Prince of Lies - James Lowder [51]
Her gossamer robes flowing around her like moted sunlight, Mystra began to pace up the hill. The protective globe moved with her, and Adon fell into step at her side. "I need someone to talk to," she began.
"I'll try to help," Adon said softly. "But another god might see-"
"That's the very heart of the problem, Adon. The other gods can't see anything but their own narrow visions of the world."
The Lady of Mysteries gestured idly to the hillside, buried now beneath a mountain of snow. Even as she pointed, the ice and snow melted away, revealing a plain of black rock. The icy skeletons of rabbits and foxes shuddered to life. Howling in agony, they began to battle like crazed knights at tournament.
"I've never told you why the Helmlands are like this, why wild magic acts the way it does, have I?" The goddess continued without awaiting an answer. "In some places, where the avatars did the greatest destruction in the Time of Troubles, the very cloth of reality was worn thin. And here, where Mystra's dying energy blasted the land like a million Shou cannons, that fabric is the thinnest of all."
"What does this have to do with how the other gods see the world?" Adon asked.
"Where the fabric is so thin, the Balance is unstable," Mystra explained. "The land swings back and forth between the powers, letting each have dominance over the area for a brief while. The verdant spring we saw was the work of Lathander. Then Auril took the land back. Now -" she looked out over the battling skeletons on the featureless field of rock "- this could be the work of Cyric. Or Talos." Sighing raggedly, the goddess closed her glowing eyes. "And the gods never know that they're doing harm. They can't see how plunging the world from winter to summer might destroy everything."
"Can't you show them? If you can see the danger-"
"That's just it," Mystra said, anger making her eyes flash. "The gods see the world as if it were merely a field to be won or lost. But each is playing a different game. Talos seeks to destroy everything, while Lathander plots and schemes to bring about rebirth. They only notice the others in the pantheon when they get in the way."
Adon shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lady, but I just don't understand. I mean, they're gods, aren't they?"
"Yes," Mystra said ominously. "They're gods. But that doesn't mean all that you believe, all that the priests propose in their sermons and tracts. I've been inside their minds. I've -" She paused, studying the mad battle taking place on the stone field. "Perhaps there's another way to show you…"
Mystra gestured subtly, and they vanished from the Helmlands. But when the goddess and her patriarch appeared an instant later at their destination, the scene around them was no less chaotic.
"Where's the light, Gareth? Don't leave me in the dark with them. They're crawling over everything… Ai, get them away from my eyes!"
The angels have fangs. The angel have fangs!"
The Serpent took them all! She swallowed all my dreams…"
Adon cupped his hand over his mouth and pinched his nostrils shut. The stench of the place was horrible. He glanced around frantically. Piles of damp, dirty straw lay everywhere. Some of these makeshift beds were occupied by dozing lunatics, others by rats or roaches or worse. In the shadowed corners of the large, dim room, vaguely human figures squatted or brawled or howled. Many inmates had huge cages strapped to their heads or thick wads of cloth wrapped firmly around their hands. The rest were clad in rags, though the place was cold enough for breath to turn to steam.
But what Adon would remember most from that hellish place was the high-pitched, terrified screeching of the madmen.
"The angels have fangs!" A thin half-elf with long brown hair and a pale beard reached out for Adon with trembling hands. "You must warn everyone. The angels have fangs."
Mystra turned the half-elf toward her. "Sleep, King Trebor," the goddess soothed, passing her thumbs lightly across