Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [38]
“I think we should leave this place,” said Nightshade in a tight, small voice.
“I will take this,” said Mina, making up her mind at last.
“Don’t touch anything!” Nightshade warned, but Mina paid no attention to him.
She picked up a small crystal carved in the shape of a pyramid from the altar of Paladine and stood admiring it. Nothing happened.
Holding the small crystal, Mina went to the altar of Takhisis and, after a moment’s indecision, chose a nondescript-looking necklace made of shiny beads.
“I think Mother will like these,” she announced.
“What are they?” Nightshade asked. “What do they do? Do you even know?”
“Of course I know!” Mina said, offended. “I’m not a dummy. I know everything about everything.”
Nightshade forgot for a moment that she was a god and she probably did know everything about everything. He made a rude noise, expressive of disbelief, and challenged, “What is that necklace then?”
“It is called ‘Sedition,’ ” said Mina, smug in her knowledge. “Takhisis made it. The person who wears it has the power to turn good people evil.”
Nightshade almost said, “You mean like you?” but he thought better of it. Even though Mina had nearly drowned him, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“What about the little pyramid?” he asked.
“This was sacred to Paladine.” Mina held it up to see the crystal sparkle in the blue light from the altar of Mishakal. “The jewel shines the light of truth on people. That’s why the Kingpriest had to hide it away. He was afraid people would see him for what he really was.”
Nightshade had a an idea. “Pooh, I don’t believe you. You’re making that up.”
“It’s the truth!” Mina retorted angrily.
“Then show me,” said Nightshade. He held out his hand for the crystal.
Mina hesitated. “You promise you’ll give it back?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die if I don’t,” Nightshade vowed.
Since he’d sworn this terrible oath, sacred to childhood the world over, Mina agreed. She placed the pyramid-shaped crystal into the kender’s hand.
“What do I do?” he asked, regarding it curiously and now a bit warily. He was wondering, suddenly, if the artifact might take offense at being used by a mystic.
“Hold it to your eye and look at something through it,” said Mina.
“What will I see?”
“How should I know?” she demanded. “It depends on what you’re looking at it, ninny.”
Nightshade held up the crystal and looked at the dwarf wizard lying on the floor. He saw a dwarf wizard lying on the floor. He looked at Caele and saw Caele. He looked at Rhys and saw Rhys. He looked at Atta and saw a dog. Thinking that this was a pretty sorry excuse for an artifact, Nightshade turned the crystal on Mina.
A white light shone down upon her, shone round about her, illuminating her from within and without. Nightshade blinked his eyes, for he was half-blinded. He tried to brave the light, to stare into it, to see more clearly, but the light grew ever more brilliant, ever more radiant. Bright and blinding, the light intensified, forcing the kender to close his eyes to try to block it out. The light expanded and grew; the light of a myriad suns, the first light, the light of creation. Nightshade cried out in pain and dropped the crystal and stood rubbing his burning eyes.
Once, when he was a little kender, he’d stared straight at the sun because his mother had told him not to. For long minutes after, all he’d been able to see were dark splotches like small black suns, and that was all he could see now. He wondered for a brief and terrifying moment if that was all he was ever going to be all to see. And after what he had seen, he wondered if maybe that was all he was going to want to see.
Mina snatched up the fallen crystal.
“Well,” she said. “What did you see?”
“Spots,” Nightshade said, rubbing his eyes.
Mina was disappointed. “Spots? You must have seen something else.”
“I didn’t!” Nightshade returned irritably. “Maybe it’s not working.”
“Maybe you just didn’t know what you were looking at!” Mina chided.
“Oh, I knew,” said Nightshade. Thankfully the spots were starting to fade. He wiped the sweat