Маргарет Уэйс - Dragons of Spring Dawning

“Tanis!” called Caramon’s voice.

“Berem!” Suddenly remembering what he had done, Tanis turned and stumbled over the rock-strewn ground toward Caramon and Tika, who were staring in horror at the blood-smeared rock where Berem’s body lay. As they watched, Berem began to stir, groaning—not in pain—but as if with remembered pain. His shaking hand clutching his chest, Berem rose slowly to his feet. The only sign of his hideous injury was traces of blood upon his skin, and these vanished as Tanis watched.

“He is called the Everman, remember?” Tanis said to the ashen-faced Caramon. “Sturm and I saw him die in Pax Tharkas, buried under a ton of rock. He’s died countless deaths, only to rise again. And he claims he doesn’t know why.” Tanis came forward to stand very close to Berem, staring at the man, who watched him approach with sullen, wary eyes.

“But you do know, don’t you, Berem?” Tanis said. The half-elf’s voice was soft, his manner calm. “You know,” he repeated, “and you’re going to tell us. The lives of more may hang in balance.”

Berem’s gaze lowered. “I’m sorry... about your friend,” he mumbled. “I-I tried to help, but there was nothing—”

“I know.” Tanis swallowed. “I’m sorry . . . about what I did, too. I-I couldn’t see. ... I didn’t understand—”

But as he said the words, Tanis realized he was lying. He had seen, but he had seen only what he wanted to see. How much of what happened in his life was like that? How much of what he saw was distorted by his own mind? He hadn’t understood Berem because he didn’t want to understand Berem! Berem had come to represent for Tanis those dark and secret things within himself he hated. He had killed Berem, the half-elf knew; but in reality, he had driven that sword through himself.

And now it was as if that sword wound had spewed out the foul, gangrenous poison corrupting his soul. Now the wound could heal. The grief and sorrow of Flint’s death was like a soothing balm poured inside, reminding him of goodness, of higher values. Tanis felt himself freed at last of the dark shadows of his guilt. Whatever happened, he had done his best to try and help, to try and make things right. He had made mistakes, but he could forgive himself now and go on.

Perhaps Berem saw this in Tanis’s eyes. Certainly he saw grief, he saw compassion. Then, “I am tired, Tanis,” Berem said suddenly, his eyes on the half-elf’s tear-reddened eyes. “I am so very tired.” His glance went to the black pool of rock. “I-I envy your friend. He is at rest now. He has found peace. Am I never to have that?” Berem’s fist clenched, then he shuddered and his head sank into his hands. “But I am afraid! I see the end—it is very close. And I am frightened!”

“We’re all frightened.” Tanis sighed, rubbing his burning eyes. “You’re right—the end is near, and it seems fraught with darkness. You hold the answer, Berem.”

“I’ll—I’ll tell you—what I can,” Berem said haltingly, as if the words were being dragged out of him. “But you’ve got to help me!” His hand clutched Tanis’s. “You must promise to help me!”

“I cannot promise,” Tanis said grimly, “not until I know the truth.”

Berem sat down, leaning his back against the bloodstained rock. The others settled around him, drawing their cloaks close as the wind rose, whistling down the sides of the mountains, howling among the strange boulders. They listened to Berem’s tale without interruption, though Tas was occasionally seized by a fit of weeping and snuffled quietly, his head resting on Tika’s shoulder.

At first Berem’s voice was low, his words spoken reluctantly. Sometimes they could see him wrestling with himself, then he would blurt forth the story as if it hurt. But gradually he began speaking faster and faster, the relief of finally telling the truth after all these years flooding his soul.

“When—when I said I understood how you"—he nodded at Caramon—"felt about—about losing your brother, I spoke the truth. I-I had a sister. We-we weren’t twins, but we were probably as close as twins. She was just a year younger. We lived on a small farm, outside of Neraka. It was isolated. No neighbors. My mother taught us to read and write at home, enough to get by. Mostly we worked on the farm. My sister was my only companion, my only friend. And I was hers.

“She worked hard—too hard. After the Cataclysm, it was all we could to do to keep food on the table. Our parents were old and sick. We nearly starved that first winter. No matter what you have heard about the Famine Times, you cannot imagine.” His voice died, his eyes dimmed. “Ravenous packs of wild beasts and wilder men roamed the land. Being isolated, we were luckier than some. But many nights we stayed awake, clubs in our hands, as the wolves prowled around the outside of the house—waiting. ... I watched my sister—who was a pretty little thing—grow old before she was twenty. Her hair was gray as mine is now, her face pinched and wrinkled. But she never complained.

“That spring, things didn’t improve much. But at least we had hope, my sister said. We could plant seeds and watch them grow. We could hunt the game that returned with the spring. There would be food on the table. She loved hunting. She was a good shot with a bow, and she enjoyed being outdoors. We often went together. That day—”

Berem stopped. Closing his eyes, he began to shake as if chilled. But, gritting his teeth, he continued.

“That day, we’d walked farther than usual. A lightning fire had burned away the brush and we found a trail we’d never seen before. It had been a bad day’s hunting and we followed the trail, hoping to find game. But after a while, I saw it wasn’t an animal trail. It was an old, old path made by human feet; it hadn’t been used in years. I wanted to turn back, but my sister kept going, curious to see where it led.”

Berem’s face grew strained and tense. For a moment Tanis feared he might stop speaking, but Berem continued feverishly, as if driven.

“It led to a-a strange place. My sister said it must have been a temple once, a temple to evil gods. I don’t know. All I know is that there were broken columns lying tumbled about, overgrown with dead weeds. She was right. It did have an evil feel to it and we should have left. We should have left the evil place. ...” Berem repeated this to himself several times, like a chant. Then he fell silent.

No one moved or spoke and, after a moment, he began speaking so softly the others were forced to lean close to hear. And they realized, slowly, that he had forgotten they were there or even where he was. He had gone back to that time.

“But there is one beautiful, beautiful object in the ruins: the base of a broken column, encrusted with jewels!”—Berem’s voice was soft with awe—"I have never seen such beauty! Or such wealth! How can I leave it? Just one jewel! Just one will make us rich! We can move to the city! My sister will have suitors, as she deserves. I-I fall to my knees and I take out my knife. There is one jewel—a green gemstone—that glitters brightly in the sunlight! It is lovely beyond anything I have ever seen! I will take it. Thrusting the knife blade"—here Berem made a swift motion with his hand—"into the stone beneath the jewel, I begin to pry it out.

“My sister is horrified. She cries to me—she commands me to stop.

“This place is holy,” she pleads. “The jewels belong to some god. This is sacrilege, Berem!”

Berem shook his head, his face dark with remembered anger.

“I ignore her, though I feel a chill in my heart even as I pry at the jewel. But I tell her—‘If it belonged to the gods, they have abandoned it, as they have abandoned us!’ But she won’t listen.”