A oneshot that was written for the Steelsings writing competition and won first place!

A/N: All Hallow's Eve is mentioned in the Alanna series and it's the night that Thom resurrects Roger. I have taken it that All Hallow's Eve is the Tortallian version of Samhain or Halloween – a night when it is said that the boundaries between the worlds weaken and the dead may walk the mortal realms. (Something that does seem to be in accordance with Daine's parent's ability to visit their daughter at the solstices and equinoxes) It is a festival, though not of the same order as Midwinter and Beltane.

It was strange how there seemed to be less steps down to the catacombs every year. What had seemed to be miles and miles of spiral stone steps the first time she had fought her way down here, only took a few minutes to hurry down now. Alanna shivered slightly as the air grew colder. The catacombs were far below the last heated floor of the palace, cut deep into the bedrock as the final resting place for the Conté family. Letting her Gift pool into her hand to shed a soft light on the walls, Alanna walked slowly through the ancient tombs.

George had told her for years that she was crazy to do this; to go down to the vaults on All Hallow's Eve. Every year, she had ignored him and eventually he'd given up. Still, in a way he was right to caution her. As she made her way slowly through the oldest of the tombs, it did somehow feel like the dead were more restless. There was just some odd feeling in the air, as though the boundaries between this world and the realm of the Black God were somehow thinner. It always reminded her of the feeling she had the day the barrier broke, allowing Immortals to flood back into Tortall after two hundred years.

Gently, Alanna shook her head and brightened the glow of her light. She could see the dark expanse up ahead that was where a circular stone floor marked the centre of the catacombs. Looking up, she lit the nearest torch with her magic, sending flames to light the others that surrounded the floor. This was what she was here for.

There, in the centre of the pattern carved into the stone floor was the hilt of a silver sword, it's jewels cracked and scarred, still as black as the day it had been thrust into the stone. Around it, marring the carvings were the remains of a complex spell, the Gate of Idram. In twenty years, no one had dared to try to remove the marks from the floor, nor had they risked walking on the area covered by the spell to clean or even remove the sword. Alanna was glad in a way; it would always be there as a reminder.

Slowly, she walked around the edge of the circle, looking at this odd shrine. Sometimes she wondered why still she came back here. After all, Roger of Conté was long dead and his spirit had not risen for a second time. But still, today was the day that the dead were rumoured to rise, the day when the barriers between the worlds wore thin. It was also the day that Alanna's brother had chosen to work the ambitious magic that had almost brought not only the monarchy, but the very fabric of the land crashing down around them.

As Alanna completed her circle, she stopped and knelt on the floor, rocking back slightly on her heels whispering the same prayer she had whispered so many times before. "Mother Goddess. I thank you for your favour to me and for the favour and protection you showed me in the defeat and death of Roger. I ask that you…"

Alanna paused. Was that a breeze? She must have imagined it. The air was as still as it had always been. She returned to her prayer. "I ask that you grant me one thing – that Roger will never rise again to challenge Jon or…"

She wasn't imagining things this time. There was a distinct sound of footsteps. Slowly she turned around, expecting to see George or perhaps one of her children. But it wasn't them. Walking towards them was a tall woman, not only taller than Alanna, but taller than any human woman. She was beautiful too. Her skin was porcelain perfection in stunning contrast to her delicate red lips. Alanna smiled and got to her feet to bow deeply before the Mother Goddess herself.

"I am honoured," Alanna said quietly as she raised her head to meet the Goddess' eyes.

She smiled. "It has been too long. Too long since I spoke with you and too long that you have returned here."

Alanna shrugged. "I can't be sure he's not going to come back."

"No, you can't," replied the Goddess simply. "You can't be sure of anything. I thought you had learned to let go, Alanna?"

Alanna was silent. She had let go of many things in her life, but the Goddess was right, she still held tight to this one.

"Let go, daughter. Your long-dead enemy is safe in the Black God's realm, I promise you that. Enjoy this festival. The Gods did not ordain feast days for them to be spent like this. Consider your prayers heard." The Goddess reached out her hand and placed it gently on Alanna's shoulder. "You carry my favour, daughter. Now, go. Be with your family."

For a long time, Alanna did not look up, turning the words of her guardian over in her mind. Maybe it was time to let go. Twenty years was a long time.

When she finally lifted her eyes, Alanna realised she was alone. Gingerly, she got to her feet, turning back to look once more at the hilt of her first sword that was plunged into the heart of the circle. "She's right," Alanna whispered to Lightening. "I do need to let go. Guard him for me?" A smile broke over her lips and she turned once more, walking back to the stairs that would take out of the catacombs forever.

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