Amber and Blood dd-3

by Margaret Weis

  Amber and Blood

  ( Dragonlance:Dark Disciple - 3 )

  Margaret Weis

  Margaret Weis

  Amber and Blood

  I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.

  I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape ill health.

  I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.

  All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.

  My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.

  - The Five Remembrances of Buddha

  Book I

  The Gifts

  Prologue

  What has happened to me?

  Where am I?

  Who are all these beings, strange and beautiful, awful and majestic, gathered around me? Why do they point at me, and why do they shout with thunderous clamor that makes heaven tremble?

  Why are they so angry?

  Angry at me?

  I have done nothing except give my lover a gift! Chemosh wanted the Tower of High Sorcery that lay beneath the sea and I gave it to him. And now he stares at me with amazement and shock… and loathing.

  They all stare.

  At me.

  I am nobody. I am Mina. Chemosh once loved me. He hates me now, and I do not know why. I did nothing but what he asked of me. I am nothing but what he made me, though these others say I am… something else…

  I hear their voices, yet I can make no sense of their words.

  She is a god who does not know she is a god. She is a god who was tricked into thinking she is human.

  I lie on the cold stone of the castle’s battlements, and I see them staring at me and shouting. The thunder hurts my ears. The light of their holiness is blinding. I turn away from the watching eyes and the clamorous voices, and I look down over the walls into the sea far below.

  The ever-moving, ever-changing, ever-living sea…

  The waves rush in and lap the shore, and they swirl back out and rush in again, over and over, unending. A soothing rhythm, back and forth, back and forth…

  A cradle rocking… rocking me to sleep for an eternity.

  I was never meant to wake.

  I want to go home. I am lost and tired and afraid, and I want to go home.

  These voices… the quarrelsome squawkings of sea birds.

  The sea closes blessedly over me.

  And I am gone.

  1

  A storm raged on the Blood Sea. A strange storm, of heavenly make, it swirled above a castle that stood high atop a cliff. Clouds boiled around the castle walls. Thunder crackled, and the lightning dazzled and blinded the mortal onlookers-a monk, a kender, and a dog-who were struggling to walk among the sand dunes on the shore far below. The three stood braced against the whipping wind that flung sand into their eyes. They were all three soaked from the spray of salt water, flung up by the waves that came crashing headlong onto the shore. Once there, the waves clutched at the sand with grasping fingers, trying to hold on, but were forced to let go as the motion of the world dragged them back.

  Whenever the lightning flared, the monk could see a tower far out to sea. The tower had not been there yesterday. It had appeared in the night, wrenched up out of the depths of the ocean by some catastrophic force, and now it stood with water dripping from its eaves, looking lost, as though wondering, along with men and gods, how it had come to be here.

  The monk, Rhys, was almost bent double, his robes plastered against him, his spare, muscular body fighting for every step against the buffeting wind. He was making headway, but just barely. Nightshade, being a kender and built slighter and smaller than his human friend, was having a more difficult time. He had been bowled over twice and was managing to remain on his feet only by hanging onto Rhys’ arm. Atta, the dog, was lower to the ground and therefore was somewhat sheltered by the dunes, but she was having difficulty as well. When the next gust nearly plucked Nightshade from Rhys’ grasp and threw Atta into a pile of driftwood, Rhys decided they should return to the grotto they’d just left.

  The smallish cave was cheerless and still awash in sea water, but at least they were sheltered from the wind and deadly lightning.

  Nightshade sat down beside his friend on the wet rocks and gave a great whoosh of relief. He wrung water from his topknot, then tried the same with his shirt, which was considerably worn, its color so faded from the rigors of his travels that he could no longer tell what it had been. Atta did not lie down, but paced nervously, her furry black and white body flinching whenever a loud crack of thunder shook the ground.

  “Rhys,” Nightshade said, wiping sea water from his eyes, “was that Chemosh’s castle we could see up there on the top of the cliff?”

  Rhys nodded.

  A lightning bolt sizzled nearby and thunder came rolling down the cliff face. Atta quivered and barked at the rumbling. Nightshade huddled closer to Rhys.

  “I can hear voices in the thunder,” the kender said, “but I can’t understand what the voices are saying or make out who is talking. Can you?”

  Rhys shook his head. He petted Atta, trying to calm the dog.

  “Rhys,” said Nightshade after a moment, “I think those must be gods up there. Chemosh is a god, after all, and maybe he’s throwing a party for his fellow gods. Though I have to say he didn’t strike me as the type to go dancing, what with him being the God of Death and all. Still, maybe he has a fun side.”

  Rhys watched the dazzling light flash outside the grotto and listened to the voices and thought of the old saying, “When the gods rage, man trembles.”

  “So many things are happening-so many strange things,” Nightshade emphasized, “that I’m feeling sort of muddled. I’d like to talk it over, just to make sure that you think happened what /think happened. And, to be honest, talking makes the howling wind and lightning seem not so bad. You don’t mind if I talk, do you?”

  Rhys did not mind.

