Read Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun Online
Authors: Margaret Weis
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.