The Farmer's Wife #023

Anya drifted through the air above the forest. All was dark; she could only faintly make out the trees below. She had no control over her drifting; she could only watch as she was buffeted here and there by frigid winds.

She knew what was coming. If the shadow thought to inspire fear by making her wait, she would not let it succeed. She waited, as calmly as she could.

Before long, the darkness came. It coiled up out of the forest into a great, writhing mass that tangled around her limbs and pulled her painfully to a halt. It wrapped around her face so that she could barely breathe, and two eyes blinked open not a handsbreadth away from her.

It was terrifying, but she did not let her fear show.

My little leafling comes to me again, whispered the voice, from the corners of her mind.

"What do you want this time? I have done everything you have asked."

Not well enough. Her hand wrenched and spasmed with pain, and she gasped. The Purgator suspects. If you betray our cause before it is done...

An image of Eugen's dessicated corpse forced itself on her mind before she could summon the will to resist. "Okay! Okay..." she sobbed. "I will not give you away..."

Good.

"How... How do you know what he thinks?"

The foolish man opened his mind to my forest as he tried to find me. Once opened, a door can be passed through both ways...

"Your... Your forest?" The image of the empty child rose up in her mind. "What did you do to that boy?"

Even if you possessed the knowledge you would require to recognise it, you have not the wit to comprehend it nor the wisdom to divine its significance.

"He was just a child!"

He was a resource. A pawn. Provisions.

"You had no right-..."

Hnnnnnnnnnh. Right? Silly little leaf. I had the power. That is all that matters.

She stayed silent.

I can see your thoughts, leafling, though you try to stop me. You think yourself better than me, thinking of right rather than power. But look at our... arrangement. He is hardly more than a boy, and yet you do as I instruct you with hardly a thought. I have given you the power to save your son. That power is all that matters.

She said nothing, but the guilt burned in her like a white-hot brand.

Continue your work, and you may yet see your son again.

Suddenly, the shadows that surrounded her tore themselves away, and without their support she fell screaming towards the treetops below.

The Farmer's Wife #022

The journey out of the forest seemed shorter than the journey in. A dull grey light began to seep through the treetops as they walked. Not long after that, they found the remains of their campfire, the ground around the ash still slightly warm to the touch.

The light grew steadily brighter as they walked, and soon - in no time at all, it seemed - they had reached the brink of the forest.

As Matthias stepped out of the treeline and towards the loggers' cabin in the distance, it felt as though a weight was lifting from his shoulders. His ears, grown accustomed to the fell silence of the forest, rejoiced simply at the sound of the breeze.

It was almost sunset; the shadows of the trees followed them almost all the way to the cabin.

It was only when Matthias laid the child gently down on the cabin's floor and sat down himself that he felt the tired ache of his muscles and the pangs of hunger in his stomach.

Anat and Anya pooled the food they carried with them and, once the fire was lit, Anya set about cooking a simple stew over it. She worked at the fire, and the three clergymen were discussing matters of great ecclesiastical import, beyond Matthias' knowledge and station. Only he was left alone.

He walked outside into the twilight. The sun had set, and dusk was drawing near. The twilight had that eerie, alien feel to it, like the world was not quite itself.

He felt a soft, cold breeze spring up and brush gently against him. The chill felt good against his skin; it was a welcome touch of reality after the dark forest. He stood for a while, not really thinking at all, simply being.

After a while, he knelt in the cold earth, and poured his heart out to his god. His mother had taught him to do it; she had never explained why he should, when no answer ever came. But he had done it, and often since.

When he eventually opened his eyes, it was dark. He stood slowly, his legs stiff with the cold, and went inside.

The fire burned brightly in the firepit. Someone - Anya, he thought - had moved the child closer to it, and he sat propped against the remains of a bed, staring blankly into the flames.

Matthias shivered.

The others were just beginning to eat; Anya gestured to the small pot above the fire, and Matthias ladled some half-hearted stew into a small wooden bowl and sat down to eat.

They ate in silence. When Valdis had finished, he spoke. "We go to the village tomorrow, and spend the night at the inn there. If there is a shadow as powerful as this in these lands, there will be more talk of darkness. We will here what we can, and continue from there."

"And the boy?" said Anat. "He is not fit to travel far himself, and we cannot have Matthias carrying him wherever we go."

"We will see what can be done for him in the morning, I think. For now, we should sleep. It has been a hard day."

All of them, even Thanos, nodded in agreement. They spread out on the floor in front of the fire and slowly drifted off to sleep.

The Farmer's Wife #021

From a little way away, Thanos spoke. "I appreciate your desire to perform good works, Brother Valdis, but if I understand you correctly, there is nothing more to be gained here."

Valdis gestured to were Anat stood beside the child, still praying. "There is a child's life to be saved, Brother. I would call that something gained."

Thanos shook his head. "The child should be in the care of a Temple, and we should be on our way. If we do not leave this black forest now, we will still be here come nightfall."

Valdis sighed angrily, but inclined his head towards Thanos. "You are right. It would be unwise to wait here any longer. When Brother Anat finishes his prayers, we will leave."

Thanos did not even look satisfied; he simply nodded and turned away.

Valdis and Matthias sat, waiting patiently for Anat to finish. When the old man looked up, his eyes were sad. "The child still lives somewhere within, but his spirit is... buried. Suffocated. If I am to do anything for him, it will take time."

Valdis nodded. "Bring him, then. He can walk well enough. Let us get out of this wretched place."

They picked up their torches from where they had left them and set off. Valdis led the way; he had always had a good sense of direction.

The boy walked where Matthias led him, but he stumbled over every root and half-fell into every crack in the ground. Eventually Matthias gave his torch to Anat and picked the child up; he was light, and lay limply in his arms.

The feel of the boy in his arms reminded Matthias of his brief training with the Beneficari at the Temple. A child from the nearby village had been taken by illness, a creeping, gnawing sickness that had proved beyond Aleia's power to heal. He had been sick for many months before it finally took him, and it had left him wasted and gaunt.

When the Beneficari came to perform the final rites over the body and lay the boy out for the funeral, it had fallen on Matthias to carry the boy from his deathbed to where they were to do their work. The boy had felt lighter than he should be, and limp, just as this boy now felt.

The thought of that day sent a chill up Matthias' spine. He had never doubted more the beneficence of the Silver Crown than that day, with that child in his arms.

Anya walked up to his side. Her face was still wet with tears.

"He looks... so sad." She reached out to brush the child's face with her hand.

Matthias frowned. "He just looks... empty... to me."

She smiled grimly. "You have no children of your own?"

"No."

"Of course not. You're too young."

He gestured to his cassock. "That is not the only reason."

"Oh. Of course. I am sorry."

Of all the things she had said, that was what she was sorry for?

"If you were a father, you would know. That look..."

He inclined his head politely, but said nothing. He did not think she would have heard him if he had spoken; her eyes were fixed on the child. They walked like that in silence for some time, and then she choked back a sob and turned away.

The Farmer's Wife #020

Some time later, Anat left Anya sitting quietly a little way away and came back to the others.

Valdis and Matthias had extricated the pale child from the hollow. When Matthias had grasped his hand, he had stumbled blindly where the young Purgator led him. Not once did he look up, not even to see where he was going. His gaze remained fixed in the distance.

"Can you help him?" asked Valdis of Anat.

Anat stared at the child for several seconds before answering. "I do not know." He shook his head. "We know little of Vessels. Most that come to us are beyond any help save the final mercy. And... this child is strange."

"Strange?" asked Matthias.

"Vessels are mortals inhabited by shadows. Normally human, though I have heard tell of Vessels among the Ylln. But if there was a shadow in this child... Well, we would know beyond any doubt."

"He is a Vessel prepared, but unfilled," said Valdis thoughtfully.

Anat looked up. "What do you mean? Are you certain such a thing even exists?"

Valdis shook his head. "One can never be certain with Ygn's works. But... I have heard rumours of such things. Vessels that do not willingly give themselves as hosts to darkness, but are instead bound by some dark magic, so that any shadow can inhabit them."

"It makes sense," said Matthias. "He looks... empty. Like his mind has been cored out and only his body is left."

