Amber and Ashes

by Margaret Weis

  The lines moved fairly swiftly, for the guards were in a good humor, as were most of those in the crowd. Spring Dawning marked the end of cold, dark winter and the return of the sun. The festival was a raucous holiday celebrating life. There would be tippling and dancing and laughter and mild mayhem. The celebrants would wake the next day with aching heads, fuzzy memories, and vague feelings of guilt, which meant that they must have had a wonderful time. Babies born nine months from this night were known as “spring dawning” babies and were considered lucky. There were always a number of hastily made weddings performed after this holiday.

  The very nature of the festival attracted all the ne’er-do-wells from miles around—pickpockets, thieves, con artists, whores, and gamblers. The guards knew it was hopeless to try to keep them all out of the city—those they turned away at one gate would try to gain entry at another and eventually they would find their way inside. The Lord Mayor told the guards there was no need to hold up the line by extensively questioning people, making them annoyed and angry when he wanted them to spend money in the city’s market stalls, inns, and taverns. The guards did have orders to turn away all kender, but that was mainly for show. Guards and kender both knew that the kender would be happily swarming over the city by midday.

  The winter had been a mild one in this part of Abanasinia, and what with the mild winter and the death of the fearsome Overlord Beryl, there was much to celebrate. Some suggested they should also be celebrating the return of the gods, but most of the city’s inhabitants were ambivalent about that. Staughton had always viewed itself as a righteous city. The people missed the gods when they left the first time during the First Cataclysm, but life went on, and the people grew used to the gods not being around. Then the gods came back and the people were glad to see them return and life went on with the gods much as it had without. The gods left again, during the Second Cataclysm, and this time people were so busy, what with life going on, that they barely noticed. Now the gods were back again and everyone said they were pleased, but really it was all so tiresome, having to close the temples, then open them, close them, and then open them. Meanwhile, life went on.

  Staughton was a small town of about two hundred people at the time of the First Cataclysm. It had grown and prospered in the centuries since. Its population numbered around six thousand now and it had overlapped its walls twice, causing them to be torn down, pushed out, and rebuilt. There was the inner part known as Old City and the outer ring known as New City and yet another addition of the city that as yet had no official title but was referred to locally as “newer.” All parts of the city were cleaned up in honor of the day and decorated with bunting and spring flowers. The young people woke early, eager for the fun to start. This was their day to frolic, a day when mamas and papas went conveniently blind to stolen kisses and midnight assignations.

  This was the day and this was the mood of the city and its people when the black palanquin hove into view, moving slowly and majestically up the road toward the city. It attracted immediate attention. Those standing in line who first saw it stared in astonishment, then tugged on the sleeves of those standing ahead of them, telling them to turn to look. Soon the entire line of people waiting to enter the city were craning their necks and exclaiming in wonder at the sight.

  The palanquin did not join the line but advanced up the road toward the gate. The people stood to one side to let the palanquin pass. An awed and uneasy silence fell on the crowd. No one, from noble knight to itinerant beggar, had seen anything like it.

  The curtains that covered the palanquin were of black silk that swung gently with the motion of the bearers. The frame was black, trimmed in gleaming gold skulls. The bearers attracted the most attention: four human females, each standing well over six feet tall and muscular as men. Each woman was identical in appearance to the other and all were beautiful. They wore diaphanous black robes which clung enticingly to their bodies, so that it seemed one could almost see through the thin fabric, that flowed and rippled as they walked. The bearers looked neither to the left nor the right, not even when some drunken youths called out to them. They strode forward, their heavy burden balanced easily on their shoulders, their faces set and cool and without expression.

  Those who managed to look past the bearers stared into the palanquin, trying to see the person inside. Heavy black curtains, weighted down with gold bead fringe, blocked the view.

  As the palanquin moved past, one man—a cleric of Kiri Jolith—recognized the golden skulls on the side.

  “Take care, my friends,” he called out, rushing forward to grab hold of some boisterous children, who were running along behind the palanquin. “Those skulls are symbols of Chemosh!”

