Extinction

Outside, the singing stopped. Halisstra heard a rustling above and glanced up to see Feliane, kneeling in the ferns and staring down at her. The priestess had scrubbed her face clean of the black dye, and her skin was an unhealthy looking mushroom-white. Looking at it, Halisstra decided she must have been wrong about the sky being overcast; the moon must have been peeking through the clouds, because for a moment a faint, silvery radiance illuminated Feliane. Then it was gone, and Halisstra could see the priestess's face clearly again.

Well? Halisstra asked in sign. What is my fate to be? The song?or the sword?

"The song," Feliane answered.

Halisstra nodded grimly and stood. She wanted to meet death on her feet.

I'm ready, she signed, fingers moving in tense, sharp jerks.

Feliane's round face broke into a grin. On a drow, it would have been a gloat of triumph, but so innocent and naive looking was Feliane that for a moment it appeared like a warm smile. Halisstra pushed that foolish notion from her mind and stood, rigid, waiting.

Feliane began to sing in High Drow. From behind her, Halisstra could hear a chorus of women's voices, though Feliane's was the strongest.

"Climb out of the darkness, rise into the light.

"Turn your face to the sky, your elf birthright.

"Dance in the forest, sing with the breeze;

"Claim your place in the moonlight among flowers and trees.

"Lend your strength to the needy; battle evil with steel.

"Join in the hunt; to no other gods kneel.

"Purge the monster within and the monster without;

"Their blood washes you clean, of this have no doubt.

"Trust in your sisters; lend your voice to their song.

"By joining the circle, the weak are made strong."

Feliane extended her hand down into the hole, as if inviting Halisstra to take it. Her pale skin had taken on a moonlit glow.

It took Halisstra a moment to realize the import of the song and gesture. It wasn't an execution but an invitation. And not just to life, bur to join the circle. To join the priestesses of Eilistraee.

Halisstra's eyes narrowed. It had to be a trick of some kind.

"Trust?" she said?out loud, surprised to find that her ability to speak had returned.

She didn't need to let the scorn she felt creep into her voice; the word already held a negative connotation in the drow tongue, implying weakness, naivete. She thought of the alliances she'd tried to build among her own sisters and how those alliances had been betrayed. She'd tried to reach out to Norendia, telling her sister about the bard who'd been teaching her darksong. A few cycles later, that bard had «fallen» from one of the city walkways to her death. Later that same cycle, Jawil, second oldest of the Melarn daughters after Halisstra, had made an attempt on Halisstra's life. When Halisstra had rushed to Norendia for help, she had been stabbed in the back. Literally. Thankfully, Halisstra's magic had proved strong enough to save her?and to kill her two sisters.

"Trust," she muttered again.

Behind Feliane, she could see the priestess who had slain the troll. The woman looked down, smiled, then stepped back out of sight.

Ideas flashed through Halisstra's mind, quick as lightning strikes. She could use bae'qeshel magic to charm Feliane into lowering her a rope then stun the rest of Eilistraee's priestesses with a painful burst of sound and escape. But each flash of inspiration left behind it a rumble of doubt, disturbing as the distant thunder.

Was escape really what Halisstra wanted?or had there been a faint echo of truth in the oath she'd sworn earlier? She'd been drawn to the World Above, though she hadn't been able to articulate the reason, either to Ryld or to herself. But now she was starting to understand. She'd always thought treachery and selfishness to be indelible hallmarks of the drow, but she was beginning to see that there could be another way.

The drow who lived on the surface not only trusted one another, they were also willing to extend that trust to her. Even knowing that she had killed one of their priestesses?that she might do the same to any of them. Their faith in her capacity for redemption was strong, even though there was only the word of a dying priestess to base it on.

Or was there?

From somewhere above came the sound of a flute, playing a few soft, tentative notes. It reminded Halisstra of the sounds Seyll's sword had made when she was fighting the stirges. And of that single, piercing note that had at last knocked them from the sky. Had that been Eilistraee's magic at work? Had Halisstra already been accepted by the goddess, even then?

Feliane waited patiently, hand still extended, as Halisstra wrestled with her doubts. The elf priestess's entire body was glowing silver. Her hair seemed alive with sparkling stars, her smile was as bright as a crescent moon. The goddess had filled her, transformed her. She stared down at Halisstra with a mother's love, urging her to accept it.