Recovering from his fall, Rhys ran along the wet shore toward the child, who lay unmoving in the surf.
He rolled her over onto her back. Her eyes were closed. She was not breathing. Rhys remembered with vivid clarity the time he’d nearly drowned after jumping off the cliffs of Storm’s Keep. Zeboim had saved him then, and he used her technique now to try to save the child. He pumped the little girl’s arms, all the while praying to Majere. The child gave a cough and a gasp. Spewing sea water out of her mouth, she sat up, still coughing.
Rhys pounded her on the back. More sea water came up. The girl caught her breath.
“Thanks, mister,” she gasped, then she fainted.
“Rhys!” Nightshade was yelling, running across the sand, with Atta racing ahead of him. “Did you save her? Is she dead? I hope not. Wasn’t that funny the way the storm stopped-”
Nightshade came dashing up to Rhys’ side, just as the sun cleared the horizon and shone full on the little girl’s face. The kender gave a strangled gasp and skidded to a halt. He stood, staring.
“Rhys, do you know who-” he began.
“No time for talking, Nightshade!” Rhys said sharply.
The girl’s lips were blue. Her breathing was ragged. She was wearing nothing except a plain cotton shift, no shoes or stockings. Rhys had to find some means to warm her or she would die of exposure. He rose to his feet, the limp child in his arms.
“I’ll take her back to the cave. I need to build a fire to warm her. You might find some dry wood behind the dunes-”
“But, Rhys, listen-”
“I will in a minute,” Rhys said, striving to be patient. “Right now, you need to find dry wood. I have to warm her-”
“Rhys, look at her!” Nightshade said, floundering along behind him. “Don’t you recognize her? It’s her! Mina!”
“Don’t be ridiculous-”
“I’m not,” Nightshade said solemnly. “Believe me, I wish I was. I know this must sound crazy, since the last time we saw Mina she was a grown-up and now she’s grown down, but I’m pretty sure it’s her. I know because I feel the same way when I look at this little girl that I felt when I first saw Mina. I feel sad.”
“Nightshade,” said Rhys wearily, “firewood.”
“If you don’t believe me,” Nightshade added, “look at Atta. She knows her, too.”
Rhys had to admit that Atta was acting strangely. Ordinarily, the dog would have come leaping to him, eager to help, ready to lick the child’s cold cheek or nudge her limp hand-healing remedies known and trusted by all dogs. But Atta was keeping her distance. She stood braced on stiff legs, her hackles raised, her upper lip curled back over her teeth. Her brown eyes, fixed on the girl, were not friendly. She growled, low in her throat.
“Atta! Stop that!” Rhys reprimanded.
Atta quit growling, but she did not relax her defensive stance. She gazed at Rhys with a hurt and exasperated expression; hurt that he didn’t trust her and exasperated, as though she’d like to nip some sense into him.
Rhys looked down at the child he held in his arms, took a good, long look at her. She was a girl of about six years of age. A pretty child with long red braids that dangled down over his arm. Her face was pale, and she had a light smattering of freckles over her nose. Thus far, he had no reason to think either the dog or the kender were right. And then she stirred and moaned in his arms. Her eyes, which had been closed, partially opened, and he could see, beneath the half-closed lids, glints of amber.
A cold qualm shook Rhys, and he gasped softly.
“Told you so,” Nightshade said. “Didn’t we, Atta?”
The dog growled again.
“If want my advice, you’ll dump her back into the ocean,” Nightshade said. “Only last night she was going to torture you because you wouldn’t tell her who she was when you told her you didn’t know the answer and she was going to make me and Atta die in torment. Remember?”
Rhys recovered from his initial shock. “I’m not going to dump her in the ocean. A lot of people have red hair.” He continued toward the grotto.
Nightshade sighed. “I didn’t think he’d listen. I’ll go find firewood. C’mon, Atta.”
The kender set off, not very enthusiastically. Atta cast a worried glance at Rhys, then trotted along after the kender.
Rhys carried the child inside the grotto, which wasn’t very comfortable and certainly not very dry; the rock-strewn floor was still wet, and there were puddles here and there. But at least they were out of the wind. A blazing fire would soon warm the chill cavern.
