Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (70 page)

So she had come to be beautiful, but only after they had both

gone through many trials and travails together, only after they

had confronted death fearlessly, clasped in each other's arms. She

had been given the blue crystal staff. She had been given the

power of bringing the healing love of the gods back into the

world.

Children were born to Goldmoon and Riverwind. They

worked to unite the contentious tribes of the Plains people. They

were happy in their lives and in their children and their friends,

the companions of their journeying. They had looked forward to

growing old together, to taking their final rest together, to leav-

ing together this plane of existence and moving on to the next,

whatever that might be. They were not afraid, for they would be

together.

It had not happened that way.

When the gods left following the Chaos War, Goldmoon

mourned their absence. She was not one who railed against them.

She understood their sacrifice, or thought she did. The gods had

left so that Chaos would leave, the world would be at peace. She

did not understand, but she had faith in the gods, and so she did

what she could to argue against the anger and bitterness that poi-

soned so many.

She believed in her heart that someday the gods would return.

That belief dwindled with the coming of the monstrous dragons,

who brought terror and death to Ansalon. Her belief vanished al-

together when word came that her beloved Riverwind and one of

her daughters had both been slain by the heinous dragon Malys.

Goldmoon had longed to die herself. She had fully intended to

end her life, but then Riverwind's spirit had come to her.

She must stay, he told her. She must continue her fight to keep

hope alive in the world. If she left the world, the darkness would

win.

She had not wanted to heed his words, but she had given way.

She had been rewarded. She had been given the gift of healing

a second time. Not a blessing from the gods, but a mystical power

of the heart which even she did not understand. She brought this

gift to others and they had banded together to build the Citadel of

Light in order to teach all people how to use the power.

Goldmoon had grown old in the Citadel. She had seen the

spirit of her husband as a handsome youth once again. Though he

curbed his impatience, she knew he was eager to be gone and that

he waited only for her to complete her journey.

Goldmoon lifted the mirror'and looked at her face.

Lines of age were gone. Her skin was smooth. Her once

sunken cheeks were now plump, the pale skin rose colQred. Her

eyes had always been bright, shining with the indomitable

courage and hope that had made her seem young to her devoted

followers. Her lips, thin and gray, were full, tinged with coral.

Her hair had remained her one vanity. Though her hair had

turned silver white, it remained thick and luxuriant. She reached

her hand to touch her hair, a hand that was young and smooth

and strong again, and the fingers touched gold and silver strands.

But her hair had an odd feel to it. Coarser than she remembered,

not as fine.

She knew suddenly why she hated this \ffiasked for, unlooked

for, unwanted gift. The face in the mirror was not her face. The

face was a memory of her face, and the memory was not her own.

The memory was another's. The face was someone's idea of her

face. This face was perfect, and her face had not been perfect.

The same was true of her body. Youthful, vigorous, strong,

slender waist, full breasts, this body was not the body she re-

membered. This body was perfect. No aches, no pains, not so

much as a tom nail or a blister on her heel.

Her old soul did not fit into this new young flesh. Her old soul

had been light and airy, ready to take wing and soar into eternity.

That soul had been content to leave behind mundane cares and

woes. Now her soul was caged in a prison of flesh and bone and

blood, a prison that was making its own demands on her. She did

not understand how or why. She could not give reasons. All she

knew was that the face in the mirror terrified her.

She laid the mirror down, facedown on the dressing table, and,

sighing deeply, prepared to leave the one prison she could leave,

desperately wishing all the while that she could leave the other.

Wonder and amazement greeted Goldmoon's appearance in

the hall of the Grand Lyceum that night. As she had feared, her

transformation was taken for a miracle, a good miracle, a blessed

miracle.

"Wait until word spreads!" her pupils whispered. "Wait until

the people hear! Goldmoon has conquered age. She has vanquished

death! The people will come flocking to our cause now!"

Pupils and masters clustered around her and reached out to

touch her. They fell to their knees and kissed her hand. They

begged her to grant them her blessing, and they rose to their feet

exalted. Only a few looked closely at Goldmoon to see the pain

and anguish on ~e youthful, beautiful face, a face they recog-

nized more by the light in her eyes than by any resemblance to

the face of contentment and wisdom they had come to know and

revere. Even that light seemed unhealthy, a luster that was the

luster of a fever.

The evening was a trial to Goldmoon. They held a banquet in

her honor, forced her to sit in a place of honor at the head of the

hall. She felt everyone was looking at her, and she was right. Few

seemed able to take their eyes off her, and they stared at her until

it occurred to them that they were being rude, then they shifted

their gazes pointedly in another direction. Goldmoon couldn't

decide which was worse. She ate well, much better than usual.

Her strange body demanded large quantities of food, but she did

not taste any of it. She was doing nothing more than fueling a fire,

a fire she feared must consume her.

"In a few days, they will be used to me," she said to herself

drearily. "They will cease to notice that I am so terribly altered. I

will know, however. If I could just understand why this has been

done to me."

Palin sat at her right hand, but he was grim and cheerless. He

picked at his food and finally pushed most of the meal away un-

eaten. He paid no attention to conversation but was wrapped in

his own thoughts. He was, she guessed, making that journey back

through time over and over again in his mind, searching for some

clue to its strange conclusion.

Tasslehoff was also out of spirits. The kender sat beside Palin,

who kept close watch on him. He kicked the chair rungs and oc-

casionally heaved a doleful sigh. Most of his eating utensils, a salt

cellar, and a pepper pot made their way into his pockets, but the

borrowing was halfhearted at best, a reflexive action. He was

clearly not enjoying himself.

