Moonshadow

by J. D. Gregory

  “This feels wrong,” she said, voicing her fears. “Why are we here?”

  “Queen Morgana was central to the final days of the Serpent’s war and the destruction of Qir’Aflonas. If anyone knew something substantial about the Chalice, it would be her.”

  “And what makes you think we’ll find the answer in here?” Diana asked, knowing the answer, but hoping she was wrong.

  “I plan on asking Morgana herself.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself that his plan wasn’t entirely foolhardy.

  It was a dramatically terrible idea and Diana needed to change his mind.

  “From what I’ve read, death magic is forbidden—it’s only practiced by outcasts and apostates like the Melkafir.”

  At her words, Darien began to look incredibly conflicted. He wasn’t entirely confident in this decision himself, but she could feel his frustration and determination to proceed with the plan anyway.

  “I will not have come all this way only to be forced to leave without any answers, Diana.”

  Seeing that she found little comfort in his words, he came near to Diana and took her hand in his.

  “The Veil is very thin in this place, so I shouldn’t need to draw on a large amount of power. It will be safe—I swear it.”

  “Fine,” Diana consented. “Be quick about it; I’m still not comfortable with this.”

  Darien nodded and walked into the corridor which held the large stone sarcophagus of the long dead Morgana. Like Charlotte, the queen had been laid to rest under a marble effigy of the deceased and by the looks of it, Morgana had been a tremendous beauty in life.

  Darien used his powers to lift the lid, gently placing it on the floor, and Diana peered into the sarcophagus to gaze on the body lying within. Queen Morgana had been buried in a green dress, its trimmings fashioned to resemble the leaves of a tree, with a belt made of rubies cut into the shapes of apples around her waist. The once elegant, richly colored, dress was now aged and tattered form centuries of decay. Atop the skull of the dead queen, which still had a large amount of long black hair attached to it, sat a golden crown with a silver crescent moon adorning the center.

  After a long moment, Darien unsheathed Satelvir, and the sound of sliding metal lingered within the deathly silent room as he brought the blade up to his hand.

  Diana winced as Darien sliced open his palm and the blood quickly began to flow.

  “What was that for?” Diana asked on instinct, even though she probably didn’t want to know.

  “All death magic is powered by consuming the essence of life within the blood.”

  “Like a Melkafir,” Diana said, making the connection.

  “Exactly.” Her association caused Darien’s eyes to twitch with guilt. “What I’m about to do requires nowhere near the amount of blood those creatures consume, however.”

  Having successfully quelled his conscience, Darien rested his Runeblade next to the sarcophagus and then dipped his index finger into the pool of blood that had formed in his other hand. With the bloody finger, he touched the forehead of Morgana’s skull and drew a strange rune. The arcane symbol, a dripping bright scarlet upon the bone-white skull, would likely fill Diana’s nightmares for years to come. After dipping his finger in the blood again, Darien drew an identical rune on his own forehead.

  Taking Satelvir back into his hands, he stood defensively facing the body, and then closed his eyes as he began reciting a strange incantation. “Tornathag’saron Letote’demonin Asarathatoth Walentilig Shamenatani

  As he spoke, the eldritch language sent chills up Diana’s already-shivering spine. It sounded elven in nature, but was unlike anything she had studied thus far—the words sounded much more course and otherworldly, as if spoken by creatures not of this realm.

  After a moment, the rune on Darien’s head began to glow an eerie red and Diana felt a familiar sense of vertigo. As she tried to keep her composure, the very nature of the room seemed to shift from clarity to a ghostly representation of the world Diana knew.

  Even though she was awake, Diana could never mistake the experience she was feeling for anything else—the Veil. The shadowy realm of magic and dreams had somehow merged with the physical. The immediate area surrounding Diana and Darien had become a bridge between two worlds.

  A soft green glow danced in Diana’s peripheral vision and she turned her head to see a shimmering blur in the central chamber. Darien stopped his chanting, apparently noticing the light as well—and the change in reality. Seeing the worried look on Diana’s face, he took her hand gently into his and led her towards the glow.