The girl stirred and moaned again. Rhys chaffed her cold hands and smoothed back her wet, auburn hair.
“Child,” he said gently. “Don’t be frightened. You are safe.”
The girl opened her eyes, amber eyes, clear amber, like honey, golden and pure. The same eyes as Mina’s, except no trapped souls, as he had seen in Mina’s eyes.
“I’m cold,” the girl complained, shivering.
“My friend has gone to get wood for a fire. You’ll soon be warm.”
The girl stared at him, at his orange robes. “You’re a monk.” She frowned, as though trying to remember something. “Monks go around helping people, don’t they? Will you help me?”
“Gladly, child,” Rhys said. “What do you want of me?”
The girl’s face grew pinched. She was now fully awake and shivering so that her teeth chattered. Her grip on his hand tightened.
“I’m lost,” she said. Her lower lip quivered. Her eyes filled with tears. “I ran away from home and now I can’t find my way back.”
Rhys was relieved. Nightshade was wrong. The girl was likely some fisherman’s child who’d been caught out in the storm, been swept out to sea. She could not have walked far. Her village must close by. He pitied her parents. They must be frantic with worry.
“Once you are warm, I will take you, child,” Rhys promised. “Where do you live?”
The girl curled up in a shivering ball. Her eyes closed and she yawned. “You’ve probably never heard of it,” she said sleepily. “It’s a place called…”
Rhys had to lean close to her hear her drowsy whisper.
“Godshome.”
2
The gods had watched in astonishment and alarm as a mortal, Mina, reached down to the bottom of the Blood Sea, seized hold of the newly restored Tower of High Sorcery, and dragged it up from beneath the waves to present as a gift to her lover, Chemosh.
Obviously, Mina was not mortal. The most powerful wizards who had ever lived could not have accomplished such a feat, nor could the most powerful clerics. Only a god could have done that, and now all the gods were thrown into turmoil and consternation, trying to determine what was going on.
“Who is this new god?” the other gods clamored. “Where does she come from?”
Their fear was, of course, that she was some alien god, some interloper who, striding across the heavens, had come upon their world.
Their fears were allayed. She was one of theirs.
Majere held the answers.
“How long have you known?” Gilean demanded of the Monk God.
Gilean was the leader of the Gods of Gray, the neutral gods, who moderated between light and darkness. The neutral gods were strongest now, their numbers increased due to the self-imposed exile of Paladine, leader of the Gods of Light, and the banishment of Queen Takhisis, leader of the Gods of Darkness. Gilean wore the aspect of a scholarly sage, a middle-aged man of keen intellect and cool, discompassionate eyes.
“Many, many eons, God of the Book,” Majere replied.
The God of Wisdom, Majere wore orange robes and carried no weapon. His aspect was generally mild and serene, though now it was fraught with sorrow and regret.
“Why keep this secret?” Gilean asked.
“It was not mine to reveal,” Majere replied. “I gave my solemn oath.”
“To whom?”
“To one who is no longer among us.”
The gods wer
e silent.
“I assume you mean Paladine,” Gilean stated. “But there is another god who is no longer with us. Does this have something to do with her?”
“Takhisis?” Majere spoke sharply. His voice hardened. “Yes, she was responsible for this.”
Chemosh spoke. “Takhisis’ last words, before the High God came to take her, were these: ‘You are making a mistake! What I have done cannot be undone. The curse is among you. Destroy me and you destroy yourselves.’”
“Why didn’t you tell us this?” Gilean asked, glowering at the Lord of Bones.
Chemosh was a vain and handsome god, with long flowing black hair and dark eyes, empty and cold as the graves of the accursed dead over which he presided.
“The Dark Queen was always making threats.” Chemosh shrugged. “Why was this one any different?”
Gilean had no answer. He fell silent and the other gods were also silent, waiting.
“The fault is mine,” Majere said at last. “I acted for the best. Or so I believed.”
