Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

“So you pity me, Caramon,” he hissed. “You bumbling harebrained slob. You who are incapable of comprehending the power that I have achieved, the pain I have overcome, the victories that have been mine. You dare to pity me? Before I kill you—and I will kill you, my brother—I want you to die with the knowledge in your heart that I am going forth into the world to become a god!”

“I know, Raistlin,” Caramon answered steadily. The pity did not fade from his eyes, it only deepened. “And that is why I pity you. For I have seen the future. I know the outcome.”

Raistlin stared at his brother, suspecting some trick. Above him, the red-tinged sky grew darker still, but the hand that was outstretched had paused. He could feel the Queen hesitating. She had discovered Caramon’s presence. Raistlin sensed her confusion, her fear. The lingering doubt that Caramon might be some apparition conjured up to stop him vanished. Raistlin drew a step nearer his brother.

“You have seen the future? How?”

“When you went through the Portal, the magical field affected the device, throwing Tas and me into the future.”

Raistlin devoured his brother eagerly with his eyes. “And? What will happen?”

“You will win,” Caramon said simply. “You will be victorious, not only over the Queen of Darkness, but over all the gods. Your constellation alone will shine in the skies... for a time—”

“For a time?” Raistlin’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me! What happens? Who threatens? Who deposes me?”

“You do,” Caramon replied, his voice filled with sadness. “You rule over a dead world, Raistlin—a world of gray ash and smoldering ruin and bloated corpses. You are alone in those heavens, Raistlin. You try to create, but there is nothing left within you to draw upon, and so you suck life from the stars themselves until they finally burst and die. And then there is nothing around you, nothing inside you...

“No!” Raistlin snarled. “You lie! Damn you! You lie!” Hurling the Staff of Magius from him, Raistlin lurched forward, his clawing hands catching hold of his brother. Startled, Caramon raised his sword, but it fell to the shifting ground at a word from Raistlin. The big man’s grip tightened on his twin’s arms convulsively. He could break me in two, Raistlin thought, sneering. But he won’t. He is weak. He hesitates. He is lost. And I will know the truth!

Reaching up, Raistlin pressed his burning blood-stained hand upon his brother’s forehead, dragging Caramon’s visions from his mind into his own.

And Raistlin saw.

He saw the bones of the world, the stumps of trees, the gray mud and ash, the blasted rock, the rising smoke, the rotting bodies of the dead...

He saw himself, suspended in the cold void, emptiness around him, emptiness within. It pressed down upon him, squeezed him. It gnawed at him, ate at him. He twisted in upon himself, desperately seeking nourishment—a drop of blood, a scrap of pain. But there was nothing there. There would never be anything there. And he would continue to twist, snaking inward, to find nothing... nothing... nothing.

Raistlin’s head slumped, his hand slipped from his brother’s forehead, clenching in pain. He knew this would come to pass, knew it with every fiber of his shattered body. He knew it because the emptiness was already there. It had been there, within him, for so long, so long now. Oh, it had not consumed him utterly—not yet. But he could almost see his soul, frightened, lonely, crouched in a dark and empty corner.

With a bitter cry, Raistlin shoved his brother away from him. He looked around. The shadows deepened. His Queen hesitated no longer. She was gathering her strength.

Raistlin lowered his gaze, trying to think, trying to find the anger inside him, trying to kindle the burning flame of his magic—But even that was dying. Gripped by fear, he tried to run, but he was too feeble. Taking a step, he stumbled and fell on his hands and knees. Fear shook him. He sought for help, stretching out his hand...

He heard a sound, a moan, a cry. His hand closed over white cloth, he felt warm flesh!

“Bupu,” Raistlin whispered. With a choked sob, he crawled forward.

The body of the gully dwarf lay before him, her face pinched and starved, her eyes wide with terror. Wretched, terrified, she shrank away from him.

“Bupu!” Raistlin cried, grasping hold of her in desperation, “Bupu, don’t you remember me? You gave me a book, once. A book and an emerald.” Fishing around in one of his pouches, he pulled out the shimmering, shining green stone. “Here, Bupu. Look, ‘the pretty rock.’ Take it, keep it! It will protect you!”

She reached for it, but as she did, her fingers stiffened in death.

“No!” Raistlin cried, and felt Caramon’s hand upon his arm.

“Leave her alone!” Caramon cried harshly, catching hold of his twin and hurling him backward.

“Haven’t you done enough to her already?”

Caramon held his sword in his hand once more. Its bright light hurt Raistlin’s eyes. By its light, Raistlin saw—not Bupu—but Crysania, her skin blackened and blistered, her eyes staring at him without seeing him.

Empty... empty. Nothing within him? Yes... Something there. Something, not much, but something. His soul stretched forth its hand. His own hand reached out, touched Crysania’s blistered skin. “She is not dead, not yet,” he said.

“No, not yet,” Caramon replied, raising his sword. “Leave her alone! Let her at least die in peace!”

“She will live, if you take her through the Portal.”

“Yes, she will live,” Caramon said bitterly, “and so will you, won’t you, Raistlin? I take her through the Portal and you come right after us—”

“Take her.”

“No!” Caramon shook his head. Though tears glimmered in his eyes, and his face was pale with grief and anguish, he stepped toward his brother, his sword ready.

Raistlin raised his hand. Caramon couldn’t move, his sword hung suspended in the hot, shifting air.

“Take her, and take this as well.”

Reaching out, Raistlin’s frail hand closed around the Staff of Magius that lay at his side. The light from its crystal glowed clear and strong in the deepening darkness, shedding its magical glow over the three of them. Lifting the staff, Raistlin held it out to his twin.

Caramon hesitated, his brow furrowing.

“Take it!” Raistlin snapped, feeling his strength dwindling. He coughed. “Take it!” he whispered, gasping for breath. “Take it and her and yourself back through the Portal. Use the staff to close it behind you.”

Caramon stared at him, uncomprehending, then his eyes narrowed.

“No, I’m not lying,” Raistlin snarled. “I’ve lied to you before, but not now. Try it. See for yourself. Look, I release you from the enchantment. I cannot cast another spell. If you find I am lying, you may slay me. I will not be able to stop you.”

Caramon’s swordarm was freed. He could move it. Still holding his sword, his eyes on his twin, he reached out his other hand, hesitantly. His fingers touched the staff and he looked fearfully at the light in the crystal, expecting it to blink out and leave them all in the gathering, chilling darkness. But the light did not waver. Caramon’s hand closed around the staff, above his brother’s hand. The light gleamed brightly, shedding its radiance upon the torn and bloody black robes, the dull and mud-covered armor.

Raistlin let go of the staff. Slowly, almost falling, he staggered to his feet and drew himself up, standing without aid, standing alone. The staff, in Caramon’s hand, continued to glow.

“Hurry,” Raistlin said coldly, “I will keep the Queen from following you. But my strength will not last long.”

Caramon stared at him a moment, then at the staff, its light still burning brightly. Finally, drawing a ragged breath, he sheathed his sword.