All Souls Night.

Disclaimers in Chapter One.

"RUN!" Hope had screamed, but there had simply been no time to do so. The roof was already falling upon them all by that point, and by rights they should have been crushed mere seconds after the warning had been issued. Should have been, save that not so much a decent sized rock made contact with either of them.

Plus the fact the collapse was accompanied by a miniature hurricane which simply drowned out every other sound out. Or so it seemed at first thought.

It might have been the wind that deafened them all just then. *Might* have been...save that same wind punched downward through the solid stone ceiling above them all with more force than any simple meteorological phenomenon should have rightly managed.

To say nothing of the small fact the "wind" could be clearly heard to have a number of distinct...voices...all screeched and moaning with collective force enough to drive all who heard them to their knees in agony. They had already laid low by the force of both ceiling coming apart and the demon wind's arrival, this nearly proving too much.

Those same voices tore apart, literally, the solid chunks of debris as they fell, reducing them to mere pebbles and so much sharp-edged dust. The worst either Xena or Hope received was a few scratches; Gabrielle's still form was spared even that, Xena using every inch of herself as a shield for her unconscious love.

Even after the last mote of dust had settled, the wind and voices remained. It all swirled and darted about between them, their accompanying wind picking at the assorted bacchae bits which littered the floor. Neither Xena nor Hope moved as this demon wind laboriously began carrying the multitude of torn and rotting bodies, organs, and limbs *up* and through the hole it had punched through the ceiling. At first the pieces would simply levitate mere inches off the floor, then practically shoot upwards and out of sight as though fired from a cannon.

It proved a surprisingly quick process, the chamber quickly cleared of all remnants of the Elders. This did *not* appear to satisfy the voices, all of which soon began howling in an ever-escalating crescendo of what might have been simple desperation, and soon became like outright demands for MORE! 'More' what was something of a mystery...at least at first.

This same wind, howling in dozens of indecipherable tones and dialects, circled them with all the deadly purpose of a snake's eyes upon its weak prey. Their words were lost among each other, yet their demand was all very clear...though *what* exactly they might seek was as vague as their very substance.

The force of their presence, signaled by the powerful rush of air and current about them, was enough to push Hope and Xena together and maneuver them towards the chamber's center. There, the fresh-hewn tunnel stretching far above their heads, the force of the wind's pull at them naturally amplified easily ten time. The torrent itself took to curving and twisting around them in a constant funnel, the three of them pressed within its calm eye.

They cooperated with this, the few times they offered resistance having been met with sharp and cutting windshear. "It knows," Hope declared, a touch of awe to her voice.

Xena simply glared at their insubstantial tormentor and tightened her hold on Gabrielle.

As if to prove Hope's observation, invisible tendrils of breeze snaked out and picked at Gabrielle, who shifted and murmured like an unsettled infant in Xena's massive arms. Hope and Xena *felt* this, for it was far less a physical thing than spiritual. They felt it...understanding dawning in both at the same moment.

"No!" Hope screamed.

"You can't have her!" Xena snarled, pressing the cold body to her own suddenly hot flesh.

The tendrils pulled with their own strength, either ignoring or simply deaf to either woman's denial. Its pull was constant, implacable...and unbreakable. So, too, was the strength with which it grasped at the frail form.

The voices had not stopped their plaintive, demanding cry, its own strength growing with each second its demand was denied.

Xena pitted her own strength against it, pulling and twisting away with vehemence equal to that of the voices. No doubt she could have easily broken their groups, save that she carefully attended to the precious bundle in her arms, and so did she damnedest to keep from jostling her about too much.

Xena threw both a glare and a snarl over shoulder at her oddly silent and still partner. "Help me, damn you!"

When help came, it came was delivered so quickly Xena had no time to block, or even curse, before the blow sent her into darkness once more.

******

There was no choice. Simple as the rite was, there really never had been any choice.

Hope waved away the tendrils, which now pulled with strength enough to tug Gabrielle slightly within Xena's still-tight embrace. Even unconscious, the warrior would not release her hold.

Unfortunately, the forces awakened by the Circle's idiocy would likewise not release their own hold on the bard, ancient sigils traced and craved in blood across her frail form marking her for sacrifice. The eternal, wailing choir would not retire to silence *until* such a sacrifice was delivered to it. Simply wiping away the key sigil from Gabrielle's forehead, an action Hope did with infinite care, would avail them nothing. This one purpose was the focus of all the energies summoned. To leave them without such focus and direction would be like releasing the energies of nuclear fission, though, there would be *no* limit to the devastation wrought!

A sacrifice was needed, and so a sacrifice would be made.

The complex symbols and patterns which had been cut and rubbed in blood and semen and cum all over Gabrielle's body were, ironically, unnecessary and even contradictory. The sigil Hope had wiped away was *the* only one of significance. Besides, there simply wasn't time to copy the whole of the Circle's work.

It was two minutes to midnight. On that stroke, *nothing* would be able to restrain the choir's song of demand...turned song of rage.

Hope allowed herself no time to think of such things or the consequences she would endure from her actions. Her eyes did not leave either the bard or her eternal warrior as she traced the proper sigil upon her *own* brow.

There had never been another choice.

This would be justice, would it not? She, conceived of darkness, would to darkness return. A familiar route she had walked more times than she honestly cared to count. Perhaps this time would be the last.

She doubted it.

The funnel of dust and grit surrounding them reminded her of her purpose. The Circle had made sport of the Ancient so she would prove too weak to resist. Hope offered no resistance to the pull of the choir, its invisible tendrils and countless voices reaching out and lifting her away.

Not once did Hope look away from the two unconscious figures she left. Not when she was carried upwards, not when she managed to twist about so to be lifted away legs first, not even when the chamber and tunnel and ground were left far below her.

Even when the voices of the eternal choir consumed her whole, when her own voice joined their's once again...Hope never lost sight of these two who were so precious.

And with such a sight forever in her eye, amid a song as old as the first memory, Hope at last knew peace.

******

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

Listen hard, but you will hear nothing.

The wind, but moments ago demon speed and cutting, now calms to a breath. It becomes a whisper once more.

And the voices? Oh, they still sing, for theirs is unending song. But they, too, have calmed and quieted. Their eternal melody once again in harmony with the steady rhythm of creation's cycle.

Listen.

There is nothing more to hear.