  Immediately the word flew up and down the line of people that the person in the palanquin was a priest of the Lord of Death. Some people shuddered and averted their eyes, but most were intrigued. No feeling of dread emanated from the palanquin; rather, the sweet fragrance of spicy perfume wafted from the swaying curtains.

  The cleric of Kiri Jolith, whose name was Lleu, saw that the people were curious, not frightened, and he was uneasy, uncertain what to do. Clerics of all the gods had been waiting for Chemosh to try to grab the reins of power from Sargonnas. For a year, ever since the return of the gods, the clerics had been speculating as to what bold move he would make. Now it seemed that Chemosh was at last on the march. Lleu could see many in the crowd watching him expectantly, hoping he would make a scene. He kept quiet as the strange bearers strode past him, though he did stare at the curtains intently, trying to see who was inside.

  After the palanquin passed, he left his place in line to follow discreetly after it, walking along the fringes of the crowd. When the palanquin reached the gate, the person inside would have to make himself known to the guards and Lleu intended to get a look at him.

  Many others had the same idea, however, and the crowd surged forward, filling in behind the palanquin, as people jostled with one another to try to obtain a good view. The guards, having heard the rumors that this had something to do with Chemosh, had sent a runner post haste for the sheriff to ask for orders. The sheriff arrived on horseback to take charge of the situation and question this person himself. A hushed silence settled over the crowd as the palanquin arrived at the gate, and everyone waited to hear from the mysterious occupant.

  The sheriff took one look at the palanquin and the females who bore it and scratched his chin, clearly at a loss.

  “My lord sheriff,” Lleu said quietly, “if I could be of help—”

  “Brother Lleu, I’m glad you’re back!” exclaimed the sheriff, relieved. He leaned down from the saddle for a quick conference. “Do you think this is a priest of Chemosh?”

  “That is my guess, sir,” said Lleu. “Priest or priestess.” He eyed the palanquin. “The golden skulls are undoubtedly those of Chemosh.”

  “What do I do?” The sheriff was a big, stalwart man accustomed to handling tavern brawls and highwaymen, not six-foot-tall females, whose eyes didn’t move, hauling a palanquin containing a mysterious traveler. “Do I send them packing?”

  Lleu was tempted to say yes. The arrival of Chemosh boded well for no one, of that he was convinced. The sheriff had the power to deny entrance to anyone for any reason.

  “Chemosh is a god of evil. I think you would be well within your province to—”

  “—to do what?” called out a woman, her voice quivering with indignation “Forbid the priest of Chemosh from entering our city? I suppose this means you will be burning my shrine and turning me out next!”

  Lleu sighed deeply. The woman wore the green and blue robes of a priestess of Zeboim. The city of Staughton was built on the banks of a river. Zeboim was one of the city’s more popular goddesses, especially during the rainy season. If the sheriff denied access to a representative of one of the gods of darkness, rumors would fly about that Zeboim would be the next to go.

  “Permit them to enter,” Lleu said, adding loudly for the crowd
to hear, “The gods of light promote free will. We do not tell people what they can and cannot believe.”

  “Are you sure?” asked the sheriff, frowning. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “That is my advice, sir,” said Lleu. “The final decision is, of course, up to you.”

  The sheriff looked from Lleu to the priestess of Zeboim to the palanquin. None of them gave him much help. Zeboim’s priestess watched with narrowed eyes. Lleu had said all he had to say. The palanquin stood at the gate, the bearers patiently waiting.

  The sheriff stepped forward to address the unseen occupant.

  “State your name and the nature of your business in our fair city,” he said briskly.

  The crowd held its collective breath.

  For a moment, there was no response. Then a hand—a female hand—put aside the curtains. The hand was shapely. Jewels, red as blood, flashed on slender fingers. Lleu caught a glimpse of the woman inside the black palanquin. His mouth gaped, and his eyes widened.