Mina lay so cold and still on the battlements. Chemosh wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but he dared not. Not with all of them watching him. He said to Majere, “Is she dead?”
“She is not dead, because she cannot die.” Majere looked at each of them, each and every one. “We have been blind. But now you see the truth.”
“We see, but we do not understand.”
“You do,” said Majere. He folded his hands and gazed out into the firmament. “You don’t want to.”
He did not see the stars. He saw the stars’ first light.
“It began at the beginning of time,” he said. “And it began in joy.” He sighed deeply. “And now, because I did not speak, it could end in bitter sorrow.”
“Explain yourself, Majere!” growled Reorx, smoothing his long beard. The God of the Forge, whose aspect was that of a dwarf, in honor of his favorite race, was not known for his patience. “We have no time for your blathering!”
Majere shifted his gaze from the time’s beginning to the present. He looked down at Mina.
“She is a god who does not know she is a god. She is a god who was duped into thinking she is human.”
Majere paused, as if to gain control of himself. When he spoke, his voice soft with anger, “She is a god of Light, tricked by Takhisis into serving Darkness.”
Majere fell silent. The other gods shouted questions, demanded answers. All the while, Mina lay unconscious on the battlements of Chemosh’s castle as the storm of anger and bafflement, accusations and recriminations raged around her. Such was the turmoil that when Mina woke, no one noticed. She stared at the beautiful, radiant, dark and awful beings stalking the heavens, flinging bolts of lightning and shaking the ground with their fury. She heard them shouting her name, but all she understood was that this was her fault.
A memory, a dim memory, from a time long, long passed, stirred in Mina and brought one terrible understanding.
I was never meant to wake.
Mina leapt to her feet and before any one could stop her, she jumped from the battlement and plunged silently, without a cry, into the crashing sea.
Zeboim screamed and ran to the edge of the wall to look into the waves. Storm winds tore at the sea-foam hair of the sea goddess and swirled her green gown about her. She watched the foaming water, but saw no sign of Mina. Turning, she cast a scathing glance and pointed an accusing finger at Chemosh.
“She’s dead and it is your fault!” She gestured into the storm-lashed water. “You rejected her love. Men are such beasts!”
“Spare us the drama, Sea Witch,” Chemosh muttered. “Mina’s not dead. She can’t die. She’s a god.”
“She may not be able to die. But she can still be wounded,” said Mishakal softly.
The storm winds ceased. The lightning bolts sizzled and went out. The thunder rolled over the waves and was silenced.
Mishakal, Goddess of Healing, the White Lady, as she was now known on Krynn, for her pure white gown and long white hair, walked over to Majere. She extended her hands to him. Majere took hold of her hands and gazed sorrowfully into her eyes.
“I know you keep your vow to protect one who is now gone,” said Mishakal. “You have my permission to speak.”
“I knew it!” Sargonnas snarled. The God of Vengeance and Leader of the Darkness strode forward. His aspect had the head of a bull and the body of a man after the minotaur, his chosen race. “This is a conspiracy among the Do-Gooders! We will have the truth and have it now!”
“Sargonnas is right. The time for silence is ended,” said Gilean.
“I will speak,” said Majere, “since Mishakal has given me leave.”
Yet he did not say anything, not immediately. He stood gazing down at the water that had closed over Mina’s head. Sargonnas growled impatiently, but Gilean silenced him.
“You said: ‘She is a god who does not know she is a god. She is a god who was tricked into thinking she is human.’”
“That is true,” Majere answered.
“And you said also, ‘She is a god of Light, tricked by Takhisis into serving Darkness.’”
“And that is also true.” Majere looked at Mishakal, and he smiled a rare smile.
“Mina’s story begins in the Age of Starbirth with the creation of the world. At that time-the first and last and only time in the history of the world-all of us came together to use our power to create a wonder and a marvel-this world.”
The other gods were silent, remembering.
“In that one single moment of creation, we watched Reorx take hold of Chaos and forge out of it a great globe, separating the light from the darkness, the land from the sea, the heavens from the earth and in that moment we were one. We all of us knew joy. That moment of creation gave birth to a being-a child of light.”
