All Souls Night.

Disclaimers in Chapter One. Warning: where there is a certain warrior, violence follows. Expect nasty, graphic stuff and flying bacchae parts.

Listen, not with your ears, but with your heart.

Can you hear them? The voices which both sing and howl in an eternal symphony of memory and loss? It is the same song that has been sung since the beginning of memory, only the voices changing with each addition.

Can you hear them?

Perhaps the song is mistaken for the wind on a particularly blustery night. Or the manufactured prank for 'trick-or-treaters' in their colorful costumes and overflowing bags.

The song is strong this night, the millennia of rituals to those who sing the song giving them strength like no other night. And this one night the chorus is stronger than ever before.

The song has a wisdom all its own.

It could sense what was to come.

Listen, and you would hear the chorus sing out as never before.

******

The shadows which covered her were quickly replaced by a galaxy of stars and rainbows, all of which Hope blinked away. In their place came twin points of calm, cold blue. These regarded her with piercing strength Hope would have sworn she felt twin points burnt into her own eyes.

One hand still kept tight grip on her jaw, while the other had let go of her shirt. Hope's field of vision was entirely taken up by the sight of a single, long finger being pressed against lips as firmly pressed together as the grip on her own jaw. The message, even without those eyes, was easily understood. Hope could only nod her agreement, itself no easy accomplishment given the relative immobility of the hand and wrist silencing her. She managed only the slightest of movement.

Still, it proved enough to satisfy her companion-captor, who removed her hand and turned away. The dagger had once again been extinguished, and so Hope could see no detail of this other's face. She had no doubt as to exactly *who* this was...in body, at least. The curves of the dark form before her were as unmistakable as if they stood beneath the noonday sun.

But the spirit?

Her mouth opened on its own, the question about to mindlessly drop from her throat. Only the form's sharply turning and pinning her with just one of those damned eyes kept it from breaking their precious silence. Her mouth closed, making a comical sounding *clack* in the process. Hope could actually *feel* the sequence of scowl-to-grin the other threw at her before setting off into the darkness. Hope herself trailed after, uncertain whether to be comforted or not by her suspicions.

******

Listen, and you might hear the chorus sing out in anger.

Those who leave the sides of those they love or hate, whatever the cause, are often in ill temper until they move beyond. And so does the world know their displeasure by the antics of poltergeists. These are ever few, if noisy, and can do little to disrupt the lives of those denied them, though many a dinner party has been delayed or ended early by the sudden smashing of plates and glasses against each other.

But even the dead have their holy nights, when all cease their activities both destructive and contemplative, and raise their collective voices in chorus. The song has neither form nor fixed content, the addition of new voices its only constant.

Listen on the nights of All Hallow's and All Soul's...listen on those nights... for that is when the song is strongest.

Upon All Hallow's the dead sing to remember, perhaps even a few to act. They might gain grace and form enough to revisit those they knew and at whose side they once stood.

Upon All Soul's the song takes a different turn, its force often enough to rend the fabric between the here and the beyond. Some of the dead can sense this, and some might even take advantage of this raw power...as can others.

******

Hope, wisely, did not ignite dagger's metal again. To do so might well have given them away, and so would ruin any chance of taking the Circle's number by surprise. Equally important was that the darkness gave her no clear view of the one stalking ahead of her. *That* alone was reason enough to continue in darkness.

She was no coward, make no mistake, having stood without flinching (though certainly not unmoved) before her sire's unbound fury, and watched unblinking as the tragedies of one age after another played themselves out. Even the scenes in the graveyard above were nothing she would readily finch from, however much it might turn her stomach.

But to look into *those* eyes...eyes not seen on this earth for over a century...

Hope was no coward, but neither was she particularly prone to suicide, at least not these days.

They continued on, their respective weapons at the ready, their eyes and ears straining for the least clue that might lead them to their prey.

Said clue drifted to them soon enough. It was a whimper, the soft sound carrying more pain and fear to their ears than might a hundred thousand other voices, both recognizing it instantly as Gabrielle's.

Other sounds attended this: the *swish* of leather straps cutting the air; a grunted curse in archaic Latin; soft mutterings in a language not immediately recognizable; the infrequent *slap* of leather on flesh.

For all the sudden clenching of muscles and thoughts now racing, for all the cold fear gripping the heart of both women and private visions that threatened to break their concentration...for all that their shared pace neither quickened nor faltered a step.

There was a sharp scent to the air now. Where once it was stale with soil and rock-dust, it was now thick and tart with the taste of raw copper and salt. So thick was it now that Hope found it a labor to simply breathe. If her ally had any such difficulty, it was not shown. It wasn't the scent which gave her such difficulty. She'd survived far worse in Constantinople, Cambodia, and Achwitchz.

It was actually what lay at the foundations of the scent, what actually made the air so thick and painful to breathe.

Despair, the likes of which she'd throughout her long existence magnified a thousand times. Once, as her sire's pawn and vessel, Hope had sought to unleash this same aura through which they moved upon the world as a whole. The magnitude of those designs, *feeling* what could well have been, left her appalled. The bile that rose to her throat only hardened her resolve.

Surely her companion must have felt the same. Why else would she pause momentarily and adjust her grip on unseen Caliburn? Hope could easily imagine those eyes now, the single notion of them proving enough to shake her to her very core.

It was well Hope couldn't see the other's eyes, their fury lighting their way clearer than a thousand torches might. She had caught the new scents of the air long before Hope had, and knew full well why the taste of blood and despair soaked their lungs.

It was an exercise now, cold will holding her against hammer blows of ever-mounting rage and fear which beat in her heart. Only the practical necessity of needing to stay alive kept her will intact. If they...she...arrived too late to prevent Gabrielle's passage, well...

There was a lighted bend to the passage just paces before them now. She didn't bother to so much as glance behind her. What was there to say, that every action had not already made clear?

Pressing her front against the stone of the wall, Xena slowly easied her head around the sharp corner and gazed at the scene beyond with but one eye. Hope herself pressed her back against the same, watching the larger woman for any sign of what went on.

She received it when, in but the blink of an eye, this shadowy figure disappeared from view.

And a battlecry not heard by either mortal or immortal ears for over a millennia filled the air.

******