Valdis frowned. "It is not in Ygn's power to destroy the soul. Corrupt, yes, harm, yes, but it is not hers to banish it entirely."

"Then either her power has grown, or the child remains somewhere within," said Anat, stepping forward and rolling up his sleeves. "I will see what the Healer of mind and body reveals to me."

He placed his hand on the child's forehead and began muttering a prayer under his breath. Faintly, distantly, but definitely, Matthias felt the whisper of hope that marked the presence of Aleia. He basked in it for a moment, but then Valdis pulled him aside. His face was dark.

"The Brothers at the Temple taught you about willing Vessels of darkness, did they not?"

"Of course, Brother."

"Then you will know that even the assumption of a willing Vessel is a work of great power. The human soul cries out for life, for freedom, for choice. Even with the conscious decision of the victim to suppress that cry, it is still strong, and it is hard for any but the most powerful shadows to overcome it."

Matthias nodded.

"This, then..." continued the Purgator, gesturing at the child. "If this is what we think it is, it is the work of a shadow shadow more powerful and more cunning than anything I myself have ever battled. The suppression of a human soul that is still actively fighting for freedom..." He shook his head. "Aranaus guard us if we are to face a shadow powerful enough to do it."

"They are children, Brother. Perhaps it is... easier?"

"Children are strong, in their own way. But you may be right. Why, then, are three of the children dead?"

"Perhaps the power of the shadow overwhelms them?"

Valdis nodded. "Yes. That makes sense. We will make a Purgator of you yet. But... this child is not dead. Why leave him behind if the process succeeded?"

Matthias' brain span, connections lighting up in his mind. "Perhaps this is another kind of failure... An unsuitable Vessel, even though he survived."

"Yes. Good. What else?"

"Or... or... Oh no."

Valdis' brow furrowed. "What? What is it?"

"Or this was a test. This shadow is... experimenting. Improving."

The look of pride on the Purgator's face was mingled with something much darker. "Then these were not the last."

Matthias nodded grimly. "More children are going to be Taken."

Extra: The Northern Count

The Northern Count, the calendar most commonly used upon the continent, arose as a union of the crude, but agriculturally useful solar calender that has been used by farmers since time immemorial with the liturgical lunar calendar favoured by the various churches of the gods. Contrary to popular belief, there is no clear evidence that any of the gods, whether of the current pantheon or one of many more ancient ones, have expressed any feelings whatsoever on any form of calendar; on the whole, it has been the clergy and the governments and administrators of various regions which have imposed the various calendars on their subjects.

The amalgamation of the two types of calendar has resulted in a degree of imprecision and confusion, as evidenced in the naming of the months, especially Seed, and in the general variance in the place of days of liturgical import in relation to the seasons; 1st Hallows, for example, may be anywhere from the day after the winter solstice to four weeks thereafter. The Northern Count is so deeply embedded in the consciousness of the common man and in the administrative structure of the various churches and states, however, that it is unlikely to ever be displaced.

The Count begins on the winter solstice; that is, the first day of the year is also the shortest. The first "true month" of the year, Hallows, begins on the first day of the year on which a new moon rises. In some years (about two in every fifty-nine), 1st Hallows is the first day of the year; in other years, the days before 1st Hallows are shunted into the so-called "false month" of Fores. In any particular year, the month of Fores may not occur it all, or it may last as long as twenty-nine days.

From the 1st of Hallows onwards, each month begins with the day on which the new moon rises. In the past, this caused at times substantial variation due to the problem of observing the moon in inclement weather; in more recent years, astronomy has allowed accurate prediction of the lunar cycle, with each month lasting either twenty-nine or thirty days.

The months are as follows:

Fores is a "false" month beginning on the first day of the year and ending on the day before the first new moon of the year.

Hallows is the first true month of the year and is the beginning of the liturgical calendar. Along with Feasts, it is one of the most important months of the liturgical year; various fasts, contemplations and ceremonies are prescribed by the churches of the various gods.

Hearths, named for the image of the family gathering around the hearth to wait out the last of the winter, is an otherwise uneventful month.

Waters marks the first lightening of the winter darkness; it is named for the period in the solar year marked by the first melting of the snow and frost in the northernmost territories, with which it roughly corresponds.

Songs marks the true end of winter and the beginning of spring. The name comes from the period of celebration it marks in the far north, as the deadly winter finally recedes, but in practice it is the start of the sowing season for most farmers, when the real work of the year begins.

Seeds is named for the start of the sowing season in the north, where the frost takes longer to fully clear away. In reality, if a farmer in the more southern reaches has not started his work by the start of Seeds, he is unlikely to have a successful harvest.

Rains marks a period of heavy rains for the north, and indeed for many other areas, though in some places it is a misnomer, as the summer heat can render it a hot and dry month.

Feasts starts shortly after the summer solstice; it is the second major month in the liturgical calendar. In contrast with the quiet, contemplative tone of Hallows, it is marked by joyful celebration and a number of holy feasts - hence the name of the month.

Sons is a relatively quiet month for many, with the hard work of sowing done and the harvest yet to be ready. For women, however, Sons marks the arrival of the progeny fathered in the cold and quiet winter months.

Harvest is rather self-explanatory; it marks the month in which the harvest is typically begun, though it is begun earlier in the north and later in the warmer south.

Cures - the name derived from the act of curing meat - is the month in which preparations are made for the coming winter. Food is pickled, cured and otherwise stored away, firewood is gathered, and homes are repaired for the coming snow.

Frost marks the start of the winter proper, and the year gradually winds down as the cold descends.

Deeps is the last true month of the year, marked by the darkest depths of winter. Occasionally it is cut a few days short by the winter solstice.

Echoes is the false month that takes up the time between the new moon at the end of Deeps and the winter solstice that marks the start of the next year; like Fores, it varies in length year by year.

Subdivision of the months varies from region to region and from church to church. The most common subdivision is that of the Church of the Silver Crown, since it is by far the dominant sect across the continent. In the Church's calendar, the 1st of every true month and every fifth day thereafter (the 6th, the 11th, and so on to the 26th) is a holy day of rest; this produces a regular six holy days regardless of the length of the month. As Echoes and Fores take place in the depths of winter, few people actively work on any day regardless, and the journey to a place of worship may be incredibly dangerous; thus, no holy days are generally prescribed, though this practice varies from region to region.

-   Anat Celion

    "Calendars of the Continent"

    (13 years before the Shattering)

The Farmer's a Wife #019

When his arm was secure, Valdis stood, businesslike again. "This is the place," he said. "The darkness is deepest here."

"Is that why they attacked us here?" asked Anya.

Valdis nodded, but then frowned. "Those shadows were beastly, unintelligent. This great a darkness so close to human settlement... every sign tells me that this is the work of a greater intellect. I am certain there is more to find here."

"We had best start looking, then," said Anat. "Let us not spend longer here than we must."

They spread out over the area. Valdis could not exactly location the epicentre, the wellspring from which the darkness flowed, and so they worked slowly across the forest.

It was Matthias that found him. A boy, sitting hunched-over in a washed-out hollow beneath a web of tree-roots.

When he first saw him, Matthias thought he was a statue. His skin was white as snow, and he was almost perfectly still. Only after staring for several seconds did he see the slow, shallow breaths, the occasional blinks of eyes that otherwise stared straight ahead. The boy's clothes were ragged and torn, 

He clambered down into the hollow, trying to look as kind and unthreatening as possible. "Hey," he said, smiling gently and reaching out to the child with one hand. "It's okay. I'm here to help. You're safe now."

The child did not respond, not even with a flicker of his eyes.

"Hey." A little louder. "Hey." Louder again. Nothing.

He reached out and grasped the child's shoulder, shook him gently. Still, not even the faintest glimmer of recognition. The child stared straight ahead with dark, dead eyes.

A chill ran up Matthias' spine, and he wormed his way out of the hollow. "Brother!" he called to Valdis, who quickly stepped towards him. He nodded towards the child. Valdis looked.

"He's in some kind of trance. I tried to wake him, but he doesn't respond. It's like he doesn't even know I'm there."