  When they reached the central area, Diana realized that the strange light was coming from the Spirit chamber. As they approached the source, she could only stare on in wonder as pulsating green lights danced, ebbed, and flowed from within the stream of water pouring forth from the ceiling, coalescing into strange shapes on the very edge of form.

  “Morgana bela’Igarwyn, Daughter of the Silvermoon, Queen of the Blessed Isle,” Darien called out with purpose. “I, Endymion bel’Danel of the Stoneheart, call to you from beyond the Halls of Morvera, Mistress of the Dead.”

  As Darien finished his words, the flowing shapes within the glowing water began to form a solid image with a clarity that greatly contrasted to the blurriness of the world around them. The apparition appeared wearing the same dress that adorned the body in the coffin—as pristine as the day it was made. The ghostly phantasm floated in the water before them, eyes closed in a tranquil sleep, an anguished beauty within her slumbering face.

  Feeling in the midst of a nightmare—quite literally—Diana desperately wanted to turn away from the spirit of the long dead Queen of Avalon, but she just couldn’t. Not only was she standing in the very presence of someone that existed beyond the realm of the living, but the specter was none other than Morgan Le Fey—the powerful sorceress of Arthurian Legend. This is utter madness. Diana couldn’t help but feel that, at any moment, Morgana was going to strike them down for disturbing her eternal rest.

  Morgana suddenly opened her piercing emerald eyes. Irritated puzzlement quickly filled them as they beheld the being that had summoned her.

  “Son of Laevanas, why have you interrupted my wandering on this blackest of nights?” asked the spirit, furrowing her brow at the insolence of the living.

  “I seek knowledge only you can give, my lady,” Darien replied with the utmost respect.

  “Knowledge leads to ignorance, child,” Morgana replied, appearing to stare at something beyond Darien, though what, Diana couldn’t say. “The price of Knowledge is always much too high.”

  “I seek the Chalice of the Moon,” Darien declared.

  The spirit laughed sardonically at Darien’s request. “Knowledge you shall have, young Seeker, and Knowledge you shall take.” Morgana’s eyes bore into Darien, intrigued by the sight of him. “Many sought knowledge of the Sacred Vessel only to know Shadow and Desolation. Son of Ignorance, you too shall obtain knowledge of the Shadow this night.” She continued to laugh maniacally. “You will bring the Desolation yet again, like all who sought knowledge of the Chalice in days long past.” She grinned at Darien wickedly, amused by a cosmic joke that only she understood. “Nothing is new under the Shadow of the Moon.” The enigmatic specter spun with glee several times within the water, her locks of black hair and green skirts swirling in whirls, before she suddenly stopped to continue staring off into the unknown.

  Diana and Darien both looked at each other, wide-eyed with fearful wonder, and Darien finally appeared to be regretting his decision to contact the long-dead spirit.

  “Is the Chalice real?” Darien demanded to know, turning back to Morgana.

  Morgana considered Darien’s question with a curious tilt of the head. “Udana’s chalice is very real, Son of the Shepherd.”

  “Where can we find it?” Diana asked, her anticipation overshadowing her sense of caution. The only thing she wanted more than for this horrifying ordeal to be at an end
, was to know the resting place of the Chalice of the Moon.

  Morgana’s sparkling emerald eyes began to stare intently at Diana, piercing her soul, and Diana immediately regretted opening her mouth.

  Morgana’s gaze flashed with green light and then caught fire as her face twisted in anger. As her eyes narrowed at Diana, the stone blocks of the tomb started to quiver and shake with the fury of the dead queen’s shade.

  “Zayla’Sin!” screamed the spirit, shaking Diana’s soul along with the stones. “Your kind coveted the Chalice above all others—they likely hold it still. Udana’s legacy was to bring redemption for the Children of the Fallen, but the Serpent held it in his iron grip, breeding only corruption and shadow.”

  Morgana turned her terrible gaze away and Diana sighed in relief. The Queen’s accusing words echoed in Diana’s soul, filling her with ravenous curiosity in spite of the fear. What did she mean by my kind? What is Zayla’Sin?

