Amber and Blood dd-3

by Margaret Weis

  “Make them stop, Father!” she begged, rocking back and forth in her terrible agony. “Make them stop!”

  Valthonis crossed the stone floor of the valley of Neraka and came to stand beside his daughter. She knelt before him, clutched at his boots. He took hold of her and raised her up.

  “The voices will not stop,” he said. “For you, they will never stop-until you answer them.”

  “But what do I say?”

  “That is what you must decide.”

  Valthonis handed her the scrip Rhys had carried for so long. Mina regarded it, puzzled. Unwrapping it, she looked inside. Her two gifts lay there, the Necklace of Sedition, the crystal Pyramid of Light.

  “Do you remember these?” Valthonis asked.

  Mina shook her head.

  “You found them in Hall of Sacrilege. You were going to give them as gifts to Goldmoon when you came to Godshome.”

  Mina gazed long at the two artifacts, one of consuming darkness, one of enduring light. She wrapped them back up, reverently and carefully.

  “Is the way to Godshome far, Father?” she asked. “I am so very tired.”

  “Not far, daughter,” he answered. “Not far now.”

  8

  A hairy finger pried open one of Rhys’ eyelids, causing him to wake with a start, startling Galdar who nearly poked out Rhys’ eye. The minotaur withdrew his hand and grunted in satisfaction. Sliding an enormous arm beneath Rhys’ shoulders, he heaved Rhys to a sitting position and thrust a vial between Rhys’ lips, dumping some sort of foul-tasting liquid into his mouth.

  Rhys choked and started to spit it out.

  “Swallow!” ordered Galdar, giving him a thump on the back that caused Rhys to cough and sent the liquid trickling down his throat.

  He gagged and wondered if he’d just been poisoned.

  Galdar grinned at him, showing all his teeth, and grunted, “Poison tastes a lot better than this stuff. Sit still for a moment and let it do its work. You’ll be feeling better soon.”

  Rhys obeyed. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t feel strong enough yet to be prepared for the answers. His jaw ached and throbbed, though it was no longer broken. His diaphragm was sore, every breath hurt. The potion seeping through his body began to ease the pain of his wounds, if not the pain in his heart.

  Galdar, meanwhile, took hold of Atta’s muzzle, gripping it tightly while another minotaur in soldier’s harness, bearing the emblem of Sargas, deftly smeared brown glop over her wound.

  “You’d like to bite my hand off, wouldn’t you, mutt?” said Galdar, and Atta growled in response, causing him to chuckle.

  When the minotaur was finished with his ministrations, he nodded to his companion. Galdar released the dog and both minotaurs sprang back. Atta rose, somewhat wobbly, to her feet. Keeping a distrustful eye on the minotaur, Atta came to Rhys to be petted. Then she limped over to the green cloak. She sniffed at it and pawed the cloak and looked back at Rhys and wagged her tail, as though saying, “You’ll fix this, Master. I know you will.”

  “Atta, come,” Rhys said.

  Atta stayed where she was. She pawed again at the cloak and whined.

  “Atta, come,” Rhys repeated.

  Slowly, her head and tail drooping, Atta limped painfully over to Rhys and lay down at his side. Putting her head on her paws, she heaved a deep sigh.

  Galdar squatted beside the body. He moved slowly and stiffly. His blood-matted fur was slathered with the same brown goop his men had spread on Atta. Galdar lifted a corner of the green cloak and looked down at Nightshade.

  “Sargas commands us to honor him. He will be known among us as Kedir ut Sarrak.” (Kender with Horns)

  Rhys smiled through his tears. He hoped Nightshade’s spirit had lingered long enough to hear that.

  The minotaur soldiers gathered up their belongings, making ready to leave. No one wanted to stay in this place any longer than necessary.

  “Are you fit to travel, Monk?” Galdar asked. “If so, you are welcome to come with us. We will help you carry your dead and the mutt, if she won’t bite,” he added gruffly.

  Rhys gave grateful assent.

  One of the minotaur lifted the small body in strong arms. Another picked up Atta. She barked and struggled, but at Rhys’ command, she quit fighting and allowed the minotaur to carry her, though she growled with every breath.