Valdis nodded, slowly, staring at the child. He climbed awkwardly down next to the child, grasped his hand, and drew the Silver Blessing on his forehead. The boy did not reached, but wisps of shadow sparked from the boy's forehead for a moment. The Purgator sighed. "A vessel, prepared but not yet... filled."

Matthias stared. "But... he's only a child."

The look on Valdis' face was grim. "Some vessels are willing. Some are not."

"Do you think he's... her child?"

Valdis shook his head. "He was taken in his sleep. This child is in day-clothes. Come, help me out." Seeing Matthias' concern, he added, "He's not going anywhere at the moment."

As Matthias helped Valdis out of the hollow, Thanos called to them. "Brother Valdis, you may wish to see this."

In another hollow, very similar, lay the lifeless bodies of three other children. Matthias' heart grew cold and hollow in his chest at the sight.

"No!" Anya's desperate scream came from behind him, but by the time he could react she had already pushed past him into the hollow and was frantically turning over the bodies.

She turned over the third one, and Matthias could see the tension ease from her body, but she nonetheless collapsed besides the three bodies, sobbing desperately. "Few fates are worse than an uncertain one," murmured Valdis.

Anat stepped carefully down into the hollow and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come, Anya. This is not a place anyone should be." He led her up and out. As she stepped past him, Matthias caught a glimpse of her face in the light of his torch. She looked pale, and gaunt, and the anger that had burnt within her had been replaced with black despair.

He had never seen that look on any person that would live through the night.

Extra: The Midnight Crown

Hunt the servants of the Midnight Crown ruthlessly, for as long as the Midnight Crown has any hold on this world, Men shall find no peace here.

The servants of Yanor spread lies and deceit, plotting the downfall of kings and empires. Where they go, there can be no trust between men. Justicari of My Lady Malana, go forth and cut down their lies and the dark Men that spread them.

The servants of Ygn are seldom Men, but creatures she has shaped from the darkness. They skulk and steal and kill and destroy, and no man, woman or child is safe while they walk in the twilight. Purgatori, My servants; go forth and strike down the darkness wherever it may rear its head; and when Men seek to gain Ygn's favour that they may command the darkness themselves, the Justicari will aid you in your duty.

And though the Child Imara is no more guilty of evil than a wolf hunting sheep to feed himself and his young, the sheep cry out for Our protection. Even as she guides those who die in suffering into the realm beyond, she draws strength from their death, and so adds to the power of the Midnight Crown. If We are to defeat them, she must be starved of strength. Beneficari, children of My Child Aleia, go forth and ease the suffering of the world and those that dwell within; and where that suffering is caused by evil men or beasts, let the Justicari and the Purgatori aid you.

So shall We extinguish the Midnight Crown and end their hold on this world.

I have spoken.

-   The Words of Aranaus,

    Father of the Silver Crown,

    Lord of Light,

    Silver Warrior,

    Shadow's Bane,

    Guardian of the Just,

    Protector of the Faithful,

    to Father Benedre and the assembled Faithful at Fell Peak,

    The first year of the reign of the Silver Crown

    (Some 200 years before the Shattering)

The Farmer's Wife #018

When Matthias' vision returned, Anya was staring at him awe-struck. She stepped slowly forward and crouched beside him. "What was that?" she asked, breathless with awe and now-receding fear.

"The name of my god," said Matthias simply.

"The presence of your god," said Thanos, breathlessly but not without his usual sharpness.

"If you can do that, we need never fear the darkness again!"

"The name of a god is not lightly invoked, nor often. If the sheer power of Aranaus' presence does not kill you outright, the name on your lips will grow meaningless and your god will ignore your cries of real desperation."

She looked deflated. "That can... kill you?"

Thanos rolled his eyes. "Look at him. He can barely stand after a single utterance; what state would he be in after ten, or fifty?"

Combat to scolding in less than a minute, thought Matthias wry. He gave a glance of pity to Anya, who averted her eyes from Thanos' and sat quietly on a tree-root.

Looking up, he saw Valdis propped against a nearby tree, clutching his arm to his side. Anat was standing over him, a worried look on his face.

Matthias stood unsteadily and walked across to the two. "Brother Valdis?" he asked. "Are you injured?"

Valdis nodded. He was trying hard to hide the pain, but the marks of it were clear. "A bad swing," he said, nodding to his mace, which lay on the ground a little way away.

Matthias walked over and picked up the mace. The light that the Hymn had brought forth from it had faded, but the heavy silvered bulb was still warm to the touch. He walked back to Valdis' side and offered the mace deferentially, but the Purgator shook his head.

"Keep it," he said, fumbling with his unhurt hand to undo the leather strap that usually held the mace at his side. "Oh, don't look at me that way, Thanos. It's useless to me with my arm like this, and I think the boy has more than proven himself. Most Purgatori defeat their first shadow half a decade after their initiation, and he has defeated half a dozen before it."

Matthias would have sworn he could feel the Justicar's eyes boring into the back of his head. He froze, unwilling to accept the mace if it would incur the old man's ire, but also unwilling to turn down Valdis' offer. It was more than a simple matter of practicality, whatever he said to pacify Thanos. Giving Matthias his weapon was a twofold token of trust; first, he was all but declaring Matthias worthy of being a full Purgator, and second, he was trusting him to defend him with his own weapon.

After a moment, Matthias heard Thanos grunt. "As you wish."

Valdis handed him the strap, smiled, and winked. It probably didn't hurt that giving him the mace annoyed Thanos, thought Matthias.

He stood, tied the strap to his waist, and then looked up at Valdis. "Brother, there is no altar, no font."

Valdis shrugged. "The gods can hear you perfectly well without one." Behind Matthias, Thanos cleared his throat loudly, but Valdis took a waterskin from his satchel, tossed it to Matthias, and continued. "Needs must. That will do for water."

Matthias frowned, and winced at the look he knew must be on Thanos' face, but opened the waterskin as reverently as he could. Pouring the water over the mace, he recited the Purification.

"Blessed Aranaus of the Silver Crown, Guardian and Warrior, Shadow's Bane, purify this weapon that it my strike down darkness wherever it may rise." He genuflected, holding the mace above his head, resting atop the palms of his hands. "Blessed Aranaus of the Silver Crown, Guardian and Warrior, Shadow's Bane, bless this weapon to my hands that I may do your work with it."

Matthias felt something wash over him, and he suddenly became keenly aware of every aspect of the weapon he held in his hands. He opened his eyes and saw the mace glowing softly, washing him in gentle white light. He stood and fastened the mace to his side. The light slowly faded, but he felt a bond with the weapon he could not describe, something he had never encountered before.

"There," said Valdis, smiling. "Let us pay due respect to the gods when we are able," he said with a polite nod towards Thanos, "but there is no sense in going weaponless when there are weapons to be had, and well does the Warrior know it."

Matthias knew Thanos would be scowling, but the knowledge did not in the slightest diminish the sense of pride washing over him. He smiled to himself for a moment, and then knelt to help Anat secure Valdis' wounded arm.

The Farmer's Wife #017

Suddenly, the shadows fell upon them.

The world slowed almost to a halt as Matthias watched something almost like a wolf leap -

flow

 - through the air towards Valdis. He yelled a warning, but the Purgator was already lunging to one side and reaching for his mace. The wolf-shadow's maw missed his neck by a hairs-breadth, and the creature's body twisted in the air as he shouldered it aside.

Too late, Matthias saw another shadow already launching itself towards Valdis, but as he watched the man spun around, mace in his hand, and smashed the beast aside. With a harsh sound somewhere between a yelp and a scream, it fell to the ground, rolled, and leaped out of the torchlight.

Valdis backed slowly towards Anya and Matthias, holding his torch out in front of him, peering into the darkness. Behind him, Matthias heard the soft sound of steel on leather; he turned to see Thanos' sword glinting in his hand.

The three priests closed in around Anya; Matthias realised that they had left a place for him in their rough, outward-facing circle. Breath caught in his throat, he stepped forward to fill it.

He lobbed his torch a short distance in front of him and took up a defensive stance, feet planted wide apart on the ground. He muttered a silent prayer of thanks for Brother Talis and his endless mantra of "'unarmed' should never mean 'defenceless'".

