Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

“Evil cannot create,” Astinus remarked, “it can only destroy. It turns in upon itself, gnawing itself. Already, you feel it eating away at you. Already, you can feel your soul shrivel. Look into Paladine’s face, Raistlin. Look into it as you looked into it once, back on the Plains of Dergoth, when you lay dying of the dwarf’s sword wound and Lady Crysania laid healing hands upon you. You saw the grief and sorrow of the god then as you see it now, Raistlin. And you knew then, as you know now but refuse to admit, that Paladine grieves, not for himself, but for you.

“Easy will it be for us to slip back into our dreamless sleep. For you, Raistlin, there will be no sleep. Only an endless waking, endless listening for sounds that will never come, endless staring into a void that holds neither light nor darkness, endless shrieking words that no one will hear, no one will answer, endless plotting and scheming that will bear no fruit as you turn round and round upon yourself. Finally, in your madness and desperation, you will grab the tail of your existence and, like a starving snake, devour yourself whole in an effort to find food for your soul.

“But you will find nothing but emptiness. And you will continue to exist forever within this emptiness—a tiny spot of nothing, sucking in everything around itself to feed your endless hunger...

The Portal shimmered. Astinus quickly looked up from his writing, feeling the will behind those golden eyes waver. Staring past the mirrorlike surface, looking deep into their depths, he saw—for the space of a heartbeat—the very torment and torture he had described. He saw a soul, frightened, alone, caught in its own trap, seeking escape. For the first time in his existence, compassion touched Astinus. His hand marking his place in his book, he half-rose from his seat, his other hand reaching into the Portal...

Then, laughter... eerie, mocking, bitter laughter—laughter not at him, but at the one who laughed. The black-robed figure within the Portal was gone.

With a sigh, Astinus resumed his seat and, almost at the same instant, magical lightning flickered inside the Portal. It was answered by flaring, white light—the final meeting of Paladine and the young man who had defeated the Queen of Darkness and taken her place.

Lighting flickered outside, too, stabbing the eyes of the two men watching with blinding brilliance. Thunder crashed, the stones of the Tower trembled, the foundations of the Tower shook. Wind howled, its wail drowning out Par-Salian’s moaning.

Lifting a drawn, haggard face, the ancient wizard twisted his head to stare out the windows with an expression of horror. “This is the end,” he murmured, his gnarled, wasted hands plucking feebly at the air. “The end of all things.”

“Yes,” said Astinus, frowning in annoyance as a sudden lurching of the Tower caused him to make an error. He gripped his book more firmly, his eyes on the Portal, writing, recording the last battle as it occurred.

Within a matter of moments, all was over. The white light flickered briefly, beautifully, for one instant. Then it died.

Within the Portal, all was darkness.

Par-Salian wept. His tears fell down upon the stone floor and, at their touch, the Tower shook like a living thing, as if it, too, foresaw its doom and was quaking in horror.

Ignoring the falling stones and the heaving of the rocks, Astinus coolly penned the final words. As of Fourthday, Fifthmonth, Year 358, the world ends.

Then, with a sigh, Astinus started to close the book.

A hand slammed down across the pages.

“No,” said a firm voice, “it will not end here.”

Astinus’s hands trembled, his pen dropped a blot of ink upon the paper, obliterating the last words.

“Caramon... Caramon Majere!” Par-Salian cried, pitifully reaching out to the man with feeble hands. “It was you I heard in the Forest!”

“Did you doubt me?” Caramon growled. Though shocked and horrified by the sight of the wretched wizard and his torment, Caramon found it difficult to feel any compassion for the archmage. Looking at Par-Salian, seeing his lower half turned to marble, Caramon recalled all too clearly his twin’s torment in the Tower, his own torment upon being sent back to Istar with Crysania.

“No, not doubted you!” Par-Salian wrung his hands. “I doubted my own sanity! Cant you understand? How can you be here? How could you have survived the magical battles that destroyed the world?”

“He didn’t,” Astinus said sternly. Having regained his composure, he placed the open book down on the floor at his feet and stood up. Glowering at Caramon, he pointed an accusing finger. “What trick is this? You died! What is the meaning...

Without speaking a word, Caramon dragged Tasslehoff out from behind him. Deeply impressed by the solemnity and seriousness of the occasion, Tas huddled next to Caramon, his wide eyes fixed upon Par-Salian with a pleading gaze.

“Do—do you want me to explain, Caramon?” Tas asked in a small, polite voice, barely audible over the thunder. “I—I really feel like I should tell why I disrupted the time-travel spell, and then there’s how Raistlin gave me the wrong instructions and made me break the magical device, even though part of that was my fault, I suppose, and how I ended up in the Abyss where I met poor Gnimsh.” Tas’s eyes filled with tears. “And how Raistlin killed him—”

“All this is known to me,” Astinus interrupted. “So you were able to come here because of the kender. Our time is short. What is it you intend, Caramon Majere?”

The big man turned his gaze to Par-Salian. “I bear you no love, wizard. In that, I am at one with my twin. Perhaps you had your reasons for what you did to me and to Lady Crysania back there in Istar. If so”—Caramon raised a hand to stop Par-Salian who, it seems, would have spoken—“if so, then you are the one who lives with them, not me. For now, know that I have it in my power to alter time. As Raistlin himself told me, because of the kender, we can change what has happened.

“I have the magical device. I can travel back to any point in time. Tell me when, tell me what happened that led to this destruction, and I will undertake to prevent it, if I can.”

Caramon’s gaze went from Par-Salian to Astinus. The historian shook his head. “Do not look to me, Caramon Majere. I am neutral in this as in all things. I can give you no help. I can only give you this warning: You may go back, but you may find you change nothing. A pebble in a swiftly flowing river, that is all you may be.”

Caramon nodded. “If that is all, then at least I will die knowing that I tried to make up for my failure.”

Astinus regarded Caramon with a keen, penetrating glance. “What failure is that you speak of, Warrior? You risked your life going back after your brother. You did your best, you endeavored to convince him that this path of darkness he walked would lead only to his own doom.” Astinus gestured toward the Portal. “You heard me speak to him? You know what he faces?”

Wordlessly, Caramon nodded again, his face pale and anguished.

“Then tell me,” Astinus said coolly.

The Tower shuddered. Wind battered the walls, lightning turned the waning night of the world into a garish, blinding day. The small, bare tower room in which they stood shook and trembled. Though they were alone within it, Caramon thought he could hear sounds of weeping, and he slowly came to realize it was the stones of the Tower itself. He glanced about uneasily.

“You have time,” Astinus said. Sitting back down on his stool, he picked up the book. But he did not close it. “Not long, perhaps, but time, still. Wherein did you fail?”

Caramon drew a shaking breath. Then his brows came together. Scowling in anger, his gaze went to Par-Salian. “A trick, wasn’t it, wizard? A trick to get me to do what you mages could not—stop Raistlin in his dreadful ambition. But you failed. You sent Crysania back to die because you feared her. But her will, her love was stronger than you supposed. She lived and, blinded by her love and her own ambition, she followed Raistlin into the Abyss.” Caramon glowered. “I don’t understand Paladine’s purpose in granting her prayers, in giving her the power to go there—”