The cataclysm t2-2

by Margaret Weis

  The knight, who traveled in full armor, the breastplate decorated with the rose that marked his high standing in the knighthood, removed his helm. Shocked, Michael moved a step nearer Nikol.

  "Forgive me, my lady," the knight was saying. "I can only plead dusk's shadows as an excuse for having mistaken noble lady for noble lord."

  Nikol accepted the compliment with a smile and a nod, turned her attention to the man's fine horse.

  Michael could not take his eyes from the knight's face. The strong and darkly handsome visage was gaunt and haggard. He looked exhausted to the point of falling. But it was the knight's eyes that arrested Michael, caused the words of thanksgiving that had been on the cleric's lips to die. The black eyes burned with a strange and terrible fire that seemed to be consuming his flesh. So fey was the knight that Michael feared they were dealing with a madman. Nikol had not noticed. Her attention was for the fine horse, which was accepting her overtures at friendship with gracious forbearance.

  "My lady," Michael began, licking dry lips, not certain how to proceed. "I think perhaps…"

  "Now it is I who ask forgiveness," Nikol said, glancing up. "I present our family chaplain, Brother Michael."

  The knight bowed.

  "I am honored to meet you. Brother Michael. My name is Lord Soth, of Dargaard Keep. Lady Nikol, I thank you for your kind offer of hospitality, but it is an offer that I regretfully must refuse. Urgent need carries me back on the road this night. I will not even dismount, by your leave. I only stopped to ask for water for myself and my horse."

  The knight's words were cool and courteous, but they were tinged with the crackling of the flames that burned in the eyes. Nikol gazed up at him in admiration. Perhaps night's shadows blinded her as well.

  "Gladly, Lord Soth. I will fetch the water myself."

  The daughter of a knight, Nikol recognized the knight's need for haste and did not waste time in further niceties. She left immediately to find water. Michael went to find a bucket and some straw for the horse. He returned to find the knight drinking slowly and sparingly from the iron dipper. Michael placed the bucket down before the horse, who drank more deeply than its master.

  "I would not have disturbed you at all, my lady," said the knight, "but would have stopped at stream or pond. I could find no pure water in these parts, however. Goblins attacked you, I take it." He glanced about the ruined castle with the air of an experienced warrior.

  "Yes," said Nikol softly. She stroked the horse's neck. "They fell upon us about a fortnight ago. My brother died, defending the castle and our people."

  "He was not the only one who defended it, seemingly," said Lord Soth, the burning eyes fixing upon the sword Nikol wore easily and confidently at her side.

  Nikol flushed. "It is my home," she said simply.

  "Your home. And a blessed one, despite all," said the knight. The flames in the black eyes blazed higher. The countenance grew grim, scarred by bitterness and regret. He stirred restlessly in the saddle, as if in pain.

  "I must be on my way." He handed the dipper back to Nikol.

  "I would not hinder you on whatever urgent business takes you out into the night," said Nikol, "but I repeat again, you are welcome in my home, Lord Soth."

  "I thank you, Lady Nikol, but I may not rest until my task is complete. I ride to Istar and I must be there in four days' time."

  "Istar!" cried Michael, shaken. "But you should not go there! In four days time — " He paused, uncertain of what he was going to say, not sure how he knew what he knew or how he would explain it.

  The knight's burning eyes seared Michael. "You know, then, Brother. You know what terrible fate hangs over this world. Then I leave you with this hope: With the help of the gods, I will prevent it, though it cost me my life."

  The knight bowed again to Nikol. Replacing his helm, he turned his horse's head out into the night and soon was lost to their sight.

  "Though it cost him his life," said Nikol softly, gazing after him with shining eyes. "He is a true hero. He rides forth to save the world, though it cost him his life. And what do I do? What have I done?"

  She turned, stared at the castle, perhaps truly seeing it for the first time since they had returned.

  "The Measure. The Oath. 'My honor is my life.' I came near forgetting that, came near failing the memory of my father, my brother. This knight has reminded me of my duty. Perhaps Paladine sent him for that very reason. I will always honor his name: Lord Soth of Dargaard Keep."

