Margaret Weis - Time of the Twins

“Now, look at this,” Tas said. Ignoring Caramon’s alarmed shout, the kender ran straight for the Forest. As he did so, the trees parted! A path opened wide, leading right into the Forest’s dark heart. “Can you beat that?” Tas cried in wonder, coming to a halt right before he set foot upon the path. “And when I back away—”

The kender walked backward, away from the trees, and the trunks slid back together again, closing ranks, presenting a solid barrier.

“You’re right,” Caramon said hoarsely. “It is the Forest of Wayreth. So it appeared, one morning, to us.” He lowered his head. “I didn’t want to go in. I tried to stop Raist. But he wasn’t afraid! The trees parted for him, and he entered. ‘Stay by me, my brother,’ he told me, ‘and I will keep you from harm.’ How often had I said those words to him? He wasn’t afraid! I was!”

Suddenly, Caramon stood up. “Let’s get out of here!” Feverishly grabbing his bedroll with shaking hands, he slopped the contents of the bottle all over the blanket.

“No good,” Tas said laconically. “I tried. Watch.”

Turning his back on the trees, the kender walked north. The trees did not move. But—inexplicably—Tasslehoff was walking toward the Forest once more. Try as he might, turn as he might, he always ended up walking straight into the tree’s fogbound, nightmarish ranks.

Sighing, Tas came over to stand beside Caramon. The kender looked solemnly up into the big man’s tear-stained, red-rimmed eyes and reached out a small hand, resting it on the warrior’s once-strong arm.

“Caramon, you’re the only one who’s been through here! You’re the only one who knows the way. And, there’s something else.” Tas pointed. Caramon turned his head. “You asked about Lady Crysania. There she is. She’s alive, but she’s dead at the same time. Her skin is like ice. Her eyes are fixed in a terrible stare. She’s breathing, her heart’s beating, but it might just as well be pumping through her body that spicy stuff the elves use to preserve their dead!” The kender drew a deep, quivering breath.

“We’ve got to get help for her, Caramon. Maybe in there”—Tas pointed to the Forest—“the mages can help her! I can’t carry her.” He raised his hands helplessly. “I need you, Caramon. She needs you! I guess you could say you owe it to her.”

“Since it’s my fault she’s hurt?” Caramon muttered savagely.

“No, I didn’t mean that,” Tas said, hanging his head and brushing his hand across his eyes. “It’s no one’s fault, I guess.”

“No, it is my fault,” Caramon said. Tas glanced up at him, hearing a note in Caramon’s voice he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. The big man stood, staring at the bottle in his hands. “It’s time I faced up to it. I’ve blamed everyone else—Raistlin, Tika... But all the time I knew—deep inside—it was me. It came to me, in that dream. I was lying at the bottom of a grave, and I realized—this is the bottom! I can’t go any lower. I either stay here and let them throw dirt on top of me—just like I was going to bury Crysania—or I climb out.” Caramon sighed, a long, shuddering sigh. Then, in sudden resolution, he put the cork on the bottle and handed it back to Tas. “Here,” he said softly. “It’s going to be long climb, and I’m going to need help, I expect. But not that kind of help.”

“Oh, Caramon!” Tas threw his arms around the big man’s waist as far as he could reach, hugging him tightly. “I wasn’t afraid of that spooky wood, not really. But I was wondering how I was going to get through by myself. Not to mention Lady Crysania and—Oh, Caramon! I’m so glad you’re back! I—”

“There, there,” Caramon muttered, flushing in embarrassment and shoving Tasslehoff gently away from him. “It’s all right. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be—I was scared to death the first time I went into that place. But, you’re right. Maybe they can help Crysania.” Caramon’s face hardened. “Maybe they can answer a few questions I have about Raist, too. Now, where’s that gully dwarf gotten to? And”—he glanced down at his belt—“where’s my dagger?”

“What dagger?” Tas asked, skipping around, his gaze on the Forest.

Reaching out, his face grim, Caramon caught hold of the kender. His gaze went to Tas’s belt. Tas’s followed. His eyes opened wide in astonishment.

“You mean that dagger? My goodness, I wonder how it got there?You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ll bet you dropped it, during the fight.”

“Yeah,” Caramon muttered. Growling, he retrieved his dagger and was just putting it back into its sheath when he heard a noise behind him. Whirling around in alarm, he got a bucketful of icy water, right in the face.

“Him awake now,” Bupu announced complacently, dropping the bucket.

While drying his clothes, Caramon sat and studied the trees, his face drawn with the pain of his memories. Finally, heaving a sigh, he dressed, checked his weapons, then stood up. Instantly, Tasslehoff was right next to him.

“Let’s go!” he said eagerly.

Caramon stopped. “Into the Forest? he asked in a hopeless voice.

“Well, of course!” Tas said, startled. “Where else?

Caramon scowled, then sighed, then shook his head. “No, Tas,” he said gruffly. “You stay here with Lady Crysania. Now, look,” he said in answer to the kender’s indignant squawk of protest, “I’m just going into the Forest for a little ways—to, er, check it out.”

“You think there’s something in there, don’t you?” Tas accused the big man. “That’s why you’re making me stay out! You’ll go in there and there’ll be a big fight. You’ll probably kill it, and I’ll miss the whole thing!”

“I doubt that,” Caramon muttered. Glancing into the fog-ridden Forest apprehensively, he tightened his sword belt.

“At least you might tell me what you think it is,” Tas said. “And, say, Caramon, what am I supposed to do if it kills you? Can I go in then?How long should I wait? Could it kill you in—say—five minutes? Ten? Not that I think it will,” he added hastily, seeing Caramon’s eyes widen. “But I really should know, I mean, since you’re leaving me in charge.”

Bupu studied the slovenly warrior speculatively. “Me say—two minutes. It kill him in two minutes. You make bet’?” She looked at Tas.

Caramon glared grimly at both of them, then heaved another sigh. Tas was only being logical, after all.

“I’m not sure what to expect,” Caramon muttered. “I—I remember last time, we... we met this thing... a wraith. It—Raist...” Caramon fell silent. “I don’t know what you should do,” he said after a moment. Shoulders slumping, he turned away and began to walk slowly toward the Forest. “The best you can, I guess.”

“I got nice snake here, me say he last two minutes,” Bupu said to Tas, rummaging around in her bag. “What stakes you put Up?

“Shhhh,” Tas said softly, watching Caramon walk away. Then, shaking his head, he scooted over to sit beside Crysania, who lay on the ground, her sightless eyes staring up at the sky. Gently, Tas drew the cleric’s white hood over her head, shading her from the sun’s rays. He had tried unsuccessfully to shut those staring eyes, but it was as if her flesh had turned to marble.

Raistlin seemed to walk beside Caramon every step of the way into the Forest. The warrior could almost hear the soft whisper of his brother’s red robes—they had been red then! He could hear his brother’s voice—always gentle, always soft, but with that faint hiss of sarcasm that grated so on their friends. But it had never bothered Caramon. He had understood—or anyway thought he had.

The trees in the Forest suddenly shifted at Caramon’s approach, just as they had shifted at the kender’s approach.