when the girl realized there was nowhere to run.
And never stray far
From the Moonmaiden’s home.
I see something,
But I can't say.
When the fear turned into paranoia, Alina began to dismantle the shrine. Not all at once, not obviously. Slowly and carefully, she began to pack the most precious relics into small containers or innocuous bags. She was almost halfway through before Matthias noticed.
“Auntie, what in the hells are you doing? You’re the one who said we needed to hold on tighter than ever to our faith now!”
She finished wrapping the statuette of the Moonmaiden in a clean dishtowel before she answered.
“Is your faith so fragile you forget to pray without her face frowning at you, child?”
They both ignored that Matthias was nearing fifty, making him far from a child in his human years - Alina had held his mother’s hand when he was born and changed his diapers. He would always be one of her babies.
“I just don’t understand,” he told her, sounding exactly as he had years ago when she’d had to tell him that his father wouldn’t be coming home again.
“Sooner or later, they will come looking for examples, Matthias. We can help no one if we are the first that they find.”
The moon’s glow
Drives the dark away.
Alina recognized the Sharran immediately when he came to her door.
He hadn’t always been a Sharran. Once he had stood opposite her in the full moon rites at the turning of the year as his voice called down Selûne’s blessing in unison with her own.
Even if the armor hadn’t given him away, the darkness in his eyes would have betrayed him before he spoke.
“Sister,” he greeted her gravely, not yet able to remove all the deference from his voice. “I believe you know why I have come.”
“Do you? I’m afraid that nothing in particular comes to mind,” Alina answered. Her heart might race in her chest, but her voice remained steady, just as she’d been taught.
The Sharran shifted uncomfortably in his new plate, like he felt the weight of the blood that must have bought it for him. She studied him impassively, noticing that he couldn’t quite meet her eyes.
Good, she thought. Let him squirm.
He’d do worse enough than this before all was said and done.
“There have been reports that you might have been in contact with… unsavory persons,” he muttered finally. “Unwittingly, I’m sure. I wished to extend the opportunity to you to offer any information you might have on that sort - General Thorm extends leniency to any who aid him in his cause.”
“Oh yes, I suspect you know all about that, don’t you, brother?”
The silence stretched taut between them before the reluctant Sharran broke it.
“Inquisitor Wranlock takes great pride in his work,” he murmured. “It is best not to catch his eye. You understand?”
“Aye, lad, I understand.”
For long minutes after she shut the door behind her visitor, Alina stood with her back pressed as hard against the wood planks as she could manage, a hand held firmly over her mouth until she could breathe without sobbing.
Then she went to attend to the collection of relics in the cupboard. Halfred would have to find a safer home for them, if he hadn’t yet had a visit too.
Careful as you come,
Quiet as you go,
“You can’t seriously intend to get involved in this, Auntie,” Everelle whispered, as though they were somewhere in public rather than Alina’s cozy little fireplace nook. “Do you know how dangerous it is even to think about praying to… her? And you’re talking about so much more than that!”
Lady of Silver, give me patience, Alina begged silently. Give me strength enough for me and for them. We cannot endure if the young ones falter.
“What would you have me do, Evie? Cower under the covers and hope the monsters take themselves away? Wake up, girl - the wolves are at our doors, whether we prepare for them or not. Hiding from that fact helps no one other than them.”
Tears filled her brown eyes, but Evie nodded shakily and brushed copper strands of her long hair behind her slightly pointed ears.
“Ok,” she whispered. Then, as though surprised by her own voice, she repeated more firmly, “Ok. Tell me what you want me to do.”
Alina grabbed the young woman’s hands and squeezed them tightly between her own calloused palms.
“This is your home,” she urged, needing the girl to understand the lesson now more than she ever had. “This is our home. If we’re going to keep it, then we're going to have to fight for it.”
And find refuge there
At the Moonmaiden's home.
I hear something,
But I’m not scared.
They built the sanctuary under the inn on moonless nights, the irony not escaping any of those who toiled over it. They disguised it as a private card game to the other townspeople. Their true enemy, the ever growing number of Dark Justiciars, performed their own despicable ceremonies in the blackest darkness of their grand halls during those hours. It was the safest time to escape their interest.
Even after centuries living amongst the same families, Alina found herself surprised by those who came to lend a hand. Those who couldn't dig or cut carried out the rubble and stone. Those who couldn't carry brought food. Those who couldn't manage even that poured cups of water for the rest.
They didn't dare speak as they worked, but words weren't needed between them. In their hearts and their heads, the same hymns echoed, keeping time by the pickaxes, spades, and the sound of footfalls below the ground.
The night may be dark,
But the moon’s still there.
The tunnel from the old potter’s cabin came next. With the inn’s position on the river, it offered the best - perhaps the only - chance that those hunted by the Sharrans might have to escape. Onto the collars of their clothing, the faithful embroidered tiny moonflowers in pale thread that would be hardly visible unless one knew to look. Their own whispers spread throughout the town now, into the ears of the desperate - in the night, in the dark, look to the flowers for protection.
Alina lost track of how many terrified faces she had led through the darkness, her elven eyes able to track the almost imperceptible path without a lamp to give away their passage. She grew used to the taste of bile in her throat as she swallowed the fear and steadied her breathing to muffle the sounds of their steps.
She had no illusions about the stakes ahead of them - the darkness might win for a time. Nights could be long enough in winter that the weakest froze, no matter how the strongest huddled around them for warmth. They would lose people, both to the dark and in it. But no matter how dark and cold the night, the dawn would always - always - come. And the moon's light would give them hope to see the work done.
With one small spark,
A blaze can grow,
They rarely gathered together for prayers anymore. Safety in numbers no longer applied when the greatest protection was to remain unnoticed.
Sometimes, though, the faithful needed to come together: to clasp each other’s hands, to dry each other’s tears, to celebrate the small joys that reminded each of them that they were still living. Still here.
The children, more than anything, needed to see that the darkness wasn’t all encompassing, just as their parents needed the strength of other arms to gather them all up together to offer respite in a fractured and frightening world.
Outside, darkness pressed ever closer, but in the warmth of this cellar, there was light still.
Alina lit the last candle on the altar, its soft flickering glow bathing the rough hewn walls in a wash of warmth.
“Come gather round, little ones!” she called softly, watching their small round faces shine up at her as they scrambled close. “I'm going to teach you a very, very old rhyme that I learned when I was little, just like you. Are you ready? It goes like this…”
And we tend to it here
In the Moonmaiden's home.