  Michael would have added his own fervent blessing on the knight, who had brought Nikol back to life, but a shadow drifted across the cleric's heart, like smoke from a distant fire. The effect was chilling. He could not speak.

  Part II

  Nikol's melancholia vanished, borne away by the Knight of the Rose. She began to believe, once again, in a future, to find hope in it, and threw herself into preparing for it with her usual energy. It was a future of promise she believed in, a future unscarred by the terrible calamity foreordained by the gods.

  Michael, whose fears were growing, not receding, sought to gently temper this newfound hope.

  "I have had dark dreams of late, Nikol. I see the Kingpriest confronting the gods. He does not approach them in humility, remembering that he is man and mortal. He makes demands of them. He has come to think of himself as equal to the gods. I feel their wrath. This strange wind…"

  Nikol interrupted him, placed her hand upon his with a patronizing air, "Brother, be at peace. A Knight of Solamnia rides to Istar to stop this. HE goes with Paladine's blessing."

  He knew she did not mean to hurt him by adding that unconscious emphasis on the word. Perhaps she wasn't even equating the two of them — the knight who rode with Paladine's blessing, the cleric who had given up the favor of his goddess by choosing to stay in this world — but the pain burned. He said nothing, however.

  She might think he was jealous of the knight, but Michael wasn't, not really. Nikol was not in love with Lord Soth. She saw in him what she had been raised to see — the epitome of honor, godliness, nobility. The Oath and the Measure placed the knights above the faults and foibles of other, lesser men.

  Michael left the castle for a few hours, until his hurt subsided. Catching fish, wading up to his shins in the stream, helped him rationalize, understand. Her faith was touching, childlike. Who was he to destroy it?

  "Perhaps, if more had believed as she does, we would not be facing this dreadful fate," he said to the strange wind and the cloudless, lead-colored sky.

  The night before the Cataclysm, Michael woke from dreams of fire and blood to find himself prostrate upon the floor, shivering and sweating. The gods' anger crackled in the air, rumbled in the empty sky. A timid knock at his door roused him.

  "Are you all right, Brother?" called Nikol.

  Michael flung open the door, startled her. She stared at him, backed up a step. He knew he must look wild, disheveled — thin from lack of food, bleary-eyed from sleepless nights. He caught hold of her.

  "We must go somewhere, somewhere safe."

  "It's a storm, that's all," said Nikol, uneasy, nervous. "Michael, you're hurting me."

  He did not loosen his hold. "It is coming. The Day of Wrath."

  "Lord Soth — " she began.

  "He couldn't stop it, Nikol!" Michael had to shout to be heard over the low rumble of thunder that shook the manor walls. "I don't know why or how or what happened, but he failed! Men do fail, you know! Even Knights of Solamnia. They're human, damn it, like the rest of us"

  "I have faith in him!" Nikol cried angrily.

  "He is a man. We must have faith in the gods." Saying this, reminding himself of it, Michael was calm. "This house, these walls are strong. Blessed, the knight said. Yes, here, inside these walls, we will be safe."

  "No! It cannot be! He will stop it."

  She broke free of his grasp, ran inside the small family chapel. Michael followed her, to try to reason with her. Looking around, he realized at once that this roo
m — built in the castle's interior, without windows — was the safest place. Nikol was kneeling before the altar.

  "Paladine! Be with Lord Soth! Accept his sacrifice, as you once accepted Huma's!"

  The strange wind, hot and dry, blew harder and harder, shrieked about the castle walls with inhuman voices. Lightning slashed, split trees. Thunder shook the ground, like the footsteps of an angry giant.

  All that morning the storm raged, growing more and more intense. The sun vanished. Day became darker than night. Violent winds blew, lifted huge trees from the ground, hurled them about like newly planted saplings. Those trees that held fast against the wind fell victim to the savage lightning. Michael, daring to leave the chapel, ventured back into his room, stared out the window.

  Fires lit the darkness, trees consumed by flames. Grass fires scorched the land. Nikol, shivering, came to stand by his side. "The gods have forsaken us," she whispered.

  "No," said Michael, taking her in his arms. "It is we who have forsaken them."

