Mistress of the Night - Don Bassingthwaite [63]
"Dark, Jarull." He pushed his hands through his hair. "Did she say anything? Is she still angry?"
Three nights past, as he, Talisk, Starne, and Baret had staggered through the depths of the Stiltways celebrating his revenge against Lyraene, Variance had descended on them like the wrath of Shar herself. For Baret, still trembling after the Selunite's spell, the dark priestess's appearance had been too much. He had shrieked and dropped where he stood. Talisk and Starne had fled. Keph had found himself backed into a corner as Variance stalked after him, shadows surging as if brought to life by her rage.
"You fool," she had seethed. "You fool! What were you thinking?"
But she hadn't even given him a chance to explain, just pointed a finger at him and hissed, "You will not see me or know Shar's favor again until I send for you!"
His heart had gone cold. All he'd been able to do was stare as she turned and vanished into the shadows. He hadn't seen her-or Bolan-since. He had not been summoned to the Sharran temple. Starne, Talisk, and Baret had taken to shunning him. Even Jarull had seemed distant. And when he tried to work the orison that Variance had taught him at his initiation, there had been nothing. Not after a thousand desperate prayers and hours of sitting in the dark. Shar had not answered him.
If Variance wanted to see him- He looked up at Jarull hopefully. The big man's face twisted.
"Hope is for the ignorant and the weak," he said in disgust. Keph flinched, and Jarull pointed and said, "There's a bookbinder's shop a street along that way and one level up. Go in. Variance is waiting for you."
Keph scrambled to his feet and ran in the direction his friend pointed.
He found the shop easily enough. It was closed for the night, of course. No light showed around the heavy shutters that covered its windows. Keph swallowed and reached for the door handle. The door was unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside, closing the door swiftly.
The shop smelled of leather, paper, and glue. Variance stood over a table on which half a dozen books were laid out. A single candle was set on the table as well, though its flame seemed writhed in shadow, dimming its light to the barest dull glimmer. The light certainly wasn't enough to read by. It came to Keph that Variance didn't need the light. She belonged to Shar. She lived within the darkness. The candle was there for him, a reminder of his weakness.
"Writing," Variance said without looking up, "is a marvelous thing. Someone can write down a thought they had or a story they heard or a description of something they experienced, and that thought or story or experience is preserved. It will last as long as the writing itself lasts. If the writing is copied, it can last even longer. Through writing, even the humblest man or woman can become, in a way, immortal. Without magic. Without the favor of the gods."
She reached out and turned a page in one of the books… Keph waited in silence while Variance turned another page, and another. He wanted to fall down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness. He didn't dare. What would another misstep cost him? He waited and the hollow in his heart seemed to grow into an empty, desolate void.
Just when it seemed he had to cry out or go mad, Variance finally looked up.
"And now," she said, "you begin to understand Shar's great sorrow. She may be the Mistress of the Night, but she is also the Lady of Loss. When Selune kindled fire in the darkness of creation, she did so without thought for her sister. Ever since that first dawn, Shar has ached for the simple peace that Selune tore from her." Variance stepped away from the table. "Do you understand, Keph?"
He nodded. He could feel tears on his cheeks. Variance studied him. When she spoke, her voice was soft.
"What were you thinking when you attacked that half-elf?"
"I wanted to hurt her," Keph said. The words burst out of him. "I wanted to hurt her the way she hurt me. She mocked me with what I didn't have, so I wanted to take it away from her." He wiped