"Show yourselves, beasts," muttered Thanos. Matthias' eyes flicked back and forth from shadow to shadow. Things moved in the corners of his eyes. He felt his heart beating in his chest, heard his short, rapid breaths in his throat. What was coming? What was coming to take them?

For a moment, he almost lost control. Then he heard Valdis' voice. The man was chanting; singing. Matthias knew the Battle-Hymns of the Purgatai well, and, without any deliberate decision, his voice joined in. The voices of Thanos and Anat followed.

Four voices was not much. In the days of old, before the Shattering, this hymn would have been sung by groups dozens or hundreds strong. But as the chant - more a sung battle-cry than anything else - rose up within him, it lit a fire in his heart and washed away the fear. On his left, he saw Valdis' mace swinging in his hand; as their voices rose to a shout, the mace began to glow white-hot with a light that burned away the darkness that surrounded them.

In the woods around them, creatures stalked between the trees, circling, waiting.

All of them were four-legged, but otherwise no two were the same; some were more like wolves, some more like bears, some more like great cats. All of them did not so much walk as flow forward over the ground; the sight would have been extremely disconcerting save for the Battle-Hymn steeling Matthias' spirit.

They were hard to count; they faded into and out of the shadows the mace's light cast from the trees. There were at least thirty, perhaps more.

One of the cat-things darted forward. In moments, others followed. Seconds later, all were charging.

Matthias braced himself as the cat sprung up at him, jaws agape, claws outstretched. He dodged slightly to one side and span with the impact of its body into his shoulder. Grabbing it bodily, he used its own momentum to slam it into the ground. He kicked his legs out from beneath him and dropped down after it, slamming his elbow into the back of its neck with the full force of his weight. With a sickening crack, the beast went still.

Not staying still for a second, never letting the hymn fade from his lips, he rolled forward over its corpse, already begin to flake away in the holy light that washed over it, and scanned the circle of light as he rolled to his feet.

Thanos was swinging his sword through a hulking black monstrosity; the darkness of its flesh burned away before the silvered blade. Anat was wrestling a shadow-wolf to the ground. Valdis was spinning around into a follow-through even as the shattered body of the shadow he had just struck disintegrated into falling motes of darkness.

He rolled upright just as another wolf leapt at him and the last spark of conscious movement faded away as he brought his fist up sideways to meet it. Hymn still rising from his lips, he struck and span and struck again, weaving around his foes in an intricate dance that seemed to spring from his limbs themselves.

He pulled the others into his dance, and entered into theirs; here, he threw a leaping beast towards Valdis, whose mace launched it into a tree; there, he ducked below Thanos' blade as the old man cut into the beast that had been heading for his throat.

His foot caught on a root, the hymn faltered on his lips, and the dance fell apart around him. He fell, rolled, and came up strong, but before he could ready himself one of the creatures struck him in the chest, bearing him him down to the ground.

The hymn halted in his mouth and vanished from his mind, and there was only the primal terror of the prey before the predator.

"Aranaus!" The name of his god rung out from his lips, and with a flash of light and thunder the creature was thrown from his chest. He leapt to his feet and launched himself towards the creature before it could do the same; with a wrench of his arm he snapped its fragile neck.

His voice took up the Battle-Hymn again, but as he looked around, he saw the last few shadows fleeing into the darkness.

The hymn slowly faded from their voices and the fire that had burned in Matthias' blood receded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. He slumped down against a tree, staring blankly ahead as his vision clouded over and faded to black.

The Farmer's Wife #016

The sullen light of the torches flickered through the trees as they continued through the forest.

Matthias found himself walking alone alongside Anya. Ahead of them, Valdis forged ahead; behind, Anat and Thanos followed slowly.

He did not want to hear what she would have to say now, especially in the deep darkness of the forest. Her words from the cabin, and from the farmhouse before that, still clung to his soul like lichen, slowly sapping the light from his thoughts.

But Valdis had said to watch her; perhaps she would say something now to give herself away. And besides, he would struggle to find an excuse to escape now.

"It is sad to see the forest like this," she said. "My father used to hunt here, when I was a child. He would bring me with him, if I was quiet." She smiled gently. "He always used to say that my mother gave me too many chores for a child, and that I needed to learn more than how to cook and wash and darn. I was almost as much a son to him as a daughter."

This did not seem too bad, thought Matthias. "Do you have no brothers or sisters?" Small families were rare out here in the farmlands.

She shook her head. "No... Not anymore." Matthias gave her a prolonged look of sympathy, and she continued. "My brother was the oldest. He died while I was an infant. I had two sisters. Both dead, and now I am alone."

"What happened to them?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "A story for another time."

"You were talking about the forest, before... this happened."

The flicker of a smile crossed her face for a moment, but then it was replaced by a... hollow look. "There are many places like this now," she said. "Too many. These lands do not belong to Men anymore."

"Men still live everywhere, even through the deepest darkness."

She shook her head. "We live, but we do not belong. Only the gods held back the darkness, gave us power over the land. And now they are gone, and we are barnacles on a beached ship, clinging on but slowly drying up, until the scraper comes, and... shhk."

Matthias stared at her for a moment before answering. "The creatures of the darkness are the works of a god as well, my lady. The darkness is the darkness of Ygn, and of the Midnight Crown."

"Ygn shaped the darkness, and mothered the things she created from it, but she did not create the darkness. This..." - she gestured around them - "...this darkness is ancient, more ancient even than the gods, Even than Ygn. And it has endured past her fall."

Matthias frowned. She knew more of Ygn than she ought; indeed, he only knew of the Dark Mother at all through the sacred texts he had read as an initiate. And she seemed unduly knowledgeable about Ygn's darkness as well.

"How do you know this?" he asked.

If she realised that she may have erred in saying too much, her face did not show it. "Knowledge is the only way to survive these dark times. Knowing what is trying to destroy you is... helpful."

"Some knowledge can be dangerous to those who know it."

She shrugged. "I will share no more of it, then, and keep the danger to myself."

Matthias faltered. "I did not mean-..."

She laughed. "You did not think. You priests think that the Silver Crown and the holy texts are all that is needed to drive away any evil, but the Silver Crown has fallen, and their words mean nothing any more. You judge and persecute those who take any steps to protect those they love except the ones you prescribe, empty prayers to long-dead gods."

Matthias stopped in his tracks, staring at her. She held his gaze for a moment, and then turned and walked onward after Valdis.

The Farmer's Wife #015

Matthias was no stranger to forests. As a child he had spent much time in the forests just outside Galden, picking mushrooms with his mother or playing at hunter with the other boys. But this forest made chills run up his spine with every breath.

The moment they crossed the threshold and entered the trees, what dim light there had been seemed to vanish altogether. The darkness below the forest's canopy was not merely lack of light; it was a suffocating blanket that lay over everything, actively snuffing out any light that entered.

Matthias did not know where they were going. Valdis led now, occasionally uttering a brief prayer, occasionally stopping and closing his eyes as though waiting for inspiration. The others followed where he led, occasionally stumbling over a root or stopping to disentangle themselves from the vines that covered the forest's floor.

The forest was deathly still. No birds chirped in the trees, and even the crickets, if there were any living in this dark place, were silent.

Eventually, it became too dark to continue walking. They stopped to build a fire; it took an eternity of stumbling around in the darkness to gather enough twigs that weren't soaked through with sticky damp to dry out those that were.

Finally, a fire flickered dully in the space between two large tree roots, and they sat around it for a moment to rest.

"We are not far now from the deepest shadow, I think," said Valdis.

"How long?" asked Thanos brusquely.

"It is hard to say." Valdis shook his said. "With Aranaus' guidance I would have been able to tell you to the pace how far it is, but with only prayers and vague impressions..." Anya looked meaningfully at Matthias as he spoke, but he deliberately stared into the fire as though he had not noticed.

One of the trees nearby was a pitch-sap; Anat tapped into it with his knife and soaked several old rags from his satchel in the thick dark sap that oozed through the wound in the bark.

"You see?" he said to Matthias, smiling. "In the deepest darkness, this," - he gestured to the sap - "though dark itself, gives us what we need to bring forth light."

Matthias half-returned his smile, but his mind was fixed on the darkness behind Anat; he thought he saw the darkness itself moving of its own accord.

