Quendalon/Session34FetekInterlude
Outside, the naked trees creaked in the frigid winter wind. Inside, Fetek Breath-of-Midnight knelt in meditation within a dark circle before the ornate stone altar in the Temple of Har-Razim. It had been many days since his arrival in Great Forks. He had quickly fallen into a soothing routine of study and meditation. There were few priests, and they afforded him all the privacy he wished. They perceived that he had an unusual relationship with their god, but no one could see its exact nature. Such were the ways of the Court of Secrets.
So, when Fetek respectfully requested privacy this night, as the moon soared full and bright above, the priests simply nodded and left, busying themselves with works beyond the temple. The Lunar prepared. He took a knife that he had acquired and put it to his arm. With a hissing gasp, Breath-of-Midnight cut himself deeply, down the length of his left arm, until the blood pooled in his hand. With his dark-red blood, he drew a circle on the floor. Then, after healing himself with Luna’s gifts, Fetek entered, bowed to the east and to the west, and knelt down. Soon, the young No-Moon began to change. The shifts were subtle, but continuous, like waves drifting on the sea. As his body lost itself in constant transformation, his mind stilled and his senses began to focus on other things.
He saw and felt the Essence flowing in and around him: twisting, burning, swirling. Great Forks was a blinding and disorienting inferno of power. Fetek began to try and follow the strands, to understand how everything interconnected, but he soon realized the impossibility of this. He simply let it all wash over him until he felt adrift in the sea of forces.
He found himself in a different place. It was a vast, shining citadel surrounded by immense silver gates and filled with great fountains illuminated by moonbeams that danced upon their surface. Staircases spiraled up into darkness. The air was scented with night-blooming jasmine. Reclining upon a shimmering couch, a chalice of sliver in her hand, lay a pale woman in a diaphanous gown. It was the Lady who had given him light when he was trapped in darkness. She smiled at him.
“Breath-of-Midnight,” she greeted him, speaking without words, her voice the ringing of bells, “you are welcome here. I have called to you and brought you to this place.”
She stood and approached him. Drawing close, she brushed her hand across his chest, his arm, his thigh, wherever he had been pierced by the Hidden Sun’s arrows, and the sting withdrew. Fetek’s adolescent body responded in other ways as well, and he struggled to keep his composure.
“You walk with the Chosen of my husband. Thus, you do as I have asked… Know this: the glory of Heaven is great and the shell of man often ill prepared. The light burns,” she drew yet closer, her hand on his shoulder; her eyes seeming to harden, “But remember always those words which I spoke to you. ‘Go to them, watch them, learn from them.’”
The great Lady released Breath-of-Midnight and stepped back. “The way of my Children is not for the weak, of body or spirit. My blessing is upon you. Return.”
The great palace dissolved into a glimmering mist and the Lunar felt the familiar sensation of flight. The haze soon coalesced into the immense web of Essence that entangled Great Forks. Fetek drifted into the hidden temple and from there into his body, where he quelled the changes and reassembled his human mien. As he finished, he heard behind him the approach of the Northman’s heavy tread and the whispering step of the refugee from Thorns. With a deep breath, he turned to rise.
