Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [89]
Goldmoon looked around the ruins as Zebulah paused to catch his breath between stories.
“Where is the fabled temple of the Kingpriest?” she asked.
A shadow passed over the mage’s face. The look of pleasure he had worn was replaced by an expression of deep sorrow tinged with anger.
“I’m sorry,” Goldmoon said quickly. “I did not mean to cause you pain.…”
“No, it’s all right,” Zebulah said with a brief, sad smile. “In fact, it is good for me to remember the darkness of that dreadful time. I tend to forget—in my daily ramblings here—that this used to be a city of laughing, crying, living, and breathing beings. Children played in these streets—they were playing that terrible evening when the gods cast the fiery mountain down.”
He was silent for a moment then, with a sigh, continued.
“You ask where the temple stands. It stands no longer. In the place where the Kingpriest stood, shouting his arrogant demands to the gods, there is a dark pit. Although it is filled with sea water, nothing lives within it. None know its depth, for the sea elves will not venture near it. I have looked into its dark, still waters as long as I could bear the terror, and I do not believe there is an end to its darkness. It is as deep as the heart of evil itself.”
Zebulah stopped in one of the sea-dark streets and peered at Goldmoon intently. “The guilty were punished. But why the innocent? Why did they have to suffer? You wear the medallion of Mishakal the Healer. Do you understand? Did the goddess explain it to you?”
Goldmoon hesitated, startled by the question, searching within her soul for the answer. Riverwind stood beside her, stern and silent as always, his thoughts hidden.
“Often I myself have questioned,” Goldmoon faltered. Moving nearer Riverwind, she touched his arm with her hand as though to reassure herself he was near. “In a dream, once, I was punished for my questioning, for my lack of faith. Punished by losing the one I love.” Riverwind put his strong arm around her and held her close. “But whenever I feel ashamed of my questioning, I am reminded that it was my questioning that led me to find the ancient gods.”
She was silent a moment. Riverwind stroked her silver-gold hair and she glanced up at him with a smile. “No,” she said softly to Zebulah, “I do not have the answer to this great riddle. I still question. I still burn with anger when I see the innocent suffer and the guilty rewarded. But I know now that my anger can be as a forging fire. In its heat, the raw lump of iron that is my spirit is tempered and shaped to form the shining rod of steel that is my faith. That rod supports my weak flesh.”
Zebulah studied Goldmoon silently as she stood amid the ruins of Istar, her silver-golden hair shining like the sunlight that would never touch the crushed buildings. The classic beauty of her face was marked by the effects of the dark roads she had traveled. Far from marring that beauty, the lines of suffering and despair had refined it. There was wisdom in her eyes, enhanced now by the great joy that came from the knowledge of the new life she carried within her body.
The mage’s gaze went to the man who held the woman so tenderly. His face, too, bore the marks of the long, tortuous path he had walked.
Although stern and stoic that face would always be, his deep love for this woman showed clearly in the man’s dark eyes and the gentleness of his touch.
Perhaps I have made a mistake staying beneath the waters so long, Zebulah thought, suddenly feeling very old and sad. Perhaps I could have helped, if I had stayed above and used my anger as these two used theirs, to help them find answers. Instead, I let my anger gnaw at my soul until it seemed easiest to hide it down here.
“We should delay no longer,” said Riverwind abruptly. “Caramon will soon get it into his head to come looking for us, if he has not already.”
“Yes,” said Zebulah,