  The dead queen’s anger suddenly subsided, as quickly as it had manifested, and she stared at nothing yet again. Even if Diana was still in mortal danger, she felt safer out from under Morgana’s notice.

  “Lansel…” she continued with longing. “Beloved, what enthralled you so? Why did the White Wraith lead you to betray your people—to betray me…?”

  “What became of the Chalice?” Darien asked. “You must know of its destiny…”

  “The Love of My Soul drank deeply from the Chalice, but found only shadow,” Morgana replied in a daze. “He was unworthy…and damned us all to ruin. In her madness, Morwyn—our dear, beloved, daughter—embraced the Shadow of the Serpent and brought desolation on our two kingdoms. The Chalice was hidden away from all who would covet its glory, I know not where.”

  “This was pointless,” Darien said in frustration before wiping his forehead clean of the blood. With the seal broken, the hazy world shifted around them as the shade of Morgana faded back into the shadowy realms of the Beyond.

  The frightful experience now at an end, Diana felt herself able to breath normally again as the reality of the tomb became clearer. Though the two worlds were no longer bridged, Diana could still feel the call of the Veil and its shadowy grip reaching out to take hold of her.

  “Are we done here?” she asked, hoping they could be on their way.

  “There must be something…” Darien said to himself as he began to skulk about. “The words of the dead are often cryptic. Perhaps there was a deeper meaning lying below her ramblings.”

  Darien may not have gotten the answers he’d been seeking, but Diana just might have. Perhaps Morgana’s anger towards her had inadvertently revealed the hidden truth she’d been searching for. First the Melkafir, and now, Queen Morgana—both had alluded to Diana being something other than a just normal human.

  “She called me Zayla’Sin,” Diana said, breaking the silence of the tomb. “It was the only phrase I couldn’t figure out; what does it mean?”

  As she asked the question, Darien stopped his pacing and turned towards her. He looked even more distressed.

  “Moonshadow” At the word, Diana felt a twinge of Darien’s extreme anxiety echo within her. He began to stare at Diana with a troubling scrutiny that made her feel uneasy. Darien was looking at Diana like didn’t know her and it broke her heart.

  “What’s a Moonshadow?” she asked, desperately wanting to know the truth that Darien found so upsetting.

  The question seemed to pull Darien back to reality and his eyes lost their disturbed puzzlement. She felt his anxieties fade, or perhaps simply pushed deep down into a part of himself he dare not go, and a sense of confidence fill their place. Seeing Diana’s fearful expression, he smiled warmly to assure her everything was all right.

  “It’s nothing to worry about, Diana. Moonshadows were magical humans—a rarity among the Tanarari, even in Morgana’s day. It’s simply not possible for you to be one.”

  Diana wasn’t so sure.

  Magical humans. So it was possible for her people to wield the powers of the Kratari—to be touched by the Veil. Could that be the answer she’d been searching for since the realm of nightmares first called out to her adolescent soul? Was she a Moonshadow? Darien seemed fairly certain that she wasn’t, however. There had to be a reason.

  “You talk as if Moonshadows are extinct.”

  “They are,” Darien swiftly replied, as if to reassure himself of the fact. “The Great Moonshadow Purge saw to that. Not a single Moonshadow has appeared in over a thousand years.”

  Darien’s words filled Diana with a fair amount of trepidation. She would like to think the Naphalei were above notions of mass genocide, but considering how most of them treated humans, she wasn’t all that surprised.

  “Why would Morgana think that I was a Moonshadow?” she asked, wanting to know how Darien had justified the dead queen’s accusations.

  “The Serpent’s Knight-Commanders were all Moonshadows—as was Arthur himself. When you asked about the Chalice, Morgana’s distraught shade most likely associated your humanity with her great Moonshadow enemies, who also coveted the sacred cup.”

  As plausible as Darien’s explanation sounded, Diana wasn’t entirely convinced. She needed to know why Moonshadows were so hated, and if possible, gauge Darien’s reaction to the prospect that she could be a magical human.

  “Too bad,” Diana said with disappointment in her voice. “I was hoping I could be a mage.”