He broke off a few sturdy branches from nearby trees, and Anat wrapped the rags, now black with sap, around the ends. Lighting them from the embers of the fire, they handed torches to each of the others, took two for themselves, and set off through the darkness.

The Farmer's Wife #014

The woman had not cried long when she slumped back down on her bedroll, apparently asleep.

Matthias ran his hand over his head and sighed at the bristles he felt. Collecting a few things from his pack, he went outside into the cold morning air.

The diligent loggers had dug a well a little away from the cabin, though it was more a deep, wood-reinforced hole in the ground than anything else. The wooden well-cover was rotten and crumbling, but Matthias did not need the water to drink.

Down into the hole went the tin pail; up it was hauled to the surface, water splashing from its sides. Matthias dipped a finger in the bucket and winced. The water was icy cold. He opened the flask of Anat's preparation and poured some into the water; with a little encouragement it quickly foamed up. He flicked his straight-razor open and set to work.

When he had finished, washed his now-smooth head and emptied the bucket, he went back inside. All three of the Brothers were awake; none of them looked as though they had had a restful night's sleep.

Thanos looked up as he entered, and gave a small nod of approval at Matthias' clean-shaven head. Matthias stood in front of the three and bowed, greeting each of them in turn.

Anat went to wake the woman, and Matthias gestured to Valdis, calling him aside.

"What is it, Matthias? I must prepare for the day's journey."

"I am sorry, Brother, but there is something I must speak of."

Valdis looked at him curiously. "What is it?"

"The... The woman, I have a... bad feeling about her."

Valdis raised an eyebrow. "A bad feeling? Surely we have taught you better than that. Come, what have you noticed?"

Matthias nodded deferentially. "I have spoken to her twice now. Her mood changes at the slightest provocation, and at times she speaks with words that do not seem to be her own."

Valdis nodded. "You think she is deceiving us?"

Matthias was surprised at the trust Valdis placed in his judgement. "I-... I do not think so, Brother. Her child has been Taken, of that much I am certain. But I believe there is something else that we do not know."

Another nod. The Purgator looked at him until he continued.

"She is not a shadow herself. She has not tried to harm any of us. But that wound on her hand... she will not let Brother Anat see to it. She will not even show it to him."

"Yes. That has concerned me as well. But unless she is a shadow herself, which she is not, any concern about her intentions fall to Brother Thanos to address, not to I." The dismay Matthias felt at the thought of a prolonged discussion with Thanos must have shown on his face, because Valdis smiled slightly to himself and continued, "I will speak to him of this, but not yet. He is not a man to be readily troubled, and we have nothing certain to give him. Watch her closely, Matthias, and tell me what you see. I will do the same."

Matthias nodded with relief. "Yes, Brother."

"Now go, collect your things. It is almost day; we must leave soon."

Matthias walked across to where he had slept. He returned to his satchel what he had removed, pulled the leather strap onto his shoulder, and walked out into the grey dawn light.

The Farmer's Wife #013

Matthias awoke again to the sound of a crackling fire. He rose slowly from the floor and wiped the sleep from his eyes to see the woman sitting in front of the fire, warming her hands.

She looked him up and down with weary eyes. "Bad dreams?"

He nodded silently.

"Do you still think my husband was a coward?"

He imagined what it must have been like to face dreams like that night after night after night. "No. No, I don't."

She smiled. He could not quite tell whether it was a friendly smile or a satisfied smirk. She gestured to the fire and spoke softly enough not to wake the others. "We have fire, and it will be some time before it is light enough to travel. Come, tell me about your dreams."

Matthias frowned. It seemed like she was being genuinely friendly. The woman was an enigma; perhaps the trauma of losing her son had done more harm to her than even Brother Anat could heal. Still, there were worse things than an offer of warmth and company on a cold winter morning.

He shuffled closer to the fire. "I dreamt..." He shook his head. "I dreamt of dark things about which you would not wish to hear."

"Only darkness?"

"No. There was..." He sighed. "I saw Galden. My home."

Anya nodded. "The Silver Throne."

"Yes." He stared into the fire, remembering the beauty of it in the dream. He wondered if it had been as beautiful in reality. "Did you ever see it?" he asked.

"Not close to. I was on a caravan that passed the city once, when I was a child. But... you seem sad. Dreams of home should be dreams of joy, or dreams of comfort at least."

"I saw it being destroyed."

"The Throne?"

"Everything. The whole city. So many people died."

"The Shattering," she said, eyes glinting oddly in the firelight. "The death of the gods."

He looked up, looked her in the eye, but he could see no hint of malice there. She might as well have been making idle conversation about the weather.

"We do not know that. Cannot know that."

"How old were you?" she asked. "A child? An infant?"

He shook his head. "Not yet born. My father died that day. My mother said he died saving her. Saving me. She never told me how."

"So you have never known the god you serve?"

He shrugged. "I have never spoken to him, but few did, even before-... before. I know his teachings, and the teachings of his servants. I see his work being done in the world."

She smiled inscrutably. "So much faith, for one who has never seen."

He gestured at the cabin around them. "I did not see this building raised, nor meet the men that raised it. But I can still dwell in it, still repair it, still send a weary traveller here to rest."

She shook her head. "The gods were not just builders; they were the foundation, the root, the heart." She spoke as though correcting a child. "Without them, the building crumbles, the tree falls, and the flesh dies and rots away."

Something about the woman's voice had changed. No, not her voice. Her speech. What was the word? Her... diction. She did not sound like a simple rural housewife.

He tried both to hide his suspicion and find an answer to her retort, and failed; "They... when I..."

"Take your time." Again, he could not quite tell if she was being friendly, or merely condescending.

He breathed in, and gestured to himself and the three still-sleeping cenobites. "The building still stands, the tree has not fallen, and the flesh moves still. Whatever you may think, the reality lies before you."

Something in the woman snapped; she rose from her seat and stepped quickly toward him. She clutched the neck of his cassock and pulled him to his feet, until his head was level with hers. Her eyes burned with an emotion he could not quite place, but wrath's part in it was clear.

"Come down from your cloister and walk among the people, Purgator." Her voice was no less quiet than it had been before, but it seethed with rage. "Come and see your crops wither with blight and cattle slaughtered by black wolves. Come and see your love grow sick and pale and die without a Beneficar in sight. Come and let-..." Her voice faltered for a moment, and at once Matthias knew the look in her eyes. It was that of a mother whose child was all but lost to her.

"Come and lose your child?" he finished for her.

Whatever was holding her upright flowed away, and suddenly she seemed very small. She released his cossack and stared up at him. Now it was helplessness he saw, helplessness and fear, though a spark of rage still burned within those eyes. "Your gods are dead, and they have left us all to die as well."

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She winced at his touch, as though expecting a blow, and then looked at him astonished at the gesture of affection. He looked her in the eyes and caught her gaze before speaking. "If we can find him, Anya, we will."

"If." Never before had he heard a single word so laden with despair. The woman half-sat, half-collapsed onto the ground. He sat down next to her, his hand on her shoulder as she sobbed into her hands.

The Farmer's Wife #012

Anya tossed and turned in her sleep. The wound on her hand burned with cold, keeping her from any true rest. Her eyes flicked back and forth behind their lids. Mumbled words spilled from her lips... "Eugen. Eugen. Eugen..."

She was standing at the door of the house, looking out over the freshly-tilled fields. Regan was standing with their son on his shoulders, pointing at something in the distance. She smiled. All was well.

But the scene began to change; the ink of the dream washed and ran and flowed away from the canvas of her mind, leaving behind raw truth. Warm spring sunlight turned to bitter, sunless winter. In moments, tangled weeds sprung up from fallow fields. Her husband paled and fell and rotted away; his yellow-white bones lay lifeless in the dirt in front of her. And Eugen... Eugen was gone.

The shadows of the dream-world grew deeper; the feeble light that filtered through the clouds above dimmed. A chill ran up her back. She knew she was not alone.

"What do you want?!" she screamed into the wind.

The answer snapped into her mind like the crack of a whip. Him.

"I am doing as you asked! Give me time!"

An image of her son appeared in her head; his face was a pale white mask, and his eyes burned black. She recoiled, fell to the ground, but the image followed her.

