Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [114]
The gods created a maelstrom over the site of the disaster. The immense, blood-tinged whirlpool was meant to keep away those who might disturb the final resting place of the dead and to serve as a constant reminder to mortals of the power and majesty of the gods. Feared and respected by sailors, the Maelstrom was a horrific, awesome sight, its swirling red waters disappearing into a hell-hole of darkness. Once caught in its coils, there was no escape. Its victims were dragged to their doom beneath the raging seas.
Then Takhisis stole away the world. Without the wrath of the gods to stir it, the Maelstrom spun slower and slower and then it stopped altogether. The waters of the Blood Sea were placid as those of any country mill-pond.
“Now look at what the Blood Sea has become.” Chemosh’s voice was tinged with anger and disgust. “A cesspool.”
Shading her eyes against the morning sun, Mina stared out to where Chemosh pointed, to what had been one of the wonders of Krynn, a sight both terrifying and magnificent.
The Maelstrom had kept the memory and the warning of Istar alive. Now the once-infamous waters of the Blood Sea crept listlessly onto gritty sand beaches littered with filth and refuse. Remnants of broken packing crates and slime-covered planking, rotting nets, fish heads and shattered bottles, crushed shells, and splintered masts floated on top of the oily water, the trash rocking sluggishly back and forth with the slogging of the sea. Only the old-timers remembered the Maelstrom and what lay beneath it—the ruins of a city, a people, a time.
“The Age of Mortals,” Chemosh sneered. He nudged a dead jelly fish with the toe of his boot. “This is their legacy. The awe and fear and respect for the gods is gone, and what is left in its stead? Mortal refuse and litter.”
“One could say that the gods have only themselves to blame,” Mina remarked.
“Perhaps you forget that you are speaking to one of those gods,” Chemosh returned, his dark eyes glittering.
“I am sorry, my lord,” said Mina. “Forgive me, but I sometimes do forget …” She halted, not quite certain where that sentence might lead.
“Forget that I am a god?” he asked angrily.
“My lord, forgive me—”
“Do not apologize, Mina,” said Chemosh. The sea breeze tousled his long, dark hair, blowing it back from his face. He gazed out to sea, seeing what had once been, seeing what now was. He sighed deeply. “The fault is mine. I come to you as a mortal. I love you as a mortal. I want you to think of me as mortal. This aspect of me is only one of many. The others you would not particularly like,” he added dryly.
He reached out his hand to her and she took it. He drew her close, and they stood together upon the shore, the wind mingling their hair, black and red, shadow and flame.
“You spoke the truth,” he said. “We gods are to blame. Although we did not steal away the world, we gave Takhisis the opportunity to do so. Each of us was so absorbed in our little part of creation, we locked ourselves up in our own little shops, sitting on our little stools with our little feet twined around the rungs, peering down at our work like a short-sighted tailor, plying our needles at some small piece of the universe. And when we woke one day to find that our Queen had run away with the world, what did we do? Did we grab up our flaming swords and sweep through the heavens, scattering the stars to search for her? No. We ran out of our little shops all amazed and frightened and wrung our hands and cried, ‘Alack-a-day! The world is gone. Whatever shall we do!’ ”
His voice hardened. “I have often thought that if my own army had been arrayed outside her palace gates, my own forces ready to storm her walls, Queen Takhisis might have thought twice. As it was, I was lazy. I was content to make do with what I had. All that has changed. I will not make the same mistake again.”
“I have made you sorrowful, my lord,” said Mina, hearing the regret and harsh bitterness in his voice. “I am sorry. This was meant to be a joyous day. A day of new