Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

One person only rose to speak Elistan’s eulogy, and it was deemed fitting by everyone that she do so. Not only because she was now taking his place—as he had requested—as head of the church, but because she seemed to the people of Palanthas to epitomize their loss and their pain. That morning, they said, was the first time she had risen from her bed since Tanis Half-Elven brought her down from the Temple of High Sorcery to the steps of the Great Library, where the clerics worked among the injured and the dying. She had been near death herself. But her faith and the prayers of the clerics restored her to life. They could not, however, restore her sight. Crysania stood before them that morning, her eyes looking straight into the sun she would never see again. Its rays glistened in her black hair that framed a face made beautiful by a look of deep, abiding compassion and faith.

“As I stand in darkness,” she said, her clear voice rising sweet and pure among the songs of the larks, “I feel the warmth of the light upon my skin and I know my face is turned toward the sun. I can look into the sun, for my eyes are forever shrouded by darkness. But if you who can see look too long in the sun, you will lose your sight, just as those who live too long in the darkness will gradually lose theirs.

“This Elistan taught—that mortals were not meant to live solely in sun or in shadow, but in both. Both have their perils, if misused, both have their rewards. We have come through our trials of blood, of darkness, of fire—” Her voice quavered and broke at this point. Those nearest her saw tears upon her cheeks. But, when she continued, her voice was strong. Her tears glistened in the sunlight. “We have come through these trials as Huma came through his, with great loss, with great sacrifice, but strong in the knowledge that our spirit shines and that we, perhaps, gleam brightest among all the stars of the heavens.

“For though some might choose to walk the paths of night, looking to the black moon to guide them, while others walk the paths of day, the rough and rock-strewn trails of both can be made easier by the touch of a hand, the voice of a friend. The capacity to love, to care, is given to us all—the greatest gift of the gods to all the races.

“Our beautiful city has perished in flame.” Her voice softened. “We have lost many whom we loved, and it seems perhaps that life is too difficult a burden for us to bear. But reach out your hand, and it will touch the hand of someone reaching out to you, and—together—you will find the strength and hope you need to go on.”

After the ceremonies, when the clerics had borne the body of Elistan to its final resting place, Caramon and Tas sought out Lady Crysania. They found her among the clerics, her arm resting upon the arm of the young woman who was her guide.

“Here are two who would speak with you, Revered Daughter,” said the young cleric.

Lady Crysania turned, holding out her hand. “Let me touch you,” she said.

“It’s Caramon,” the big man began awkwardly, “and—”

“Me,” said Tas in a meek, subdued voice.

“You have come to say good-bye,” Lady Crysania smiled.

“Yes. We’re leaving today,” Caramon said, holding her hand in his.

“Do you go straight home to Solace?”

“No, not—not quite yet,” Caramon said, his voice low. “We’re going back to Solanthas with Tanis. Then, when—when I feel a little more myself, I’ll use the magical device to get back to Solace.”

Crysania gripped his hand tightly, drawing him near to her.

“Raistlin is at peace, Caramon,” she said softly. “Are you?”

“Yes, my lady,” Caramon said, his voice firm and resolute. “I am at peace. At last.” He sighed. “I just need to talk to Tanis and get things sorted out in my life, put back in order. For one thing,” he added with a blush and a shame-faced grin, “I need to know how to build a house! I was dead drunk most of the time I worked on ours, and I haven’t the faintest notion what I was doing.”

He looked at her, and she—aware of his scrutiny though she could not see it—smiled, her pale skin tinged with the faintest rose. Seeing that smile, and seeing the tears that fell around it, Caramon drew her close, in turn. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have spared you this—”

“No, Caramon,” she said softly. “For now I see. I see clearly, as Loralon promised.” She kissed his hand, pressing it to her cheek. “Farewell, Caramon. May Paladine go with you.” Tasslehoff snuffled.

“Good-bye, Crysani—I mean, Rev-revered Daughter,” said Tas in a small voice, feeling suddenly lonely and short. “I-I’m sorry about the mess I made of things—”

But Lady Crysania interrupted him. Turning from Caramon, she reached out her hand and smoothed back his topknot of hair. “Most of us walk in the light and the shadow, Tasslehoff,” she said, “but there are the chosen few who walk this world, carrying their own light to brighten both day and night.”

“Really? They must get awfully tired, hauling around a light like that? Is it a torch? It cant be a candle. The wax would melt all over and drip down into their shoes and say—do you suppose I could meet someone like that?” Tas asked with interest.

“You are someone like that,” Lady Crysania replied. “And I do not think you ever need worry about your wax dripping into your shoes. Farewell, Tasslehoff Burrfoot. I need not ask Paladine’s blessing on you, for I know you are one of his close, personal friends... .”

“Well,” asked Caramon abruptly as he and Tas made their way through the crowd. “Have you decided what you’re going to do yet? You’ve got the flying citadel, Lord Amothus gave it to you. You can go anywhere on Krynn. Maybe even a moon, if you want.”

“Oh, that.” Tas, looking a little awestruck after his talk with Lady Crysania, seemed to have trouble remembering what Caramon was referring to. “I don’t have the citadel anymore. It was awfully big and boring once I got around to exploring it. And it wouldn’t go to the moon. I tried. Do you know,” he said, looking at Caramon with wide eyes, “that if you go up high enough, your nose starts to bleed? Plus it’s extremely cold and uncomfortable. Besides, the moons seem to be a lot farther away than I’d imagined. Now, if I had the magical device—” He glanced at Caramon out of the corner of his eye.

“No,” said Caramon sternly. “Absolutely not. That’s going back to Par-Salian.”

“I could take it to him,” Tas offered helpfully. “That would give me a chance to explain about Gnimsh fixing it and my disrupting the spell and—No?” He heaved a sigh. “I guess not. Well, anyway, I’ve decided to stick with you and Tanis, if you want me, that is?” He looked at Caramon a bit wistfully.

Caramon replied by reaching out and giving the kender a hug that crushed several objects of interest and uncertain value in his pouches.

“By the way,” Caramon added as an afterthought, “what did you do with the flying citadel?”

“Oh”—Tas waved his hand nonchalantly—“I gave it to Rounce.”

“The gully dwarf!” Caramon stopped, appalled.

“He cant fly it, not by himself!” Tas assured him. “Although,” he added after a moment’s profound thought, “I suppose he could if he got a few more gully dwarves to help. I never thought of that—”

Caramon groaned. “Where is it?”

“I set it down for him in a nice place. A very nice place. It was a really wealthy part of some city we flew over. Rounce took a liking to it—the citadel, not the city. Well, I guess he took a liking to the city, too, come to think of it. Anyway, he was a big help and all, so I asked him if he wanted the citadel and he said he did so I just plunked the thing down in this vacant lot.