It is not yours to dictate terms, little leaf in the wind. You will do as I command, or your son will suffer and die.

Eugen. She was doing this for Eugen. She brought him to mind, caressed his face - his real face, not the dark caricature that was being forced upon her mind - and heard his voice. Slowly, his young, pink face replaced the one before her, and she stood from the ground and looked around. "Where are you, shadow of Ygn?" She could hear her voice quavering, but she breathed deeply and continued. "Afraid to show yourself?"

Hnnnh. There it was again, the not-quite-laugh. Amusement mingled with derision. You are a strong little one. Something flickered in the corner of her eye, and she span to face it, but there was nothing there. She heard a noise behind her, and span again to face nothing.

She realised what was was happening. She set her mind on her son, breathed deeply, and stood still, staring straight ahead.

Something moved in the corner of her eye. She did not turn. A hiss rose from her feet. She did not look down. A cold touch ran down her back. She did not even twitch.

Hnnnnnnnnnh. Enough of these petty games.

Did she hear the slightest hint of anger? She smiled. "Well? Still afraid to stand before me?"

You do not warrant an audience on your terms, little furless rodent. But even as the presence whispered harshly in her mind, tendrils of shadow arose from the ground and coiled together, twisting and contorting to form a shape.

Through dark tendrils, whipping back and forth, she saw what looked like a hooded human figure, half again as high as she was, floating above the ground. Beneath its hood writhed something darker than darkness; it hurt to look directly at it. From the hem of what looked like the figure's cloak the tendrils of darkness flowed, moving ceaselessly about, probing at everything around her. A tendril moved up to brush her cheek; she clenched her teeth, but did not move away.

"So this is what you look like?"

Look like? Tendrils flicked angrily towards her and stopped just short, as though forcibly restrained. She did not flinch. Foolish girl. I am shadow and darkness and fear made manifest, unbound by mortal form. I am the terror in the night, the shadow at the door, the-...

"Yes, yes, I think I have the general-..."

Her wound flared with pain, and she gasped. Lines of darkness whipped towards her again, but this time nothing held them back. They wrapped around her limbs and chest and pulled her into the ever-shifting mass of dark tendrils until her face was brought against the nothingness beneath the figure's hood. She tried to look away as the wrongness of the thing ate into her mind, but she could not.

Enough of your games. She tried to hold Eugen in her mind, but he slipped away and was replaced only by the all-consuming darkness. You will fulfill your promise, and perhaps your son will live.

Perhaps? "You... you said-..." she gasped.

A tendril burrowed into her hand and forced its way up her arm. I could stop your heart with the merest touch.

The cold agony of the tendril passed her elbow and continued onward. Every moment you live is a moment granted by me, and me alone.

The pain pressed up through her shoulder and into her chest. You will do as I will, and nothing more.

The tendril brushed against her heart, and she felt it clench tightly against the cold. Its beating ceased. Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnh. The creature's mocking sigh echoed in her ears as darkness fell across her mind.

Anya's eyes snapped open as she awoke. She looked around as much as she could without moving. The faintest light was beginning to filter through the room's small windows.

Her whole body shaking, she rose from her bedroll. Her left arm would hardly move; it was cold to the touch.

Scraping together the embers of the night's fire, and adding the little wood they had left to the fire-pit, she nursed the warmth back into her arm and waited for the others to awake.

The Farmer's Wife #011

The smoke from the fire rose slowly, twisting and coiling on its way to the ceiling. Matthias' eyes blinked slowly open and closed as he began to fall into sleep's embrace.

Slowly, the smoke coalesced into a tendril of shadow which began to drift slowly over the room. Matthias half-frowned, but he could not rouse himself enough to act.

Wisps of darkness detached from crevices and shadows throughout the room and floated towards the tendril. When they touched, the tendril consumed the tiny shadows; it grew larger with every one it took up into itself.

Now the shadow was not drifting, but moving with purpose, searching for something. For him.

Matthias' eyes widened with fear as the tendril came closer and closer to touching him. His heart pounded, but his frantic mind could not rouse his still-sleeping body. He tried to move, but his limbs stayed still; tried to yell, to rouse the others, but his lungs were not his own.

The tendril brushed briefly across his face, chilling his skin as it did. Something clenched tight in his test, but the shadow continued across the room, as though it had not felt them. The terrible tension eased somewhat, and his lungs were his again to let out a sigh of relief...

The tendril whipped back towards him. It touched him once and, lightning-fast, wrapped itself around his body. He writhed against its icy grasp and yelled for help, but darkness flooded into his lungs and stifled the scream before it could leave his lungs, suffocating him as it did.

The cocoon of darkness closed around him, shutting him off from the light. He mouthed the name of his god with frozen lips, his mind calling desperately for aid, but none came. He heard the woman's voice whispering in his ear. "Your gods are dead. They have abandoned you."

As the life drained from his body, his mind drifted off and away...

He blinked. Slate roofs and cobbled roads were laid out beneath him like a map. He recognised the layout of the streets. Galden. Home.

But the city was as he had never seen it before. It bustled with life. The cries of vendors in the market echoed in the air; children played in the midday sun.

If that was the market, then...

He turned effortlessly in the air, and saw it. The Silver Throne.

Some called it a cathedral; in truth, the word - and all others - paled before the reality it sought to describe. "Citadel" came close, perhaps. Three towers of white marble rose high above the marble facade, itself towering above the roofs of the houses below. Behind, the vast body of the building stretched across a dozen city blocks. Within, he knew, were offices, dormitories, a hospital, and places of worship that would put any cathedral to shame.

The towers themselves were a more majestic sight than any he had ever seen. Lines of silver woven into the marble spelt out on each tower the name of one of the gods of the Silver Crown; each tower was capped with an icon of a god, cast in silver, looking out benevolently over the city.

As he gazed awe-struck at the Throne, the world... stuttered.

In an instant, darkness fell, the light of the sun snuffed out. A moment later, a sound like nothing he had ever heard roared through the air, sharp and jagged. Below him, he heard people screaming.

A flash of purple light swept through the city from the west, too fast for his eyes to follow it. Every building it struck shuddered, and some collapsed to the ground. Carts, people, livestock, everything was flung forward before the wave and tumbled in its wake. Despite his height, he heard with perfect sharpness the soft, wet thuds of broken bodies thrown against stone walls, and the gurgling final cries of those crushed in the rubble.

The buildings behind the Throne were shielded from the destruction by the building's bulk; a spark of hope flared in his heart. But even as he watched, the walls of the Throne crumbled away and the great towers fractured along their length and fell ponderously but inexorably downwards. Crushing buildings and people alike beneath them, they shattered against the cobbled ground.

His soul was torn to shreds as he felt the keening pain of every dead and dying person and heard the anguished cries of every person still alive. A hundred thousand prayers rose up; not a single answer came.

Suddenly he was wrenched away from his omniscience and thrust into a single moment, totally aware of every detail.

A mother, trapped beneath a fallen wall from the shoulders down.

Her daughter, bruised and bleeding, cradling her mother's head in her arms.

The mother's face, blood spluttering from her mouth as she tried to speak, uttering a last, desperate prayer.

The scene dissolved away, and he heard the words explode into his consciousness. "Your gods are dead. They have abandoned you."

Gasping for breath, Matthias jerked up from the floor. He brought his hand up to his face; his cheeks were wet with tears. He stifled a sob as the dream came rushing back to him, and, squinting through wet eyes, looked around.

The fire burned warm and bright in the fire-pit. The others lay on the ground, asleep.

He stared into the flickering flames, keenly aware of the shadows that lurked in the corners of the room.

The Farmer's Wife #010

As the sun sunk down toward the horizon, the five travelers crested a hill, and the forest came into view in the distance. The jagged treeline cut across the gently rolling hills to the northeast and southwest, as far as the hills allowed Matthias' eyes to follow it.

Ahead of them, the road sloped gently downward towards the notch in the treeline that marked the loggers' work. The forest was already reclaiming the small patch of land they had cleared; seedlings advanced from the forest's edge, and saplings followed behind.

Almost exactly in the centre of the cleared land sat the cabin. It looked like a small animal cowering beneath the giant trees.

