Mistress of the Night - Don Bassingthwaite [88]
The infirmary was a disaster. Beds had been overturned and cabinets smashed. Bandages and supplies were scattered everywhere. Shattered bottles spilled from one toppled cabinet. A mineral, metallic stink rose from them. Feena breathed through her mouth trying to block out the smell.
Up above all of the devastation, the entire ceiling shone with the bright, soft light of a full moon. Feena gazed at it in wonder. What magic had Dhauna called down to conjure such a thing?
She crossed under the shining ceiling to a door in one wall-a heavy door, crossed with iron bands and two, stout bolts on the outside. A door meant not for keeping people out, but for keeping something else in. She remembered all too well the cold grating of those bolts as they slid home.
"Mother Dhauna?" she called.
There was a little covered hatch in the center of the door, a window into the room beyond. Feena opened it carefully.
With a tremendous growl, a heavy weight crashed against the door. Narrow jaws and white teeth snapped together inches from Feena's peering eyes before falling away. She gasped and jerked back out of reflex.
She could hear the wolf as it paced back and forth on the other side of the door, and imagine it glaring up at the little window, waiting for another chance to strike. She set her jaw and stepped up once more.
The wolf leaped at the door again, but Feena didn't flinch back. When the wolf fell away, she peered through the window. The room beyond was small, barely big enough for a large animal to take three strides from wall to wall. When she had been at Moonshadow Hall, it had been dark and empty. Since then, it had been filled with shelves of clean linens. Under the light of the moonglow that extended inside, however, Feena could see that the shelves had been broken and the linens shredded. The foul pungency of urine wafted through the open window.
The wolf that was Dhauna Myritar circled through the torn, stinking cloth, then charged the door once more. Her body slammed into the wood and iron, her claws scratching as if she could climb it. She propped herself up against the door, and leaned there, snarling and snapping, the tip of her muzzle just below the window. Feena stood on her toes and looked down. The wolfs muzzle was heavily frosted with gray and white. Her teeth, when she bared them, were worn and dull. Feena waited. Eventually, Dhauna sagged down from the door and stalked away.
Her muzzle wasn't the only part of her that showed her age. Dhauna's gait was awkward, as if her back and hips were stiff. She was small as well, and her legs and chest were thin and frail. She limped badly, one foreleg clearly injured. Blood spotted her fur and stained some of the torn linens. Her tail dragged low behind her.
"With Selune's blessing," the elderly high priestess had said, "I will be stronger, more vital-the Moonmaiden's arm!"
Feena tore her gaze away from the window. Dhauna's mad expectations of the transformation had failed her. Feena didn't think she had ever seen an older wolf.
Steeling herself, she peered through the window once more. The moonlight wasn't doing Dhauna any good. She touched her medallion.
"In Selune's name," Feena prayed, "let this magic be ended."
Throughout the infirmary, the light flickered and faded, leaving only a few of the cool crystal lights that illuminated the corridors of Moonshadow Hall behind. Dhauna spun around in a circle, howling in alarm. Feena waited. On the night of a true full moon, it wouldn't be so easy to put an end to the transformation, but removing the magical light would be enough for the moment.
At least it should have been enough. Dhauna stopped howling and eased down into a crouch, staring at Feena with hot yellow eyes. But there was no change. The woman didn't emerge from the wolf.
Feena's breath hissed through her teeth, "Moonmaiden's grace, what have you done?" She raised her voice and called out, "Dhauna!"
Dhauna's ears flicked at the sound, but no more.
"Dhauna!" Feena repeated.