  He had never before seen such a woman. She was young, not yet twenty. Her hair was auburn, the color of leaves in the autumn, and it was elaborately arranged beneath a black and golden headdress. Her eyes were amber, luminous, radiant, warm, as if all the world was cold and her eyes the only warmth left to a man. She wore a black dress of some sheer fabric that hinted at everything beneath it and gave away nothing. She moved with studied grace and there was a look of knowing in those eyes, a knowledge of secrets no other mortal possessed.

  She was disturbing. Dangerous. Lleu wanted to turn on his heel and walk disdainfully away, yet he stared, entranced, unable to move.

  “My name is Mina,” she said. “I have come to your city for the same purpose as have all these good people.” She gestured, to indicate the crowd. “To share in the celebration of springtime.”

  “Mina!” Lleu gasped. “I know that name.”

  Kiri-Jolith is a militant god, a god of honor and war, patron god of the Knights of Solamnia. Lleu was not a knight, nor was he a Solamnic, but he had traveled to Solamnia to study with the knights when he had decided to dedicate himself to Kiri-Jolith. He had heard from them the stories of the War of Souls, heard their tales of a young woman named Mina, who had led her armies of darkness to one amazing victory after another, including the destruction of the great Dragon Overlord, Malys.

  “I have heard of you. You are a follower of Takhisis,” Lleu said harshly.

  “The goddess who saved the world from the terror of the Dragon Overlords. The goddess who was most foully betrayed and destroyed,” Mina said. A shadow darkened the amber eyes. “I honor her memory, but I now follow a different god.”

  “Chemosh,” said Lleu in accusing tones.

  “Chemosh,” said Mina, and she lowered her eyes in reverence.

  “Lord of Death!” Lleu added, challenging.

  “Lord of Endless Life,” Mina returned.

  “So that is what he is calling himself these days,” Lleu said scornfully.

  “Come visit me to find out,” Mina offered.

  Her voice was warm as her eyes, and Lleu was suddenly conscious of the crowd gathered around him, their ears stretched to hear every word. They all looked at him now, wondering if he would accept her invitation and he realized, to his chagrin, that he’d been led into a trap. If he refused, they would think he was afraid to take on Chemosh and they would immediately jump to the conclusion that this must be a powerful god, yet Lleu did not want to talk to this woman. He did not want to be in her presence.

  “I have only just returned from a long absence,” Lleu said, temporizing. “I have much work to do. If I can find the time, perhaps I will stop by for a theological discussion with you. I think it would be quite interesting.”

  “So do I,” said Mina softly, and he had the feeling she wasn’t talking about theology.

  Lleu could think of nothing to say in answer. He inclined his head politely and pushed his way through the crowd, pretending not to hear the snickers and gibes. He hoped fervently that the sheriff would refuse to admit the woman. Going straight to his temple, he stood before the statue of Kiri-Jolith and found solace and comfort in the stern, implacable face of the warrior-god. He grew calm, and after giving thanks to the god, he was able to go ahead with the work that had piled up during his absence.

  The sheriff, lost in amber eyes, gave Mina admittance to the city, along with the name of the finest inn.

  “I thank you, sir,” she said. “Would you have any objection if I spoke to the people? I won’t cause you any trouble. I promise that.”

  The sheriff found himself curious as to what she had to say. “Make it brief,” he told her.

  She thanked him and then asked her bearers to lower the palanquin to the ground.

  The bearers did so. Mina parted the curtains and stepped out.

  The crowd, most of whom had not been able to see her prior to this, marveled aloud at the sight. She stood before them in her cobweb thin black dress, her perfume drifting on a light spring breeze. She raised her hands for silence.

  “I am Mina, High Priestess of Chemosh,” she called out in ringing tones, the same that had once echoed across the battlefield. “He comes to the world with a new message, a message of endless life. I look forward to sharing his message with all of you while I am visiting in your fair city.”