  “I want to thank you for your help-” Rhys began.

  “I had nothing to do with it,” Galdar interrupted. He waved his good hand at his soldiers. “You can thank this mutinous lot. They disobeyed my command and came after me, even though I had ordered them to stay behind to wait for me.”

  “I’m glad they disobeyed,” said Rhys.

  “If you must know, so am I. Go on ahead,” Galdar told his men. “The monk and I cannot walk as swiftly. We will be safe enough. There are only ghosts left in this valley now, and they cannot harm us.”

  The minotaurs didn’t appear to be too certain of this, but they did as Galdar commanded, though they did not move quite as swiftly as they could have, but kept within shouting range of their commander.

  Galdar and Rhys walked together, both of them limping. Galdar grimaced and pressed his hand to his side. One of the minotaur’s eyes was swollen shut and blood trickled from the base of one of his horns. Rhys’ stomach and jaw both hurt, making breathing difficult and painful.

  “Where will you go now?” Rhys asked.

  “I will return to Jelek to resume my duties as ambassador to you humans. I doubt you want to go there,” he added with a wry glance at Rhys. “But my men and I will not abandon you. We will wait with you until help arrives.”

  “Help may be long in coming.” Rhys spoke with an inward sigh.

  “You think so?” Galdar asked, and a smile flickered on his lips. “You should have more faith, Monk.”

  Rhys had no idea what the minotaur meant, but before he could ask, Galdar’s smile vanished. He glanced back into the valley of stone and black crystal.

  “Mina went with him, didn’t she? She went with the Walking God.”

  “I hope so,” Rhys replied. “I pray so.”

  “I’m not much for praying,” Galdar said. “And if I did pray, I’d pray to Sargas, and I would guess the Horned God is not feeling kindly disposed toward me at the moment.”

  He paused, then added somberly, “If I did pray, I would pray that Mina finds whatever it is she seeks.”

  “You forgive her for what she did to you?” Rhys was astonished. Minotaurs were not known as a forgiving people. Their god was a god of vengeance.

  “I suppose you could say I got into a habit of forgiving her.” Galdar rubbed the stump of his arm, grimacing. Strange that the pain of a missing arm was worse than the pain of cracked bones. He added half-ashamed, half-defiant, “What about you, Monk? Do you forgive her?”

  “I walked my road once with hatred and revenge gnawing at my heart,” Rhys said. His gaze went to the minotaur who was carrying the small body, to the green cloak that fluttered in the still air. “I will not do so again. I forgive Mina and my prayer is the same as yours-that she finds what she seeks. Though I am not certain I should be praying for that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Whatever she finds will tip the scales of balance one way or the other.”

  “The scales might tip in your direction, Monk,” Galdar suggested. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Rhys shook his head. “A man who stares at the sun too long is as blind as one who walks in pitch darkness.”

  The two fell silent, saving their laboring breath for the climb out of the valley. The minotaur under Galdar’s command stood waiting for them among the foothills of the Lords of Doom. The minotaur looked grim, for the Faithful were also waiting there. Led by silent Elspeth, they had come to the valley, though too late to find Valthonis.

  Galdar scowled at the elves. “You gave your oath,” he told them.

  “We did not break faith with you,” said one of the elve
s. “We did not try to rescue Valthonis.”

  The elf pointed to the cloak that covered the body of the kender. “That belongs to Valthonis! Where is he?” The elf glared at Galdar. “What have you done with him? Have you basely murdered him?”

  “On the contrary. The minotaur saved Valthonis’ life,” Rhys replied.

  The elves scowled in disbelief.

  “Do you doubt my word?” Rhys asked wearily.

  The leader of the Faithful bowed.

  “We mean no offense, Servant of Matheri,” the elf said, using the elvish name for the god, Majere. “But you must understand that we find this difficult to comprehend. A monk of Matheri and a minotaur of Kinthalas walk together out of the Valley of Evil. What is going on? Is Valthonis alive?”

  “He is alive and unharmed.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “He helps a lost child find her way home,” Rhys replied.