  “I guess I’ll start with us being chained up in the cave,” said Nightshade. “No, wait. I have to say how we got chained up in the cave, so we should start with the minotaur. Except the minotaur didn’t come along until after you fought with your dead brother the Beloved and the little boy killed him-”

  “Start with the minotaur,” Rhys suggested. “Unless you want to go all the way back to the time I met you in the graveyard.”

  Nightshade thought that over. “No, I don’t think my voice will last long enough for going back that far. I’ll start with the minotaur. We were walking down the street, and you were really, really angry at Majere and said you were going to quit serving him or any god, when suddenly all these minotaurs came out of nowhere and took us prisoner.

  “I cast a spell on one,” Nightshade added proudly. “I made him fall down and flop around on the street like a fish. The minotaur captain said I was a ‘kender with horns’. Do you remember that, Rhys?”

  “I do,” Rhys returned. “The captain was right. You were very brave.”

  “Then the minotaur picked me up and put me in a sack and took us both on board his ship, only it wasn’t an ordinary ship. It was a ship that belonged to the Sea Goddess, and it sailed through the air, not the water, and I told you then that you couldn’t quit a god…”

  “And you were right,” said Rhys.

  Thirty years old, he had been a monk dedicated to Majere for what seemed most of his life. And though not long ago he had lost faith in Majere, the god had refused to lose faith in him. This knowledge humbled Rhys and filled him with thankfulness and joy. He had stumbled and groped through the darkness, taken many wrong turns, e
nded up in a few blind alleys, but he had found his way back to his god, and Majere had welcomed him with loving arms.

  “The minotaur ship brought us here to the other side of the continent where Chemosh built his castle. And the minotaur chained us up in the cave-see, I came to that part.”

  Rhys nodded again, continuing to pet Atta, who seemed calmer, listening to the kender talk.

  “Then we had lots of visitors-a lot more than you’d expect for people chained up in a cave. First Mina came.” Nightshade shivered. “That was truly awful. She walked up to you and asked you to tell her who she was. She claimed that the first time she saw you, you recognized her-”

  Except I didn’t, Rhys thought, troubled. He still did not understand that part of the story.

  “-and when you couldn’t tell her who she was, Mina got angry. She thought you were lying, and she said if you didn’t tell she was going to come back to the cave and kill me and Atta. We would die in torment,” Nightshade finished with relish.

  “After Mina left, Zeboim popped by. You see what I mean, Rhys? We never had so much company when we were staying in Solace as we did chained up in that cave. Zeboim said for you to tell her who Mina was because all the gods were in an uproar over it, and you said you couldn’t, and then she got mad and said she would watch with pleasure while Mina killed me and Atta and we died in torment.” Nightshade paused for breath and to spit out some sea water. “And after that, you sent me and Atta off to seek help from the monks of Majere in Flotsam, except we never got that far. We only managed to reach the road up there, and that proved very difficult, due to the sand dunes, and I had a talk with your god. I was pretty harsh with him, I can tell you. I told Majere you were going to die because you were being faithful to him and why wasn’t he being faithful to you for a change. I asked him to help Atta and me save you. And then two of the Beloved saw us and decided they wanted to kill me.”

  Nightshade sighed. “It was quite a night for people wanting to kill me. Anyway Atta and I ran for it, but we both have short legs, and the Beloved had long legs and even though Atta has two more legs than I do we were falling behind when I bumped into Majere. Blam. Ran right smack into him. He saw that we were in trouble and he sent grasshoppers after the Beloved and drove them off. I reminded him about you sacrificing your life for him, and he said he couldn’t help because there was this strange amber glow in the sky and he had to go do god stuff somewhere else-”

  “I don’t think Majere said that” Rhys was glad the darkness hid his smile.

  “Well, maybe not,” Nightshade conceded. “Only that’s what he meant. Then he gave me his blessing. Me. A kender. Who had spoken quite harshly to him. So Atta and I ran back to the cave where you were still chained up, only to find Chemosh was there. He wanted you to tell him who Mina was, and he said he was going to kill you, and he probably would have, only Atta bit him on the anklebone. And then the world shook and knocked us all down-even the god.”

  Nightshade cocked an eye at Rhys. “Is that right? ’Cause it’s here that things start getting strange. Or rather-stranger. Chemosh was extremely angry. He started yelling at the other gods, wanting to know what was going on. Turns out the shaking was caused by that tower being yanked up out of the Blood Sea which caused huge waves to start rolling onto the shore, and these waves flooded the cave, and you were unconscious and chained to the wall and the water was rising up around you, and it was up to me and Atta to save you.”

  Nightshade paused for breath.

  “Which you did,” said Rhys, and he embraced the kender.

  “I picked the lock on the manacles,” Nightshade said. “The first and only lock I ever picked in my life! My father would have been so proud. Majere helped me pick the lock, you know.”

  A sudden thought struck Nightshade. “Say, do you think Majere would help me again if I wanted to pick another lock? ’Cause there’s a baker in Solace who makes these wonderful meat pies, only he closes up shop right after supper, and sometimes I’m hungry in the night and I wouldn’t want to wake him and-”

  “No,” said Rhys.

  “No what?” asked Nightshade.

