Margaret Weis - The cataclysm

"Paladine! Be with Lord Soth! Accept his sacrifice, as you once accepted Huma's!"

The strange wind, hot and dry, blew harder and harder, shrieked about the castle walls with inhuman voices. Lightning slashed, split trees. Thunder shook the ground, like the footsteps of an angry giant.

All that morning the storm raged, growing more and more intense. The sun vanished. Day became darker than night. Violent winds blew, lifted huge trees from the ground, hurled them about like newly planted saplings. Those trees that held fast against the wind fell victim to the savage lightning. Michael, daring to leave the chapel, ventured back into his room, stared out the window.

Fires lit the darkness, trees consumed by flames. Grass fires scorched the land. Nikol, shivering, came to stand by his side. "The gods have forsaken us," she whispered.

"No," said Michael, taking her in his arms. "It is we who have forsaken them."

They returned to the chapel. The wind blew harder. The voices in it were horrible, conjuring up visions of dragons, screaming over their kill. It buffeted the castle walls, trying to beat them down. The earth began to shudder, as if the very ground was appalled at the horrors it was witnessing. The first quakes hit. The castle rocked and shivered. The two crouched before the altar, unable to move, unable to speak or even pray. Beyond the chapel, they could hear crashes, shattering cracks.

Michael knew they were doomed. The walls must collapse, the ceiling cave in. He held fast to Nikol's hands and began to describe, in a feverish voice, the beautiful bridge of starlight he'd seen before, the wondrous worlds where they soon would find peace and freedom from this terror.

Then it was over.

The tremors ceased. The storm abated, clouds blown away as if by a mournful sigh. All was quiet. They were not dead.

"We're safe, beloved!" Michael cried, not thinking of what he was saying. He clasped Nikol in his arms.

She was stiff, rigid in his grasp. Then, suddenly, she threw her arms around him, held him fast. They sank to the floor, before the altar of Paladine. Huddled in each other's grasp, they were grateful for the comfort of being together.

"'The land will be sundered, seas will rise, and mountains topple. Countless numbers will die. Countless more, who will live in the dark and terrible days to follow, will come to wish they had died.' That's what he said, the black-robed wizard. Why? Why did this happen, Michael?" Nikol cried brokenly. "Certainly, some deserved the gods' wrath — that horrible, fat cleric who came here before Nicholas died — but this terror has surely destroyed the innocent as well as the guilty. How can the gods, if they are good, do this?"

"I don't know," Michael said helplessly. "I wish I had the answer, but I don't."

"At least I'm not alone," Nikol continued softly. "You're here. I'm glad you're here, Michael. It's selfish of me, I know, but if you had left with the goddess, I think I would be dead by now."

He didn't answer. He couldn't. The words wouldn't come past the ache of love and longing.

"Hold me closer," she said, burrowing into his arms. He did as she commanded, pressed her head against his breast, bent, and kissed the shining hair. To his amazement, Nikol returned his kiss. Her lips met his hungrily.

"Nikol," he said, when he could breathe, "I'cve no right to ask this. You're the daughter of a knight. Your family is noble. My father was a shopkeeper in Xak Tsaroth, my mother a nomad, who roamed the plains. I have nothing to give…"

"I will marry you, Michael," she said.

"Nikol, think about what I said — "

"Michael," she whispered, laying her hand upon his lips. "You think about it. Does any of that matter now?"

Perhaps Paladine heard their vows of marriage, spoken silently in their hearts. Perhaps the god turned aside his wrath one moment to bless their union, for the manor walls continued to stand strong and sheltering above them.

When the morning came, a heavy sadness, mingled with their joy, oppressed them both. Nikol stood before the altar of Paladine, which now had a crack in it, traced the crack with her finger. "We will find out why, won't we, Michael," she said firmly. "We will find out why this happened. We will search until we discover the answer. Then you and I will make it right."

In a world of the faithless, you are the

Only one who is faithful. and, because of

That, you will be reviled, ridiculed,

Persecuted. But I see one who loves you,

Who will risk all to defend you.

The words of the black-robed wizard, Raistlin.

"Yes," Michael answered, as he would have answered yes to anything she asked of him at that moment. "We will search for the answer."

A cold and bitter winter closed in on them soon after the Cataclysm. Their small supply of food dwindled rapidly. The stream in which Michael fished vanished during the quakes, swallowed by the ground. A killing frost shriveled any plants that had survived the fires.

Then, one day, a small band of humans, traveling up from the south, had offered to trade game for shelter. The manor, they said, looking at it in awe, was one of the few buildings in these parts still standing. Michael agreed, was forced to eat animal flesh to stay alive. He hoped, all things considered, the goddess would forgive him.

But, once they were rested and had buried their dead, the refugees left, looking for new hunting grounds. Michael had figured, only this morning, that they had dried meat and berries to last them another few days. South, at least, there apparently was game to be had in the forests, the plains. Besides, Michael had a sudden urgent longing for his home.

"Xak Tsaroth," said Michael.

"What about it?" Nikol asked him.

"The Temple of Mishakal is there. And so are the holy disks. Why didn't I think of those sooner?" He began to pace the room excitedly.

"What disks? What are you talking about?"

"The Disks of Mishakal. All the wisdom of the gods are written on these disks. Don't you see, beloved? It's on those disks that we will find the answers 1"

"If there ARE answers," Nikol said, frowning. "We buried a child yesterday. A little child! What had that babe to do with Kingpriests or clerics? Why should the gods punish the innocent?"

"If we find the disks, we'll find the answers," he said.

"In Xak Tsaroth!" Nikol scoffed. "Don't you remember what those refugees told us about Xak Tsaroth?"

"I remember." Michael turned, started to walk away. Having been born and reared in Xak Tsaroth, he had listened in disbelief to the tales of its destruction, told by the refugees. He had to see for himself.

Nikol ran after him, laid a remorseful hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, dearest, truly I am. I wasn't thinking. I forgot that was your home once. We'll travel there. We'll leave tomorrow. We have nothing to keep us here. We would have had to leave soon anyway."

As they were leaving, Nikol pulled shut the castle's heavy oaken door, made to lock it. Then, abruptly, she changed her mind. "No," she said, shoving it wide open. "This home is blessed, as the knight said. Let it shelter those who come. I have the feeling I will never see it again anyway."

"Don't speak words of ill omen," Michael warned her.

"It's not an ill omen," Nikol said quietly, looking up at him with a sad smile. "Our path lies far from here, I think."

She placed her hand upon the cold stone wall in final farewell, then the two gathered their meager belongings and started down the road, heading south.

If they had known how long the journey would take them, or how hard and dangerous it would be, they would have never left the castle's walls. They had been forewarned of terrible destruction farther south, but they were unprepared for the tremendous changes that had occurred, not the least of which was a sea where no sea had been before.