Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [7]
“Why keep this secret?” Gilean asked.
“It was not mine to reveal,” Majere replied. “I gave my solemn oath.”
“To whom?”
“To one who is no longer among us.”
The gods were silent.
“I assume you mean Paladine,” Gilean stated. “But there is another god who is no longer with us. Does this have something to do with her?”
“Takhisis?” Majere spoke sharply. His voice hardened. “Yes, she was responsible for this.”
Chemosh spoke. “Takhisis’s last words, before the High God came to take her, were these: ‘You are making a mistake! What I have done cannot be undone. The curse is among you. Destroy me and you destroy yourselves.’ ”
“Why didn’t you tell us this?” Gilean asked, glowering at the Lord of Bones.
Chemosh was a vain and handsome god, with long flowing black hair and dark eyes, empty and cold as the graves of the accursed dead over which he presided.
“The Dark Queen was always making threats.” Chemosh shrugged. “Why was this one any different?”
Gilean had no answer. He fell silent and the other gods were also silent, waiting.
“The fault is mine,” Majere said at last. “I acted for the best. Or so I believed.”
Mina lay so cold and still on the battlements. Chemosh wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but he dared not. Not with all of them watching him. He said to Majere, “Is she dead?”
“She is not dead, because she cannot die.” Majere looked at each of them, each and every one. “We have been blind. But now you see the truth.”
“We see, but we do not understand.”
“You do,” said Majere. He folded his hands and gazed out into the firmament. “You don’t want to.”
He did not see the stars. He saw the stars’ first light.
“It began at the beginning of time,” he said. “And it began in joy.” He sighed deeply. “And now, because I did not speak, it could end in bitter sorrow.”
“Explain yourself, Majere!” growled Reorx, smoothing his long beard. The God of the Forge, whose aspect was that of a dwarf, in honor of his favorite race, was not known for his patience. “We have no time for your blathering!”
Majere shifted his gaze from the time’s beginning to the present. He looked down at Mina.
“She is a god who does not know she is a god. She is a god who was duped into thinking she is human.”
Majere paused, as if to gain control of himself. When he spoke, his voice soft with anger, “She is a god of Light, tricked by Takhisis into serving Darkness.”
Majere fell silent. The other gods shouted questions, demanded answers. All the while, Mina lay unconscious on the battlements of Chemosh’s castle as the storm of anger and bafflement, accusations and recriminations raged around her. Such was the turmoil that when Mina woke, no one noticed. She stared at the beautiful, radiant, dark and awful beings stalking the heavens, flinging bolts of lightning and shaking the ground with their fury. She heard them shouting her name, but all she understood was that this was her fault.
A memory, a dim memory, from a time long, long passed, stirred in Mina and brought one terrible understanding.
I was never meant to wake.
Mina leapt to her feet and before any one could stop her, she jumped from the battlement and plunged silently, without a cry, into the crashing sea.
Zeboim screamed and ran to the edge of the wall to look into the waves. Storm winds tore at the sea-foam hair of the sea goddess and swirled her green gown about her. She watched the foaming water, but saw no sign of Mina. Turning, she cast a scathing glance and pointed an accusing finger at Chemosh.
“She’s dead and it is your fault!” She gestured into the storm-lashed water. “You rejected her love. Men are such beasts!”
“Spare us the drama, Sea Witch,” Chemosh muttered. “Mina’s not dead. She can’t die. She’s a god.”
“She may not be able to die. But she can still be wounded,” said Mishakal softly.
The storm winds ceased. The lightning bolts sizzled and went out. The thunder rolled over the waves and was silenced.
Mishakal, Goddess of Healing, the White Lady, as she was now known on Krynn, for her pure white gown and long white hair, walked over to