  “No, I do not think Majere would help you pick the lock on the baker’s back door.”

  “Not even to keep from waking the baker up in the middle of the night?”

  “No,” Rhys said firmly.

  “Ah, well.” Nightshade sighed again, this time quite deeply. “I suppose you’re right. Though I’ll bet if Majere ever tasted those meat pies he might reconsider. Where was I?”

  “You had just picked the lock on my manacles,” said Rhys.

  “Oh, yes! The water was getting deeper and I was afraid you were going to drown. I tried to drag you out of the cave, but you were too heavy-no offense.”

  “None taken,” Rhys said.

  “And then six monks of Majere came running into the cave and they picked you up and carried you out. And I guess they healed the bump on your head because here you are and here I am and here’s Atta and we’re all fine. So,” Nightshade said in conclusion, “your brother the Beloved is at peace now. The story’s over and we can go home to your monastery, and Atta can guard sheep, and I’ll visit my friends in the graveyard, and we’ll live happily ever after.”

  Rhys realized that this was true. The tale was told, the last chapter written.

  The night was dark and the storm was wild and ferocious and strange things were happening, but the storm and the night would soon come to an end, as nights and storms always do. That was the promise of the gods. When day dawned, Rhys and Nightshade and Atta would start back home, back to his monastery. The journey would be a long one, for the monastery was located north of the city of Staughton, which was on the west coast, and they were on the east coast of the vast continent of Ansalon and would have to travel on foot. He was not concerned at the distance. Every step would be devoted to the god. He thought of the work he would do to earn his bread, of the people he would meet, of the good he would try to do along the way, and the journey did not seem long at all.

  “Did you hear that?” Nightshade asked suddenly. “It sounded like a yell.”

  Rhys hadn’t heard anything except roaring thunder and howling wind and crashing waves. The kender had sharp senses, however, and Rhys had learned not to discount them. He was further convinced by the fact that Atta also heard something. Her head was up, her ears pricked. The dog stared intently out into storm.

  “Wait here,” said Rhys.

  He walked out of the grotto and the wind smote him with such force that even standing upright was difficult.

  The wind blew his long dark hair back from his face, whipped his orange robes around his thin body. The salt spray stung his eyes, the sand tore at his flesh. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he peered about. The lightning flashes were almost constant. He saw the black waves with their white, foaming tops and the seaweed being blow along the empty beach and that was all. He was about to return to the shelter of the grotto when he heard a cry, this time sounding behind him.

  A gust of wind caught hold of Nightshade, sending him staggering backward for a few feet, then knocking him flat.

  Rhys braced himself against the gale and, reaching down his hand, grabbed hold of Nightshade and hoisted the kender to his feet.

  “I told you to wait inside!” Rhys shouted.

  “I thought you were talking to Atta!” Nightshade yelled back. The kender turned around to the dog, whose ears were flat against her head from the force of the wind. He shook his finger at her. “Atta, stay inside!”

  Rhys was hanging on to Nightshade, who was trying to stand against the wind and not having much luck, when he heard the cry.

  “There it is again!” shouted Nightshade.

  “Yes, but where?” Rhys returned.

  He looked at Atta. She was standing at alert, her ears forward, her tail motionless. She was staring out to sea.

  The cry came again, shrill and clear, cutting through the howling wind. Squinting his eyes a
gainst the spray and sand, Rhys again peered into the night.

  “Blessed Majere!” he gasped. “Wait here!” he ordered Nightshade, who didn’t have much choice in the matter, since every time he stood up the wind knocked him down again.

  In the last flash of lightning, Rhys had seen a child, a little girl, to judge by the two long braids whipping out in front of her, floundering waist-deep in the wind-tossed sea. He lost her momentarily in the darkness and prayed for another lightning strike. A sheet of white-purple light flared across the sky and there was the girl, waving her arms and crying out for help. She was desperately trying to make it to shore, fighting the vicious rip current trying to drag her back out to sea.

  Rhys fought against the wind, wiping his eyes free of the spray, keeping his gaze fixed on the child, who continued to struggle toward the shore. She was almost there when a foaming wave crashed over the girl’s head and she vanished. Rhys stared at the boiling froth, praying for the child to emerge, but he saw nothing.

  He tried to increase his speed, but the wind was blowing off the sea, driving him backward a step for every two he took forward. He struggled on, continuing to search for the child as he fought his way toward the water. He saw no one, and he began to fear the sea had claimed its victim, when suddenly he saw the girl’s body, black in the silver moonlight, lying on the shore. The child lay face down in the shallow water, her long braids floating around her.

  The wind ceased to blow so suddenly that Rhys, pushing against it, overbalanced and pitched forward onto the wet sand. He looked about in wonder. The lightning had flickered and gone out. The thunder had fallen silent. The storm clouds had vanished, as though sucked in by a giant breath. The red light of dawn glimmered on the horizon. In the dark sky above him, the two moons, Lunitari and Solinari, still kept watch.

  He didn’t like this sudden calm. It was like being in the eye of the hurricane. Though this storm had abated and blue sky could be seen above, it was as if the gods were waiting for the back end of the storm to slam into him.