  The elves glanced at other, mystified, some clearly still disbelieving. And then silent Elspeth walked over to stand in front of Galdar. One of the elves sought to stop her, but she thrust him aside. She reached out her hand to the minotaur.

  “What’s this?” he demanded, frowning. “Tell her to stay away from me.”

  Elspeth smiled in reassurance. As he watched, tense and frowning, she lightly brushed her fingers across the stump of his arm.

  Galdar blinked. The grimace of pain that had twisted his face eased. He clasped his hand over the stump and stared at her in astonishment. Elspeth walked past him and came to kneel beside the body of the kender. She tucked the cloak around him tenderly, as a mother tucks a blanket around her child, then lifted the body in her arms. She stood waiting patiently to depart.

  Galdar glanced at Rhys. “I told you help would find you.”

  The elves were now more mystified than before, but they obeyed Elspeth’s silent command and made preparations to leave.

  “I hope you will honor us with your company, Servant of Matheri,” said the leader to Rhys, who gave his grateful assent.

  Galdar held out his left hand, grasped Rhys’ hand in a crushing grip. “Farewell, Brother.”

  Rhys clasped the minotaur’s hand in both his own. “May your journey be a safe one and swift.”

  “It will be swift, at least,” Galdar stated grimly. “The faster we’re away from this accursed place, the better.”

  He bellowed orders that were quickly obeyed. The minotaur soldiers marched off, as eager as their commander to leave Neraka.

  But Galdar did not immediately follow them. He stood still for a moment, gazing west, deep into the mountains.

  “Godshome,” he said. “It lies in that direction.”

  “So I have been told,” Rhys said.

  Galdar nodded to himself and continued to stare into the distance, as if trying to catch some last glimpse of Mina. Sighing, he lowered his gaze, shook his horned head.

  “Do you think we will ever find out what happens to her, Brother?” he asked wistfully.

  “I don’t know,” Rhys answered evasively.

  In his heart, he feared very much that they would.

  9

  Valthonis and Mina walked slowly to Godshome, taking their time, for each knew that no matter what happened, what choice Mina made, this would be their final journey together.

  The two had talked of many things for many hours, but now Mina had fallen silent. Godshome was only about ten miles from Neraka, but the road was difficult, steep and winding and narrow-a rock-strewn, desolate track forced to pick its way among steep canyon walls, constrained by strange rock formations to take them in directions they did not want to go.

  The sky was dark and overcast, obscured by the steamy snortings of the Lords of Doom. The air stank of sulfur and was hard to breathe, drying the mouth and stinging the nostrils.

  Mina soon grew weary. She did not complain, however, but continued walking. Valthonis told her she could take her time. There was no hurry.

  “You mean I have all eternity before me?” Mina said to him with a twisted smile. “That is true, Father, but I feel compelled to go on. I know who I am, but now I must now find out why. I can no longer rest easy in the twilight.”

  She carried with her the two artifacts she had brought from the Hall of Sacrilege. She held them fast in her hand and would not relinquish them, though their burden sometimes made traversing the steep trail difficult for her. When she finally gave in and sat down to rest, she unwrapped the artifacts and gazed down at them, studying them, taking up each in turn and holding it in her hands, running her fingers over them as would a blind man trying to use his hands to see what his sightless eyes cannot. She said nothing about her thoughts to Valthonis, and he did not ask.

  As they drew nearer Godshome, the Lords of Doom seemed to release their hold on the travelers, sanctioning their going. The path grew easier to walk, led them down a gentle slope. A warm breeze, like spring’s breath, blew away the sulfur fumes and the steam. Wild flowers appeared along the trail, peeking out from beneath boulders, or growing in the cracks of a stone wall.

  “What is wrong?” Valthonis asked, calling a halt, when he noticed that Mina had begun to limp.

  “I have a blister,” she answered.

  Sitting down on the path, she drew off her shoe, looking with exasperation at the raw and bloody wound.

  “The gods play at being mortal,” she said. “Chemosh could make love to me and receive pleasure from the act-or so he convinced himself. But in truth, they can only pretend to feel. No god ever has a blister on his heel.”