  “Never wish for such a thing.” Darien replied, deadly serious. “It would mean your swift and immediately death, and no amount of my pleading on your behalf could save you.”

  “Why are Moonshadows treated like monsters that need to be eradicated? They’re not like the Melkafir.”

  “I don’t need to explain to you how war and senseless destruction breeds fear, Diana. After the fall of Qir’Aflonas, the Shadow Edict was the natural conclusion. Each Moonshadow was to be hunted down and killed to insure that another Arthur Pendragon would never rise up. Regardless of how justified the law is, it remains just that—the law. Should a Moonshadow ever be discovered, they would be hunted down and killed before the ink was dry on the orders of execution.”

  Whether from the possibility of death, or just the grave injustice of mass killings in the name of “peace”, Diana felt extremely uneasy, and angry, about it all. Not to mention Darien seemingly being alright with this Shadow Edict.

  “Not every Moonshadow participated in Arthur’s wars, did they?” she asked him, crossing her arms over her bodice. “What about the innocent? Did they deserve to die? Would I, if I were a Moonshadow? Would I deserve to die?”

  Darien sighed heavily. He apparently did not wish to have this conversation with her.

  “Every Moonshadow was a walking cataclysm waiting to happen—and for many, a temptation too hard to resist.”

  “Temptation?” she asked, finding Darien’s explanations for genocide perplexing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  The hard pounding on the ancient wooden door caused her question to go unanswered and forgotten, replaced by one in need of a more immediate answer.

  “What do we do?!” she asked in a panic. “There’s no way out.”

  “Morgana’s scream must have alerted Ardeqai.” Darien said, turning to consider the door. He certainly didn’t seem as panicked as Diana felt. He was either hiding it very well, or had expected something like this to happen. “There is one way out,” he said quickly, but calmly, holding his hand out to her.

  It didn’t take long for Diana to figure out exactly what he meant.

  “You want to jump down the hole?” she asked, feeling apprehensive about falling into a gaping abyss. “We could end up in the Nightmare, for all we know!” Diana would almost rather face the wrath of the Ardeqai Inquisitors. The thought of willfully jumping into the swirling shadows of the Veil was insane.

  The pounds on the door were replaced by the familiar sounds of chopping wood—the Ardeqai were forcing their way into the tomb.

  It didn�
��t take long before the wood began to splinter and a bit of axe-head poked through the newly made hole in the massive door.

  “No time to argue, my dear,” Darien said before he grabbed Diana’s hand and pulled her to his chest. Holding her in a tight embrace, securely, Darien plunged the both of them through the cold flowing water of the Spirit spring and into the gaping hole in the stone floor.

  Diana buried her face in Darien’s chest, forcing herself not to scream in terror as they plummeted into the dark abyss, the swirling shadows reaching out to claim her soul.

  Chapter 18

  Arthur, my beloved King of Dragons,

  Your great quest is finally at an end.

  I am the Queen of the Blessed Chalice

  And this Cup, blazing bright with sacred fire,

  Is your boundless reward forevermore.

  Falling. Spinning. Swimming—Diana had no way of describing the sensation she was feeling as the shadows took her into an almost-loving embrace. Her reality was darkness. Her sight, completely beyond physical senses.

  In the vast nothing she saw a light; a small speck at first, but it continued to grow and pierce the shadows until Diana could see a silhouette in the distance. Something large, like a floating iceberg drifting in the ether, lay in the expanse beyond.

  Diana’s descent stopped and she felt her heart being pulled as she lurched forward with an otherworldly speed that would have left a physical being a liquidated mess.

  When the sensation passed she found herself directly above a floating mass of shimmering crystal, gazing down upon a vast open pit in its middle. Though powerful luminous energy shined around the mouth of the pit, the center descended into a great darkness that Diana could not fathom. Attached to the jagged crystal sides, six great chains of dark metal extended into the depths of the black abyss.

  The Pit of Shadows, Daughter, said the silky voice of a woman, speaking within Diana’s heart. Though it was unfamiliar, she knew its bearer loved her. In its dark depths, my brothers and sisters lie in chains as they wait for redemption.