Jean Rabe - The Eve of the Maelstrom

“Palin will succeed, and he will return.” Usha continued to stare straight ahead. “He is who he claims to be, as I am who I claim to be. Palin Majere will find the scepter.”

“The Fist of E’li,” the elf answered. “If he is not Palin Majere, and if he does manage to succeed, we will take the Fist from him.”

So that’s why you let him go, Usha thought to herself, so he could get the Fist for you. “He is Palin,” she repeated aloud. “And he will succeed.”

There, straight ahead near a tall, broad-leafed fern, Usha picked out part of a face, a gently curving pointed ear. The elves weren’t so invisible after all, she thought smugly. Then she pursed her lips. The elf archer had met her gaze. Perhaps he’d wanted to be seen, serving as an implied threat.

“He will succeed?” The female elf parroted. “Hardly.” The elf took several steps beyond Usha, pivoted to face her, green eyes boring into Usha’s golden ones. “Dozens of my men have learned the folly of approaching the old tower where the scepter rests. How will three—a dwarf, a Kagonesti and a human—win where dozens of others have failed?”

“Palin is—”

“What? Different? Powerful? If he is truly Palin, he’s the most powerful sorcerer on Krynn, they say. But Palin Majere would have more than a ragtag handful with him, I think, and he would not be exploring these woods. So who is he really? And who are you?” The elf’s eyes remained unblinking, mesmerizing, taunting. Usha could not look away “He is Palin! He is the most powerful sorcerer on Krynn, just as the tales say.”

“So your Palin is magical? This entire forest is magical. And I’m not without my own magic, Usha Majere. Indeed, you will discover that. My magic will tell me who you really are and what your friends really want in this forest. Your mind will reveal the truth.”

Usha felt a sensation, a persistent pulling that registered on her mind. She shook her head, trying to throw off the feeling. Instead, the tugging grew stronger and her limbs began to tingle, her head to throb. Still, her eyes remained open and fixed on the elf’s, as if a thread of energy ran between them.

The elf chuckled softly. “Tell me, Usha Majere. If you are who you claim, tell me about the Abyss where Palin battled Chaos. You would know the true story. The real Usha was there.”

Usha tilted her head, felt the tugging grow even stronger. “We were in the Abyss, Palin and I. There were dragons there. Chaos.” The tingling in her limbs became an uncomfortable soreness and she saw in a vision the cavern in the Abyss, relived the heat, and smelled the death. “The war...”

“Only a part of the war, human. The Abyss was only a part of it. Across Ansalon elves fought and died in the war. So did kender, dwarves, and more. Dragons died, evil dragons to be certain, but the good ones, too. More of the good ones, they say. More good than evil had joined the battle. But none of the dragons or knights who fought in the Abyss survived.” The elf paused. “Even Raistlin Majere has not been seen since the Abyss,” she finally said. “None survived the battle in the Abyss, they say, save Usha and Palin Majere.”

“There was so much death in the Abyss because of Chaos. He was huge, a giant who batted away dragons and trampled armies.”

“The so-called Father of All and of Nothing?” The elf’s voice was softer, now with a trace of compassion. “But why didn’t you perish in the Abyss, Usha?”

“I don’t know why we were spared, why I lived. I had expected to die. I don’t know how we escaped. All the death. The dragons. I don’t know...”

“The Chaos War upset the balance of power throughout Ansalon. The dragon overlords who control our world now would not have become so powerful, I think, if the good dragons who fought in the Abyss had lived—at least some of them had lived—to challenge them. The Dragon Purge might not have happened. The Green Peril would not be so all-encompassing. There were bronzes in this forest, brass dragons, too. They fought in the war, and died. And without them protecting the forest, there was nothing to stop Beryl.”

The elf’s voice was louder now. It rang in the clearing, harsh and bitter. “I am uncertain why the Green Peril settled in this land, changed the forest, enslaved my people, butchered us as though we were cattle. Men slaughtered in front of their families, children kidnapped and disposed of. I don’t know why Beryl started massacring elves, using what little magic flowed in my people’s veins to create enchanted items. And I don’t care why—not anymore. But I do care that she is still here and that each day my people and I have to wonder if we’ll live to see another sunrise.”

“Palin has helped your people,” Usha countered. “He helped save all of the Qualinesti. If it hadn’t been for him, many, many more elves would have been sacrificed to Beryl. He risked his life in the Abyss, risked it for all of Krynn. He is risking it now. Surely you must have some faith. Surely you’ve learned enough from my memories to realize...”

The elf moved so close that Usha could smell the sweetness of her breath, like fresh rain clinging to spring leaves. “I do believe he is Palin, as I now believe you are his wife, Usha. Tales reveal much about your husband. But I know little of you. You are an unknown. Who are you? How did you come to be with Palin Majere? And why did you survive the Abyss?” The elf’s eyes seemed to grow larger, coaxing, imploring, extracting more of Usha’s memories.

With a bat of the elf’s eyes, Usha’s past came alive. The vision of the Abyss faded, the Qualinesti forest melted away, and different trees sprang up—pines and great, spindly willow-birches, pin oaks and summerwoods. Sand spread out below Usha’s and the elf’s feet, and ice-blue water ebbed away from them.

“Home,” Usha whispered. In the distance, through the rows of willow-birches, she spotted the simple dwellings of the Irda. “No!” She fought to push the image aside. The Irda of the island, though now extinct, had long worked to cloak their presence from the rest of Krynn. “This is a secret place,” she spat at the elf. “You’ve no right to intrude.”

“This is our forest you’ve intruded upon, and that gives me the right to probe you,” came the reply. “Concentrate, Usha. Show me more.”

As if she were a detached observer, Usha helplessly watched her memories unfold. The Irda, in their unmasked, perfect, beautiful forms moved about their homes, performing the simple daily chores.

“So you are a child of the Irda,” the elf observed as Usha’s gaze drifted toward one Irda in particular, the tall man who had raised her, the Protector. “Quite beautiful by human terms, plain by theirs. An unfortunate, modest child.”

“No,” Usha said, a hint of sadness to her voice. “I am no child of the Irda.”

“Then how did you come to live among them?”

Usha sadly shook her head. “I don’t know, not really. Raistlin...”

The elf’s eyebrows rose. “Go on.”

“Raistlin told me I was born there. My parents certainly died there. He didn’t say how they happened to find themselves on the isle, if they came from a ship, or... It doesn’t matter. Raistlin said the Irda took me in.”

“Where were your parents from?”

Usha drew her lips into a thin line. “The Irda told me nothing. But they did take good care of me.”

“Quite so,” the elf observed. “There is something of them about you. Perhaps living with them, on their secret island, for so many years—”

“There is nothing special about me.”

“Not that you realize, perhaps. Nothing that the Irda or Raistlin told you. But I sense otherwise, Usha Majere. Your eyes, your hair, your seeming youth. There is something unique about you indeed. But... continue.”