Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [83]
“But my friends, Riverwind.” Goldmoon looked back at the well and saw Riverwind stumble on the shaking cobblestones. “They cannot fight this evil. They will die without me. The staff could help! I cannot leave!” She started to turn back as the darkness fell.
“I can’t see them! … Riverwind! … Mother, help me,” she cried in agony.
But there was no answer. This isn’t fair! Goldmoon screamed silently, clenching her fists. We never wanted this! We only wanted to love each other, and now—now we may lose that! We have sacrificed so much and none of it has made any difference. I am thirty years old, mother! Thirty and childless. They have taken my youth, they have taken my people. And I have nothing to show in return. Nothing—except this! She shook the staff. And now I am being asked once again to give still more.
Her anger calmed. Riverwind—had he been angry all those long years he searched for answers? All he had found was this staff, and it brought only more questions. No, he hadn’t been angry, she thought. His faith is strong. I am the weak one. Riverwind was willing to die for his faith. It seems I must be willing to live—even if it means living without him.
Goldmoon leaned her head against the golden doors, their metal surface cool to her skin. Reluctantly, she made her bitter decision. I will go forward, mother—though if Riverwind dies, my heart dies, too. I ask only one thing: If he dies, let him know, somehow, that I will continue his search.
Leaning upon her staff, the Chieftain of the Que-shu pushed open the golden doors and entered the temple. The doors shut behind her at the precise moment the black dragon burst from the well.
Goldmoon stepped inside soft, enfolding darkness. She could see nothing at first, but a memory of being held very close in her mother’s warm embrace played through her mind. A pale light began to shine around her. Goldmoon saw she was under a vast dome that rose high above an intricately inlaid tile floor. Beneath the dome, in the center of the room, stood a marble statue of singular grace and beauty. The light in the room emanated from this statue. Goldmoon, entranced, moved toward it. The statue was of a woman in flowing robes. Her marble face bore an expression of radiant hope, tempered with sadness. A strange amulet hung around her neck.
“This is Mishakal, goddess of healing, whom I serve,” said her mother’s voice. “Listen to her words, my daughter.”
Goldmoon stood directly in front of the statue, marveling at its beauty. But it seemed unfinished, incomplete. Part of the statue was missing, Goldmoon realized. The marble woman’s hands were curved, as if they had been holding a long slender pole, but the hands were empty. Without conscious thought, with only the need to complete such beauty, Goldmoon slid her staff into the marble hands.
It began to gleam with a soft blue light. Goldmoon, startled, backed away. The staff’s light grew into a blinding radiance. Goldmoon shielded her eyes and fell to her knees. A great and loving power filled her heart. She bitterly regretted her anger.
“Do not be ashamed of your questioning, beloved disciple. It was your questioning that led you to us, and it is your anger that will sustain you through the many trials ahead. You come seeking the truth and you shall receive it.
“The gods have not turned away from man—it is man who turned away from the true gods. Krynn is about to face its greatest trial. Men will need the truth more than ever. You, my disciple, must return the truth and power of the true gods to man. It is time to restore the balance of the universe. Evil now has tipped the scales. For as the gods of good have returned to man, so have the gods of evil—constantly striving for men’s souls. The Queen of Darkness has returned, seeking that which will allow her to walk freely in this land once more. Dragons, once