  Mina returned to her palanquin. She paid the sheriff the tax required of all vehicles for admittance into the city and closed the curtain. The bearers lifted up the palanquin and carried her through the gates. The crowd watched in awed silence until the black palanquin was lost to sight. Then tongues began to wag.

  All could agree on one thing—this promised to be a most interesting Spring Dawning.

  pring Dawning in Staughton proved to be far more interesting than anyone had anticipated. Word soon spread through the city that a miracle had occurred at the hostelry. As word spread, people began leaving the fair grounds and hastening to see for themselves.

  One of the groomsmen was an eyewitness and he was now the center of attention, urged to tell and retell his story for the benefit of those who had arrived late.

  According to the groomsman, who was reputed to be a sober and responsible individual, he had been returning from the hostelry’s stables when the black palanquin was carried into the courtyard. The four bearers lowered the palanquin to the ground. Mina stepped out of it. The bearers removed a fancifully carved wooden chest from the palanquin, and at Mina’s behest, carried it to her room. Mina entered the hostelry and was not seen again, though the groomsman lingered in the courtyard on purpose, hoping to catch another glimpse of her. The four female bearers returned to the palanquin. They took up their positions at the front and back of the palanquin and stood there, unmoving.

  A kender immediately descended on the bearers and began badgering them with questions. The bearers refused to answer, maintaining a dignified silence. They were so silent, in fact, and so completely oblivious of the kender—when by now any normal person would have given him a box on the ears—that he poked one of the bearers in the ribs.

  The kender gasped and poked the woman again.

  “It’s solid rock!” the kender cried shrilly. “The lady’s turned to stone!”

  The groomsman immediately assumed the kender was lying. Further investigation revealed otherwise. The four female bearers were four black marble statutes. The black palanquin was a black marble palanquin. People swarmed to the hostelry to see the wondrous sight, doing additional wonders for the innkeeper’s business in ale and dwarf spirits.

  Despite a torrential rainstorm, the hostelry’s courtyard was soon packed with people, with the crowds overflowing into adjacent streets. The people began chanting “Mina, Mina!” and when, after about two hours, Mina appeared at one of the upper story windows, the crowd went wild, cheering and exhorting her to speak.

  Throwing open one of the lead-paned glass windows, Mina gave a brief talk, explaining that Chemosh had returned to the world with new a
nd stronger powers than before. She was constantly interrupted by rumbles of thunder and cracklings of lightning, but she persisted and the crowd hung on every word. Chemosh was no longer interested in going about cemeteries raising up corpses, she told them. He was interested in life and the living, and he had a special gift to offer anyone who would follow him. All his faithful would receive life unending.

  “You will never grow older than you are this day,” Mina promised. “You will never be sick. You will never know fear or cold or hunger. You will be immune to disease. You will never taste the bitterness of death.”

  “I’ll become a follower!” jeered one youth, one of the inn’s best customers in the dwarf spirit line. “But only if you come down here and show me the way.”

  The crowd laughed. Mina smiled at him.

  “I am the High Priestess of Chemosh, here to bring the message of the god to his people,” she said in pleasant tones. “If you are serious in becoming one of his followers, Chemosh will see into your heart and he will send someone to you in his name.”

  She shut the window and faded back into the room, out of sight. The crowd waited a moment to see if she would return, then some went home to dry out, while others went over to poke and pinch the statues or watch those who trying unsuccessfully to chip at them with hammer and chisel.

  Of course, the first thing people did was to rush word of the stone statues to Lleu, the cleric of Kiri-Jolith.

  Lleu didn’t believe it.

  “It’s some third-rate illusionist trick,” he said, scoffing. “Rolf the groomsman is gullible as they come. I don’t believe it.” He rose from his desk, where he had been writing a letter to his superior in Solanthus, detailing his concerns about Chemosh. “I’ll go expose this charlatan for what she is.”

  “It’s no trick, Lleu,” said Marta, cleric of Zeboim, entering the study. “I’ve seen it. Solid stone they are. Black as Chemosh’s heart.”