“We knew nothing of this!” Sargonnas growled, astonished and angered.
“Only three of us knew,” said Majere. “Paladine, his consort, Mishakal, and myself. The girl appeared in our midst, a radiant being, more beautiful than the stars.”
“You should have informed me at least,” Gilean said, frowning at Mishakal.
She smiled sadly. “There was no need to tell anyone. We knew what we had to do. The Gods of Darkness would have never permitted this new, young god of light to exist, for she would have upset the balance. Just the knowledge that she had been born would have caused an uproar, threatened to destroy what we had so lovingly created.”
“True,” said Zeboim coldly. “Very true. I would have strangled the whelp.”
“Paladine and Mishakal gave the child-god into my hands,” Majere continued. “They bid me cast her into a deep sleep and then hide her away, so that she might never be found.”
“How could you bear to lose her?” asked gentle Chislev, Goddess of Nature, shuddering. Her aspect was that of a young woman, lovely and delicate, with the soft eyes of the fawn and the sharp claws of the tiger.
“Our sorrow was deep as the vastness of time,” Mishakal admitted, “but we had no choice.”
“I took the child,” Majere resumed his tale, “and I carried her into the sea. I carried her to the depths of the ocean, to those parts that have never known the sunlight, and there I kissed her and rocked her gently to sleep. And there I left her, sweetly slumbering, with never a dream to disturb her rest. And there she would have remained at peace until time’s end, but Takhisis, Queen of All Colors and of None, stole away the world and with it-the child.”
“And Takhisis found her,” said Reorx. “But how, if she was hidden as you claim, Majere?”
“When Takhisis stole the world, she thought smugly that she was the only god-force in this part of the universe. I do not know for certain how she came to learn of the child’s existence, but I think I can hazard a guess based on my knowledge of the Dark Queen. When she first stole the world, she was left dangerously weak. She hid herself away, biding her time, restoring her strength, making her plans. And when she was well-rested and st
rong again, she left her hiding place. She came out warily, cautiously, probing and feeling about her to make certain she was alone in this part of the universe.”
“And she found out she was not,” said Morgion, God of Disease, with an unpleasant smile.
Majere nodded. “She felt the force of another god. I can only imagine her shock, her fury. She could not rest until she had found this god and determined what sort of threat the god posed to her. Since god-force within the child shone like a beacon, I doubt if Takhisis had much difficulty in her search. She found the god, and she must have been astonished.
“For she did not find another god who would challenge her. She found a child-god, innocent, unknowing, a god of light. And that gave her an idea…”
“Stupid bitch!” Chemosh swore bitterly. “Stupid, stupid woman! She should have foreseen what would happen!”
“Bah!” said Sargonnas. “The Dark Queen was never one to look past her own snout. She would have seen only that this child-god could be of use to her. She would keep Mina under her thumb and use her for her own ends.”
“And avenge herself one last time on the gods she had always hated,” said Kiri-Jolith, God of Just War. His aspect was that of a knight clad in shining silver armor.
“Takhisis very nearly succeeded,” Majere admitted. “She made one mistake and that grew out of her cruel desire for revenge. She decided to give this child-god to her enemy, to the mortal woman Takhisis had always blamed for her downfall during the War of the Lance-Gold-moon. The Dark Queen caused the child-god to be cast up on the shores of the Citadel of Light.
“Formerly a cleric of Mishakal, Goldmoon had brought the healing power of mysticism to Krynn. Now an old woman, she took the child-god, who had the aspect of a nine-year-old girl, to her heart. Goldmoon named her Mina. And Takhisis laughed.
“As Takhisis knew she would, Goldmoon taught Mina about the old gods, for Goldmoon grieved for the loss of the gods. Takhisis came to Mina, who loved Goldmoon dearly, and told her that she would give her the power to seek out the gods and restore them to the world. We all know what happened after that. Mina ran away from Goldmoon and ‘found’ Takhisis, who was waiting for her. What terrible tortures and torment Mina suffered at the hands of the Dark Queen-all in the name of ‘proving her loyalty’-I dare not speculate.
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