Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [8]
“I know you keep your vow to protect one who is now gone,” said Mishakal. “You have my permission to speak.”
“I knew it!” Sargonnas snarled. The God of Vengeance and Leader of the Darkness strode forward. His aspect had the head of a bull and the body of a man after the minotaur, his chosen race. “This is a conspiracy among the Do-Gooders! We will have the truth and have it now!”
“Sargonnas is right. The time for silence is ended,” said Gilean.
“I will speak,” said Majere, “since Mishakal has given me leave.”
Yet he did not say anything, not immediately. He stood gazing down at the water that had closed over Mina’s head. Sargonnas growled impatiently, but Gilean silenced him.
“You said: ‘She is a god who does not know she is a god. She is a god who was tricked into thinking she is human.’ ”
“That is true,” Majere answered.
“And you said also, ‘She is a god of Light, tricked by Takhisis into serving Darkness.’ ”
“And that is also true.” Majere looked at Mishakal, and he smiled a rare smile.
“Mina’s story begins in the Age of Starbirth with the creation of the world. At that time—the first and last and only time in the history of the world—all of us came together to use our power to create a wonder and a marvel—this world.”
The other gods were silent, remembering.
“In that one single moment of creation, we watched Reorx take hold of Chaos and forge out of it a great globe, separating the light from the darkness, the land from the sea, the heavens from the earth and in that moment we were one. We all of us knew joy. That moment of creation gave birth to a being—a child of light.”
“We knew nothing of this!” Sargonnas growled, astonished and angered.
“Only three of us knew,” said Majere. “Paladine, his consort, Mishakal, and myself. The girl appeared in our midst, a radiant being, more beautiful than the stars.”
“You should have informed me at least,” Gilean said, frowning at Mishakal.
She smiled sadly. “There was no need to tell anyone. We knew what we had to do. The Gods of Darkness would have never permitted this new, young god of light to exist, for she would have upset the balance. Just the knowledge that she had been born would have caused an uproar, threatened to destroy what we had so lovingly created.”
“True,” said Zeboim coldly. “Very true. I would have strangled the whelp.”
“Paladine and Mishakal gave the child-god into my hands,” Majere continued. “They bid me cast her into a deep sleep and then hide her away, so that she might never be found.”
“How could you bear to lose her?” asked gentle Chislev, Goddess of Nature, shuddering. Her aspect was that of a young woman, lovely and delicate, with the soft eyes of the fawn and the sharp claws of the tiger.
“Our sorrow was deep as the vastness of time,” Mishakal admitted, “but we had no choice.”
“I took the child,” Majere resumed his tale, “and I carried her into the sea. I carried her to the depths of the ocean, to those parts that have never known the sunlight, and there I kissed her and rocked her gently to sleep. And there I left her, sweetly slumbering, with never a dream to disturb her rest. And there she would have remained at peace until time’s end, but Takhisis, Queen of All Colors and of None, stole away the world and with it—the child.”
“And Takhisis found her,” said Reorx. “But how, if she was hidden as you claim, Majere?”
“When Takhisis stole the world, she thought smugly that she was the only god-force in this part of the universe. I do not know for certain how she came to learn of the child’s existence, but I think I can hazard a guess based on my knowledge of the Dark Queen. When she first stole the world, she was left dangerously weak. She hid herself away, biding her time, restoring her strength, making her plans. And when she was well-rested and strong again, she left her hiding place. She came out warily, cautiously, probing and feeling about her to make certain she was alone in this part of the universe.”
“And she found out