Matthias felt the darkness creeping into his thoughts and shook his head. He glanced at the woman, walking steadily along in front of them. Her words had shaken him more than he had thought.

But nonetheless... There was something about the forest, that ineffable sense of wrongness that he was slowly beginning to recognise. If they were looking for darkness, they were on the right path.

As they approached the building, Matthias saw that it was larger than he had thought. It was a squat log cabin, low against the ground, but long and wide. Two dozen men or more could live there with space to spare.

Anya pushed open the building's one door and led them into a long room, lined on either side with simple wooden beds. Matthias' nose wrinkled. From outside the cabin had seemed in good repair, but the inside stank of damp and rot. Mildew clung to the walls, and whatever bedding had been on the beds was now a stinking mess.

Thanos gagged visibly as he entered the room; he looked around with a mix of disgust and disdain, and turned his head as thought to make some cutting remark to the woman. Fortunately for her, Anat spoke first.

"It seems we have a lot to do before the sun sets. We had better get started."

He began looking around the room, making observations and issuing orders to the other four. He had never seen the Beneficar so much in his element, thought Matthias as he piled the rotting rags of bedding in the fire-pit in the centre of the room. He did his fair share of the work, but he ordered Valdis, the woman, even Thanos about as though there was no doubt as to his absolute authority, and all of them, even Thanos, obeyed without a word.

Before long, a fire was burning in the fire-pit; Anat had recited the Hearth-Blessing as Matthias has sparked the fire from his flint and coaxed the tiny flame into a roaring fire, and now the mildew and rot and filth were floating up with the fire's smoke, through the hole in the roof above the pit and out into the night.

The beds had not been spared from the rot. Half of them had been condemned to the fire, and none of them were willing to trust the remaining half with their weight through the night. The four cenobites laid their satchels at their heads and lay on the earthen floor in front of the fire; Anya laid out her bedroll and did the same.

Matthias stared at the smoke rising through the ceiling as he drifted off to sleep.

The Farmer's Wife #009

The sun shone brightly overhead as they walked along the dirt path. Matthias looked at the ground as they walked, averting his eyes from the day's glare. Deep ruts had been worn in the the road by the passage of many carts, but now the road was overgrown with weeds and patches of grass, and the ruts were beginning to fill with soil.

Anya was leading. Anat knew his work well; she was walking more lightly now, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was carrying a pack with her most valued possessions in it. There had not been much in the farmhouse worth taking. Matthias knew the look of the place; he had watched funerary rites performed for childless widows and widowers in places much like it. It had been a house, a roof over her head, but it had not been a home for a long time.

"Where does this road lead?" asked Thanos, the faintest hint of his enernal suspicion showing in his voice.

"The forest." She pointed, but the gentle undulation of the land blocked any view they might have had of what lay ahead. "My-... Some of the farmers used to log there in the winter, and sell the wood in the village."

Matthias nodded. The winter on the plains was less harsh than further north, but harsh enough that no crops would really grow, and that firewood would fetch a good price.

"No-one has been there for years," continued Anya. "They said it was getting... darker. Angrier. More dangerous."

"Were people hurt?" asked Anat. "Accidents? Illness?"

"No, but the place made them afraid. They spoke about... about bad dreams."

Thanos' eyebrow rose critically. "Farmers and loggers scared away by bad dreams?"

Anya shrugged. "I have never been there myself, but I have seen grown men go white with terror at the mention of the place."

Thanos frowned, but nodded and continued. "How far is it from here?"

"Half a day's walk."

The old man's eyebrow raised again. "You're leading us there to arrive at nightfall?"

She nodded, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring his tone. "There is a cabin at the end of the road. For the loggers. We can sleep there tonight."

Thanos nodded, and they walked onwards in silence.

The Farmer's Wife #008

Anya sobbed into her hands, tears pooling in her palm and soaking into the bandage. The tears were not faked; her heart ached to see her son again, and the tears spilt forth at the slightest provocation.

The priests' arrival had been unexpected. And they knew about Eugen. They would try and find him. Perhaps they really could save him... But the rising hope was crushed by the next thought. What of the... arrangement? A pang of pain shot from her hand into her arm. She did not want to cross the shadow again...

Doubt was stirring in her heart; the Purgator was so young, and so kind. But... Eugen. She had to. She had no choice.

Her hand ached incessantly; icy pain ran from the wound up into her wrist and out to the tips of her fingers. It took all her willpower not to show the pain; if any of them saw the wound they would figure out more than they should know.

What would they do now? She listened to them speaking; they spoke as if she was not even there. They did not know where Eugen had been taken. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Beneficar walk towards her.

"Anya," he said softly, "I know this is hard, but we need you to tell us where the darkness is deepest around here. It might help us to find your son."

Her mind raced. She knew well the place they were seeking; but she hesitated to tell them. If they left now, she would lose the best chance she had. If she sent them the wrong way there was no chance of them rescuing her son. But if told them the truth and the shadow discovered what she had done... she shuddered.

"Anya?" The old man grasped her hand gently.

Suddenly, a thought dawned. She would lead them to the forest. If they rescued Eugen, all was well; if they failed, she was simply bringing her prize to the shadow herself.

She looked up at the Beneficar, letting the dawning clarity show in her eyes. "I know the way."

In the corner of her eye, almost unseen, shadows danced and span.

The Farmer's Wife #007

The Brothers left, and Matthias was alone again. The lightness Aleia's blessing had brought was beginning to fade away, and the shadows in the corners of the room were once more growing deeper by the moment.

Matthias turned, looked around the room. The house was scantly furnished, and what furnishing there was was simple and bare. A table and five chairs, three broken; two iron pots, beside the fire, one large, one small; a single wooden board as a shelf, with two plates, two bowls, and one cup - the other resting on the table where Anat had placed it.

He turned to look out into the corridor, but there was little to see there. As he looked out, he heard a faint noise behind him; he turned, and saw the woman sitting hunched forward in her chair, sobbing very quietly, her face already wet with tears.

He walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder. She started, as though she had not known he was there. He picked up the still-warm cup and placed it in her hands. "Here. Drink." He did not know what was in the infusion, but he trusted Anat's work implicitly. He had seen the old man work miracles.

She brought the cup to her lips and sipped the warm liquid. Staring blankly into space, she said, "Eugen. Eugen..."

"Your son?"

"Y-... Yes."

"Where is he?"

She seemed hesitant to answer. "He... he's missing. He'll be... he'll be back."

Matthias frowned. She didn't seem confused. She seemed... secretive. "I'm sorry, my lady. He was Taken."

Suddenly she looked up at him, shocked, horrified. "No!" She stood, grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "How do you... You can't! You mustn't..." Her grip slackened and her eyes moved from his face to stare at the wall behind him. She slumped back down onto the chair.

Matthias' mind raced. Anat had said to keep her calm; he had done the opposite. He quickly changed the subject, as best he could.

"What do you do here? How do you feed yourself and your son?"

She looked up at him again, this time almost with relief. "My husband used to farm, but since he... died... nothing has grown. No-one will buy the land. There is too much... darkness here."

Matthias nodded, and she continued. "There is a small village, that way?" She pointed southeast.

Matthias nodded. It was were they had stayed the night. "I know it."

"I... do things for the villagers. Cleaning. Darning. Caring for children."

The woman would not meet his gaze. She was still young, and beautiful in her way, and Matthias knew enough of the young widows that came to the temple for help to guess that those were not the only services she offered. It was sad - terrible - but it was the least of the evils this new, dark world had to offer. He touched her shoulder compassionately.

She looked up at him, gaze suddenly as sharp as steel "Your gods are dead."

It took him by surprise, and for a moment he struggled to answer. "They... they are... unavailable, yes."

"They are dead, or they have abandoned you."

He frowned. This was not the shock-addled woman who had greeted them at the farmhouse's door. The words were steel, and in his heart he knew that there was truth in them. He stood, trying to form an answer, and saw something glint in the woman's eyes. It looked like... hope?

He shook his head, and finally found the words to reply. "The general may fall or flee, but the soldiers may still carry on the fight."

She smiled disconcertingly. "But perhaps the general knows something the soldiers do not? And any weapon that can pierce the armour of a general may easily strike down a common footsman." She looked him up and down, from his shaven head to his plain black cassock, lacking the red trim of a true Purgator. "Or a squire," she added derisively.