  They returned to the chapel. The wind blew harder. The voices in it were horrible, conjuring up visions of dragons, screaming over their kill. It buffeted the castle walls, trying to beat them down. The earth began to shudder, as if the very ground was appalled at the horrors it was witnessing. The first quakes hit. The castle rocked and shivered. The two crouched before the altar, unable to move, unable to speak or even pray. Beyond the chapel, they could hear crashes, shattering cracks.

  Michael knew they were doomed. The walls must collapse, the ceiling cave in. He held fast to Nikol's hands and began to describe, in a feverish voice, the beautiful bridge of starlight he'd seen before, the wondrous worlds where they soon would find peace and freedom from this terror.

  Then it was over.

  The tremors ceased. The storm abated, clouds blown away as if by a mournful sigh. All was quiet. They were not dead.

  "We're safe, beloved!" Michael cried, not thinking of what he was saying. He clasped Nikol in his arms.

  She was stiff, rigid in his grasp. Then, suddenly, she threw her arms around him, held him fast. They sank to the floor, before the altar of Paladine. Huddled in each other's grasp, they were grateful for the comfort of being together.

  "'The land will be sundered, seas will rise, and mountains topple. Countless numbers will die. Countless more, who will live in the dark and terrible days to follow, will come to wish they had died.' That's what he said, the black-robed wizard. Why? Why did this happen, Michael?" Nikol cried brokenly. "Certainly, some deserved the gods' wrath — that horrible, fat cleric who came here before Nicholas died — but this terror has surely destroyed the innocent as well as the guilty. How can the gods, if they are good, do this?"

  "I don't know," Michael said helplessly. "I wish I had the answer, but I don't."

  "At least I'm not alone," Nikol continued softly. "You're here. I'm glad you're here, Michael. It's selfish of me, I know, but if you had left with the goddess, I think I would be dead by now."

  He didn't answer. He couldn't. The words wouldn't come past the ache of love and longing.

  "Hold me closer," she said, burrowing into his arms. He did as she commanded, pressed her head against his breast, bent, and kissed the shining hair. To his amazement, Nikol returned his kiss. Her lips met his hungrily.

  "Nikol," he said, when he could breathe, "I'cve no right to ask this. You're the daughter of a knight. Your family is noble. My father was a shopkeeper in Xak Tsaroth, my mother a nomad, who roamed the plains. I have nothing to give…"

  "I will marry you, Michael," she said.

  "Nikol, think about what I said — "

  "Michael," she whispered, laying her hand upon his lips. "You think about it. Does any of that matter now?"

  Perhaps Paladine heard their vows of marriage, spoken silently in their hearts. Perhaps the god turned aside his wrath one moment to bless their union, for the manor walls continued to stand strong and sheltering above them.

  When the morning came, a heavy sadness, mingled with their joy, oppressed them both. Nikol stood before the altar of Paladine, which now had a crack in it, traced the crack with her finger. "We will find out why, won't we, Michael," she said firmly. "We will find out why this happened. We will search until we discover the answer. Then you and I will make it right."

  In a world of the faithless, you are the

  Only one who is faithful. and, because of

  That, you will be reviled, ridiculed,

  Persecuted. But I see one who loves you,

  Who will risk all to defend you.

  The words of the black-robed wizard, Raistlin.

  "Yes," Michael answered, as he would have answered yes to anything she asked of him at that moment. "We will search for the answer."

  Part III

  A cold and bitter winter closed in on them soon after the Cataclysm. Their small supply of food dwindled rapidly. The stream in which Michael fished vanished during the quakes, swallowed by the ground. A killing frost shriveled any plants that had survived the fires.

  Then, one day, a small band of humans, traveling up from the south, had offered to trade game for shelter. The manor, they said, looking at it in awe, was one of the few buildings in these parts still standing. Michael agreed, was forced to eat animal flesh to stay alive. He hoped, all things considered, the goddess would forgive him.

  But, once they were rested and had buried their dead, the refugees left, looking for new hunting grounds. Michael had figured, only this morning, that they had dried meat and berries to last them another few days. South, at least, there apparently was game to be had in the forests, the plains. Besides, Michael had a sudden urgent longing for his home.

