Chris Pierson - Spirit of the Wind

“Well,” Caramon said, “he was part elf.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Riverwind pressed his hands together, raising them to his lips. “Tanis always knew what to do. Even when we didn’t think he did-even when he didn’t think he did-in his heart he knew.”

“I know,” Caramon answered. “And that’s what killed him. Just like Sturm-he knew the right thing to do, and he did it, damn the cost.” He bowed his head. “Sometimes, I wish he hadn’t. I know it’s selfish, but even so. Sometimes I wonder if any of us will ever die peacefully in bed, with the people we love all around us.”

Riverwind flinched, then looked away. For a moment, the Plainsman said nothing. When he spoke again, his voice was tight and strained. “Be careful what you wish for, Caramon.”

Caramon stared at him, his forehead creased with confusion. “What do you mean?”

The Plainsman turned to face him, his eyes shining in the torchlight. “My friend,” he said, “I am dying.”

Caramon said nothing. He stood silently, staring at Riverwind. He fell back a pace and leaned against Steel’s skull-carved bier. The attar of lilies surrounded him, a cloying scent that made him want to retch.

“How?” he asked.

The Plainsman nodded thoughtfully. “A fair question.” He bent down, lifting up his headdress, and gestured toward the door. “I will answer it, but not here. I have already broken a taboo of my people, speaking of death in such a place. Go on ahead, Caramon. I will finish saying my farewells, and then I will join you outside.”

Thankful to be out of the dark, close crypt, Caramon turned and hurried out of the Last Heroes’ Tomb. He didn’t stop until he was outside the gold and silver doors. The air outside was cold, heralding the coming autumn, and he drank it down deeply. His breath misted in the air before him.

There was movement off to his left. He glanced at it sharply, but it was just a pair of kender-come, no doubt, to pay honor to Tas. One of them, a male, held what looked like a burnt shoe. The other one was female; her hands were empty. They looked up at him, their eyes wide.

Not wanting to deal with kender just now, Caramon shook his head and marched across the meadow away from the tomb. After a few dozen paces he stopped, looking up at the single, pale moon. He continued to stare at it, even when he heard the scuff of soft boots in the grass.

“It still seems strange to me, as well,” said Riverwind, drawing to a halt beside Caramon. He looked up at the ivory disk. “I often dream of the red moon, you know. Sometimes, when we could steal away without anyone noticing, Goldmoon and I would climb the hills east of Que-Shu and watch it rise. We would hold hands, and one thing would lead to another He smiled an old man’s smile, remembering. After a moment, it became a sly grin. “That’s how the girls came about, if you take my meaning.”

Caramon chuckled. “I certainly do. With Tika and me, it was sunsets.”

“ ‘Was?’ ” Riverwind asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Well-ll,” Caramon said.

They laughed together, then Riverwind grew solemn. “Be thankful, Caramon. You still have the sun. In my heart, this pale moon will never take the red one’s place.”

The wind gusted, icy fingers clawing up Caramon’s spine. He hunched his shoulders.

“So,” he murmured.

“So,” Riverwind agreed. “You asked me how, a moment ago. I’m glad you did-I owe you answers, after setting this burden upon your shoulders. Let us walk.”

They set out across the meadow toward the distant lights of Solace. The vallenwoods muttered as the wind played among their boughs.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been ill, my friend,” Riverwind said. “Five years ago, I woke one morning with a terrible pain inside me. It felt as though someone had set a hot stone in my belly. At first I thought it was nothing but food that disagreed with me-my stomach’s not as hardy as it once was-so I ignored it, waited for it to go away.

“It got worse, though, and I began to fear I had been poisoned. There were some, then, who might have done so. There still are. A man makes enemies doing what I have done-not everyone believes it is best that the tribes should unite as one. It was then that I first began to fear for my life, though for the wrong reasons.

“I hadn’t told Goldmoon about it yet. You may have noticed,” he added, with a wry smile, “I can be a bit stubborn at times. By the time I finally confided in her, the pain was such that I could no longer eat-not even plain corn porridge. When I told Goldmoon how sick I was, she was so angry she didn’t speak to me for a week.

“She tended me, though, and prayed to Mishakal. There was a foulness inside me, and it had grown so large I could feel it when I touched my belly. It was hard and sore, but the worst part was knowing it didn’t belong. I wanted to cut myself open, to pull it out and cast it into the fire. I might even have tried it, too, in my fever madness, but I lacked the strength.

“I lay in bed for nearly a month. Goldmoon acted as chieftain in my absence, keeping the Que-Teh and Que-Kiri tribes from slitting each other’s throats. My daughters fed me broth-the only thing I could keep down-and Goldmoon gave me medicine and chanted by my bedside. In time, the goddess blessed me. The pain subsided, and the corruption that had been growing inside me went away. I had never known such relief, my friend. My father died of such an illness when I was a child. It is a bad end.”

They reached the edge of the meadow, where the grasses gave way to the vallenwoods. Riverwind took a deep breath, then bent down and picked up a brown vallenwood leaf. He twirled it between his fingers, lost in thought. “A month ago, I woke with the pain again,” he said quietly. “Only now, Mishakal is not around to hear Goldmoon’s prayers. The foulness is growing within me again, and there is no stopping it. Before long, it will kill me.”

He released the leaf, and the wind sent it spinning away into the shadows. Caramon watched it go, then looked up at his friend. They regarded each other silently. Then Caramon gripped Riverwind’s muscular arm with his own massive hand. The Plainsman regarded him silently.

“Thank you for coming,” Caramon said. “It must have been a hard thing, convincing Goldmoon to let you travel.”

Riverwind shook his head, the feathers of his headdress rustling. “She does not know.”

“What?” Caramon’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I haven’t told her I’m sick again,” Riverwind answered. “And I’m not going to. Neither do I mean to tell my daughters. I have told Wanderer, Tika, and now you, but no one else must hear of it… least of all Goldmoon.”

“But,” Caramon sputtered, “she’s your wife, Riverwind.”

The Plainsman nodded sternly. “I know, my friend. She is my wife, and I love her more than anything in this world. I would spare her this pain. You didn’t see her face five years ago, when she learned I was ill. It… crumpled. She has lived through this before. When I was gone on my Courting Quest, Arrowthorn, her father, was stricken. When I left Que-Shu, he was a strong man, a hunter and a warrior. By the time I returned, he was wasted and old, babbling and drooling. Goldmoon had to feed him, wash him, see to his every need. She watched him wither like grain after a frost, and there was nothing she could do about it.”

“And you don’t want to put her through that again,” Caramon said.

“I do not.” Riverwind sighed wearily. “How could I tell her, Caramon? At least before, she had her faith to draw upon. Mishakal gave her strength. Even if I had died, she would have known it was the goddess’s will. Whose will is it now, when the gods have gone?”