He heard footsteps behind him, and suddenly the woman's expression changed; she went from steely certainty to helpless sobbing in a moment. Matthias frowned, and turned to see Anat and Valdis entering the room.

Should he tell them? He looked back at the pitiful, weeping woman hunched forward in the chair, and knew at once that they would not believe him. He stayed silent as Anat and Valdis walked to the woman's side.

The Farmer's Wife #006

The first person Matthias saw as he stepped out of the room was Brother Valdis. Speaking quietly, so that the woman in the next room would not hear, he said, "Brother, her child has been Taken."

"Are you certain?"

Matthias walked towards the Purgator and held out the doll. "This was in the bed, and a child's clothes are in the room."

Valdis took the doll from him, sniffed it, and wrinkled his nose. A grim look crossed his face. "Sage." Matthias nodded.

The door behind Matthias swung open; he jumped, but relaxed when he Brother Thanos stepping through the doorway. The old man saw the look on their faces and the doll in Valdis' hand; he needed no more to know what they had found. "A child?" he asked. Valdis only nodded.

Thanos led them through into the kitchen. The woman was sipping a steaming brew from a wooden cup, while Anat stood in front of her, one hand on her forehead. On the table beside him, he had poured a few drops of anointing oil into a shallow bowl.

The old man held up a hand as they entered, asking for silence. He was performing one of the Aleian Pleas; Matthias did not know enough to say which.

"Blessed Aleia, Healer of Men, heal this illness of mind." He dipped his thumb in the anointing oil and drew the Silver Blessing on the woman's forehead. "Blessed Aleia, Giver of Rest, bring piece to this soul." He drew again on her forehead; Matthias did not know the symbol. "Blessed Aleia, bring your healing." Again, he traced the Silver Blessing on her forehead.

For the briefest moment, something washed over Matthias, a lightness that bouyed his heavy heart. The fear that pervaded the farmhouse melted away, and all was well with the world.

Then it was gone, and the reality of the stolen child and Ygn's darkness came flooding back; but even so, the shadows in the corners of the house did not seem as dark as they had before.

The woman slumped back in the chair, and Anat deftly snatched the steaming cup from her limp fingers before it spilled even a drop. "She will recover shortly," he said, seeing Matthias' worried look. "Aleia's blessings can be... overwhelming." He turned to Thanos. "What have you found?"

Valdis proffered the doll. "A child has been taken."

Anat nodded. "She said she had a son. Eugen. And her husband?"

Thanos shook his head. "Dead." Anat simply kept looking at him until he continued. "She sleeps alone, and has for some time. There are no tools or men's clothing anywhere, but she keeps a few trinkets beside her bed. Memories."

Anat nodded slowly. "A dead husband and a Taken child. She has nothing left."

Thanos nodded. "Then there is nothing to be done here. When she awakes, we leave."

Anat looked sideways at the Purgator, but said nothing. Matthias, however, could not stay silent. "Perhaps he is still alive," he said. "Perhaps we can get him back."

Thanos scoffed. "He is dead, a Vessel now, or worse. We have a duty to perform, and we have already lost time in coming here."

"I do not know what you hold as your duty, Brother," said Valdis, "but mine is to stamp out darkness wherever it may rise. And if children are being Taken, darkness is rising."

"Your duty is to do as the Silver Crown commands you!" barked Thanos.

Valdis looked up, unflinchingly meeting Thanos' gaze. "The Silver Crown has fallen, Thanos. All that remains is to do their work. Their work, not the work of agéd men sitting safely in their cold stone temples commanding others to face the dangers of the world."

Thanos placed his hand on his sword-hilt. His gaze was fire and wrath, but Valdis did not look away. "Disobey an order of the Conclave and I will see you stripped of your rank and cast out from the Purgatai and from the service of the Church."

In contrast to Thanos' anger, Valdis' words were calm, his gaze cold as steel. "If the Church would have me abandon a child to darkness, I do not wish to serve her."

They stared at each other, fire against steel, for what seemed like forever. Thanos grasped his sword-hilt, and Valdis' hand slid slowly closer to his mace.

Then Thanos looked away, releasing his grip on his sword. "Do as you will," he spat. But the Conclave will hear of this." He turned and walked out of the door, treading heavily on the splintered wood.

"I assure you, Brother, they will hear every word," said Valdis after his retreating back. He turned to Anat. "Will you help me search the house? We may find something of use."

Anat nodded. He gestured to the unconscious woman. "Watch her, Matthias. Keep her calm if she awakes."

Matthias nodded, and the two turned and walked into the corridor toward's the child room.

Extra: The Church of the Silver Crown

In the days and weeks following the Shattering, the Church of the Silver Crown was exemplary among the followers of the various gods. Where other groups panicked and scattered or worse, the Church quickly organised missions to aid those areas most affected by the destruction. The servants of the Silver Crown saved countless lives by direct intervention, and countless more by working ceaselessly to hold back the darkness that was already washing over the land.

In the months following the cataclysm, some turmoil did arise in the Church. Without the direct guidance of the Silver Crown, many disagreed about the course the Church should take. Some argued for its dissolution, saying that a church without gods could only end in disaster; many of these left the service of the Church and returned to secular life.

Other than these, a number of groups split off from the church in a series of largely non-violent schisms; many of these themselves dissolved within a few years without any central authority to rally around, but some developed into stable groups still active today, including the Healers, the Holy Guard, and the highly controversial Sons of Twilight.

Despite these schisms, the Church retained the vast majority of its clergy. After months of relative anarchy due to the lack of any central authority, the most senior clergy of each of the Church's three orders came together to form the Conclave. Over the course of the following years, the Conclave rose to become the highest authority of the Church, almost taking the place of the Silver Crown themselves. Following this, they made a number of dramatic changes to the Church's organizational structure, finally settling on a stable structure by the fifth year after the Shattering.

Today, the Church of the Silver Crown is organised as follows:

The Conclave is the highest authority of the Church, and makes the final decision in all matters of doctrine and most matters of direct action within and without the Church. There is no single leader of the Conclave; all Orders are equally represented, and all decisions are made by majority vote.

The Purgatai, originally an order answering directly to Aranaus, was reformed and now reports directly to the Conclave. Purgatori maintain the duty to which they were bound before the Shattering; to hunt down and destroy the creatures and powers of darkness in the world. In these dark times, this duty is especially important, and the numbers of the Purgatori have swelled with initiates and novices to almost double what they were before the Shattering, even accounting for those lost in the chaos that follows.

The Purgatai has a hierarchical structure, with individual Purgatori reporting to a regional council of their seniors, which itself reports to the Purgatai Council. The Conclave, however, has the authority to directly assign duties to any Purgator, regardless of the Purgatai or individual councils, and a special group of Purgatori report directly to the Conclave.

The Justicai, originally the order of the servants of Malana, now also reports directly to the Conclave. Unlike the Purgatai, every Justicar reports directly to the Conclave, although ad hoc administrative groupings are formed and dissolved as necessary. The Justicari continue with their original duty of administering justice and punishing crime, but much of their work since the Shattering has become the hunting of those men and women who use the powers of darkness for their own gain.

The Beneficai continues to provide for the needs of the laity in those areas where the Church still has a foothold. The Beneficari remain the preachers and healers of the Church, and although they are required to follow the Conclave's decisions on doctrine and general practice, they are functionally independent and are not required to follow direct orders given by the Conclave.

The White Guard are the lay military of the Church, and are organised similarly to a regular (though small) military. Nominally, the Guards report directly to the Conclave, but in practice different regiments report to the Purgatai, Justicai, or local secular rulers, depending on where they are assigned. While not as individually effective as either Purgatori or Justicari, the White Guard form the bulk of the Church's presence in the world and perform a vital role in holding back the tides of darkness.

Rumours of a "Midnight Guard", a secret group of highly trained agents drawn from the survivors if particularly vicious attacks on darkness, remain widespread but entirely unsubstantiated, and can most likely be dismissed.

-   Alekka Menai

    The Church of the Silver Crown: After the Shattering

    (11 years after the Shattering)