  She held up the blood-stained shoe for him to see.

  “So why do 7 have a blister?” she demanded. “I know I am a god. I know this body is not real, I could leap off this cliff and plummet onto the rocks below and no harm would come to me. I know that, but still”-she bit her lip-“my foot hurts. As much as I would like to say it doesn’t really, it really does!”

  Takhisis had to convince you that you were human, Mina, said Valthonis. “She lied to you in order to enslave you. If you knew the truth, that you were a god, she feared you would become her rival. You had to be made to believe you were human and thus you had to feel pain. You had to know illness and grief. You had to experience love and joy and sorrow. She took cruel pleasure in making you believe you were mortal. She thought it made you weak.”

  “It does!” flashed Mina, and the amber eyes glittered in anger. “And I hate it. When I take my place among the pantheon, I cannot show weakness. I must teach myself to forget what I have been.”

  “I am not so sure,” said Valthonis, and he knelt down before her and regarded her intently. “You say the gods play at being mortal. They do not ‘play’ at it. By taking an aspect of mortality, a god tries to feel what mortals feel. The gods try to understand mortals in order to help and guide them or, in some cases, to coerce and terrorize them. But they are gods, Mina, and try as they might, they cannot truly understand. You alone know the pain of mortality, Mina.”

  She thought this over. “You are right,” she said at last, thoughtful. “Perhaps that is why I am able to wield such power over mortals.”

  “Is that what you want? To wield power over them?”

  “Of course! Isn’t it what all we all want?” Mina frowned. “I saw the gods at work that day in Solace. I saw the blood spilled and the bodies stacked up in front of the altars. If mortals will fight and die for their faith, why should they not go to their deaths singing my name as well as another?”

  She slipped her shoe back on her foot and stood up and started walking. She seemed bound to try to convince herself that she felt nothing and tried to walk normally, but she could not stand it. Wincing in pain, she came to a halt.

  “You were a god,” she said. “Do you remember anything of what you were? Do you remember the moment before creation? Does your mind yet encompass the vastness of eternity? Do you see to the limits of heaven?”

  “No,” Valthonis answered. “My mind is that of a mortal. I see the ho
rizon and sometimes not that, if the clouds obscure it. I am glad for this. I think it would be too terrible to bear otherwise.”

  “It is,” said Mina softly.

  She yanked off both her shoes and threw them off the side of the cliff. She started walking barefoot, stepping gingerly on the path, and almost immediately cut her foot on a sharp pebble. She gasped and came up short. She clenched her fists in frustration.

  “I am a god!” she cried. “I have no feet!”

  She stared at her bare toes, as if willing them to disappear.

  Her toes remained, wriggling and digging into the dust.

  Mina moaned and sank down, crouched down, huddled into herself.

  “How can I be a god if I will always be a mortal? How can I walk among the stars when I have blisters on my feet? I don’t know how to be a god, Father! I know only how to be human…”

  Valthonis put his arms around her and lifted her up. “You need walk no farther, daughter. We are here,” he said.

  Mina stared at him, bewildered. “Where?”

  “Home,” he replied.

  ***

  In the center of a smooth-sided, bowl-shaped valley, nineteen pillars stood silent watch around a circular pool of shining black, fire-blasted obsidian. Sixteen pillars stood together. Three pillars stood apart. One of these was black jet, one red granite, the other white jade. Five of the remaining pillars were of white marble. Five were of black marble.

  Six were made of marble of an indeterminate color.

  Once twenty-one pillars had guarded the pool. Two of them had toppled to the ground. One, a black pillar, had shattered in the fall. Nothing remained of it but a heap of broken rubble. The other fallen pillar was still intact, its surface shining in the sunlight, swept free of dust by loving hands.

  Mina and Valthonis stood outside the stone pillars, looking in. The sky was cloudless, achingly blue. The sun teetered precariously on the peaks of the Lords of Doom, still casting its radiant light, though any moment it would slide down the mountain and fall into night. The valley was filled with the twilight; shadows cast by the mountains, sunlight gleaming on the obsidian pool.