"Will you help me map the hedge maze tomorrow?" asked his

neighbor, the gnome. "I have come up with a scientific solution to

my problem. My solution requires another person, however, and

a pair of socks."

"Tomorrow?" said Tas.

"Yes, tomorrow," repeated the gnome.

Tas looked at Palin. The mage looked at Tas.

"I'll be glad to help," Tas said. He slid off his chair. "Come on,

Conundrum. You were going to show me your ship."

"Ah, yes, my ship." The gnome tucked some bread into his

pocket for later. "The Indestructible XVIII. It's tied up at the

dock. At least it was. I'll never forget the surprise I had when I

went to board its predecessor, the Indestructible XVII, only to

discover that it had been woefully misnamed. The committee

made sweeping changes to the design, however, and I am quite

confident-"

Palin watched Tasslehoff walk away.

"You must talk to him, Goldmoon," file mage said in a low

voice. "Convince him he has to go back."

"Go back to his death? How can I ask that of Tas? How could

I ask that of anyone?" -

"I know," Palin said, sighing and rubbing his temples as if

they ached. "Believe me, First Master, I wish there were some

other way. All I know is that he's supposed to be dead, and he's

not, and the world has gone awry." .

"Yet you admit yourself you are not certain that Tasslehoff,

either dead or alive, has anything to do with the world's

problems."

"You don't understand, First Master-" Palin began wearily.

"You are right. I don't understand. And therefore what

would you have me say to him?" she asked sharply. "How can

I offer counsel when I do not comprehend what is happening?"

She shook her head. "The decision is his alone to make. I will

not interfere."

Goldmoon rested her hand on her smooth cheek. She could

feel her fingers against her skin, but her skin could not sense the

touch of her fingers. She might have been placing her fingers on

a waxen image.

The banquet ended, finally. Goldmoon rose to her feet and the

others rose in respect. One of the acolytes, an exuberant young-

ster, gave a cheer. Others picked it up. Soon they were applaud-

ing and yelling lustily.

The cheering frightened Goldmoon. The noise will draw at-

tention to us, was her first panicked thought. She wondered at

herself a moment later. She'd had the strangest feeling that they

were trapped in a house and that something evil was searching

for them. The feeling passed, but the cheering continued to jar on

her nerves. She lifted her hands to halt the shouting.

"I thank you, my friends. My dear friends," Goldmoon said,

moistening lips thr were stiff and dry. "I . . . I ask you to keep me

in your hearts, to surround me with your good thoughts. I feel I

need them."

The people glanced at each other, troubled. This wasn't what

any of them had expected to hear her say. They wanted to hear

her tell them about the wondrous miracle that had been wrought

upon her. How she would perform the same miracles for them.

Goldmoon made a gesture of dismissal. People filed out, return-

ing to their work or their studies, glancing back at her often and

talking in low voices.

"I beg your pardon for disturbing you, First Master," Lady

Camilla said, approaching. Her eyes were cast down. She was

trying very hard not to look at Goldmoon's face. "The patients in

the hospital have missed you. I was wondering, if you are not too

tired, if you would come. . ."

"Yes, assuredly," said Goldmoon readily, glad to have some-

thing to do. She would forget herself in her work. She was not in

the least fatigued. The strange body was not, that is.

"Palin, would you care to accompany us?" she asked.

"What for? Your healers can do nothing for me," he returned

irritably. "I know. They have tried."

"You speak to the First Master, sir," Lady Camilla said in rebuke.

"I am sorry, First Master," Palin said with a slight bow. "Please

forgive my rudeness. I am very tired. I have not slept in a long

time. I must find the kender, then I plan to go straight to my bed.

I bid you a good night."

He bowed and turned and walked away.

"Palin!" Goldmoon called after him, but either he didn't hear

or he was ignoring her.

Goldmoon accompanied Lady Camilla to the hospital-a sep-

arate building located on the Citadel grounds. The night was

cooL unusually cool for this time of year. Goldmoon gazed up at

the stars, at the pale moon to which she had never grown truly

accustomed but always saw with a sense of shock and unease.

This night, she looked at the stars, but they seemed small and

distant. For the first time, she looked beyond them, to the vast

and empty darkness t11at surrounded them.

"As it surrounds us," she said, chilled.

"I beg your pardon, First Master," Lady Camilla said. "Were

you speaking to me?"

The two women had been antagonists at one point in their

lives. When Goldmoon made the decision to build the Citadel of

Light on Schallsea, Lady Camilla had been opposed. The Solam-

roc was loyal to the old gods, the departed gods. She was suspi-

cious and .distrustful of this new "power of the heart." Then she

had come to witness the tireless efforts of the Citadel's mystics to

do good in the world, to bring light to the darkness. She had come

to love and to admire Goldmoon. She would do anything for the

First Master, Lady Camilla was wont to say, and she had proved

that statement, spending an inordinate amount of time and

money on a fruitless search for a lost child, a child who had been

dear to Goldmoon, but who had gone missing three years earlier,

a child whose name no one mentioned, to avoid causing the First

Master grief.

Goldmoon often thought of the child, especially whenever she

walked along the seashore.

"It wasn't important," Goldmoon said, adding, "You must

forgive me, Lady Camilla. I am poor company, I know."

"Not at all, First Master," said Lady Camilla. I'You have much

on your mind."

The two continued their walk to the hospital in silence.