  "Xak Tsaroth," said Michael.

  "What about it?" Nikol asked him.

  "The Temple of Mishakal is there. And so are the holy disks. Why didn't I think of those sooner?" He began to pace the room excitedly.

  "What disks? What are you talking about?"

  "The Disks of Mishakal. All the wisdom of the gods are written on these disks. Don't you see, beloved? It's on those disks that we will find the answers 1"

  "If there ARE answers," Nikol said, frowning. "We buried a child yesterday. A little child! What had that babe to do with Kingpriests or clerics? Why should the gods punish the innocent?"

  "If we find the disks, we'll find the answers," he said.

  "In Xak Tsaroth!" Nikol scoffed. "Don't you remember what those refugees told us about Xak Tsaroth?"

  "I remember." Michael turned, started to walk away. Having been born and reared in Xak Tsaroth, he had listened in disbelief to the tales of its destruction, told by the refugees. He had to see for himself.

  Nikol ran after him, laid a remorseful hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, dearest, truly I am. I wasn't thinking. I forgot that was your home once. We'll travel there. We'll leave tomorrow. We have nothing to keep us here. We would have had to leave soon anyway."

  As they were leaving, Nikol pulled shut the castle's heavy oaken door, made to lock it. Then, abruptly, she changed her mind. "No," she said, shoving it wide open. "This home is blessed, as the knight said. Let it shelter those who come. I have the feeling I will never see it again anyway."

  "Don't speak words of ill omen," Michael warned her.

  "It's not an ill omen," Nikol said quietly, looking up at him with a sad smile. "Our path lies far from here, I think."

  She placed her hand upon the cold stone wall in final farewell, then the two gathered their meager belongings and started down the road, heading south.

  If they had known how long the journey would take them, or how hard and dangerous it would be, they would have never left the castle's walls. They had been forewarned of terrible destruction farther south, but they were unprepared for the tremendous changes that had occurred, not the least of which was a sea where no sea had been before.

  Reaching Caergoth, they were amazed to discover that the ground had sunk. Seawater, rushing in from the Simon Sea, now hid the scars of s
undered lands. The two were forced to halt and work to pay their passage on a crude raft, run by a group of villainous-looking Ergothians, who had been separated by the sea from their homeland to the west.

  The Ergothians ambushed them outside of Caergoth, demanded they hand over food and valuables. Nikol, disguised as a knight, refused. A fight ensued that left no one seriously injured, but gained Nikol the men's respect. They eyed Michael's blue robes with sneering suspicion but accepted Nikol's explanation that "her brother" had made a vow to their dying mother to remain faithful to his goddess.

  As it turned out, the Ergothians were basically honest folk, made savage in their ways by the hardships they had been forced to endure. Nikol, maintaining her disguise as a knight, aided them in wiping out a band of goblins that had been raiding their hovels. Michael showed them plants and herbs they could use to supplement what had been a steady diet of fish. In return, the Ergothians ferried them across what they were calling "Newsea" and promised that they would have a return voyage, should they care to come back. Which they soon would, they promised, once they saw what had become of Xak Tsaroth.

  On the opposite shore, Michael and Nikol soon lost their way, wandered in the mountains for weeks. No map was trustworthy. The land had altered and shifted beyond recognition. Roads that once led somewhere now wound up nowhere — or worse. Survival itself was a struggle. Game was scarce. Farmland was either scorched by drought or flooded by newly created rivers. Famine and disease drove people to flee wrecked homes and villages and seek a better life that, rumor had it, was always over the next mountain. Even good men and women became desperate as they listened to their children cry from hunger. Rumor had it that several elven cities in nearby Qualinost had been attacked by humans.

  This must have been true, for when Michael and Nikol accidentally came too near the borders of that land, a flight of elven arrows warned them to turn aside.

  Nikol wore her sword openly; the bleak and chill sun shone on the blade. Her armor and breastplate and her knightly air of confidence daunted many. Most robbers were nothing more than ruffians, who wanted food in their bellies, not a sharp blade. But, on occasion, she and Michael met with those who were well armed and were not afraid of a "beardless knight."