Paul Thompson - Riverwind

He opened his eyes. “Is this death?” Riverwind said aloud. “If it is, it is a most pleasant ending to a painful life.” Peace and tranquility washed over the plainsman.

He affects to be brave in the face of the unknown. How like his father he is.

Riverwind sat up. He could not see anything around him but a penetrating blue glow. “Who is speaking?” he asked.

I am the one you have sought for so long. It was in my temple that you slew the minions of Takhisis, and it is where you lie even now.

“Am I dead?” Curiously, this idea brought no fear with it.

I hold your life in the small of my hand. Your body was grievously injured, and I had to act quickly to catch your soul before it departed.

“You are… Quenesti Pah?”

So the folk of Silvanesti have called me. You would know me better by this symbol.

In front of Riverwind's eyes appeared a symbol in glittering steel: two teardrops joined tip to tip. The symbol worn by his beloved Goldmoon.

The plainsman sank to his knees. “Great Goddess Mishakal, forgive me!”

Forgive you for what? Your doubts? Doubt has been a plague on Krynn these centuries past. Your fear? Fear is part of being in the world of flesh and blood. It makes life quick and sweet, but also hard and deadly. There is nothing to forgive, son of Wanderer.

A white figure appeared before him. It was a woman in the prime of life, with white skin and long tresses of scarlet that tossed in a wind he could neither hear nor feel. She held the rude wooden staff Riverwind had wrenched from the statue's hands.

Stand up. Face me, Riverwind.

He did so.

I formed the staff from a single celestial sapphire, the same crystals that make up the thrones of the gods of Good. In the Age of Dreams, so many good people were hurt and maimed by the dragons of evil that I struck off this shard from my throne and sent it to Krynn, so that the priests who worshiped me could heal the sick brought to them.

The figure's lips did not move as she spoke. The wooden staff glowed brighter and brighter, until all semblance of wood was banished. Now you see its true nature. It is the Blue Crystal Staff.

The goddess smiled and continued. Only one whose heart is inherently good can touch the staff and remain unharmed. It can heal, make light, dispel curses and evil compulsions, banish fear, and if welded by one in whom I have dwelt, raise the dead to life again.

“What am I to do with it, great goddess?”

Take it to your beloved. She will know what to do. My Blue Crystal Staff will fulfill your quest, and make my name known to your people once more. But it cannot long remain outside my temple, for even a fragment of celestial sapphire will decay if held too long in mortal hands. Take the staff, good Riverwind, and bear it to Goldmoon.

“I swear it, Holy One,” Riverwind said. “I shall not part with your staff until I lay it in the hands of my beloved.”

The white figure faded into the blue light. Riverwind felt pain in his back again, and the light intensified until he could see nothing.

“Goddess! Mishakal!” he cried. The Blue Crystal Staff fell out of the light and into his hands. A tingle ran through him, and the wound in his back healed. His swollen eye opened, clear. His cuts disappeared. For a moment, Riverwind glimpsed the hall of the gods: vast, glittering towers of crystal, the facets of which he knew were broader than the whole of Krynn. These towers were but single legs of the thrones of the gods. Their sum was beyond the comprehension of a mortal mind.

He will do well. You chose wisely, Mishakal.

Thank you, Paladine. It was his destiny to serve thus.

Send him back now.

Yes, my lord. It is done.

He awoke where he'd lain down to die, at the foot of the statue. Riverwind rose, unhampered by pain or bleeding. In fact, not a drop of blood spotted his ragged clothing or stained the white floor of the sacred chamber. The blue light in the temple was gone, leaving normal shadows in its place. The staff lay on the floor at the statue's base.

Riverwind picked it up. It looked like ordinary wood again. A little over five feet long, it was about an inch in diameter. He held it close to his chest as he gazed up at the image of Mishakal.

“Thank you, goddess,” he said. “Thank you for my life. I will put your staff in Goldmoon's hands.”

He walked out of the temple. It was night. Solinari, the silver moon, brightened the swampy lands that lay just outside the temple. This region was called the Cursed Lands, and for good reason. From Xak Tsaroth to the Forsaken Mountains, the land was a stinking miasma of black water, moss, ironwood forests, and spongy turfed “islands.” Snakes, biting insects, and fever infested the Cursed Lands.

Riverwind retrieved a sword and scabbard from a dead draconian-who had now become dust-and fastened it to his belt. For a moment, he stood silently, contemplating all that had happened. The awe of what he'd seen and felt had driven all other thoughts from his mind.

Riverwind's head came up with a snap. Di An. She was lost out in the Cursed Lands somewhere, mind crumbling under the terror of the open sky. He didn't relish having to hunt for her, but she might already have fallen prey to accident, animals, marauders. Worse still, the plainsman doubted that Di An was thinking clearly. She might have blundered into a mire, or floundered in deep water while trying to wade.

Think, Riverwind. What would Di An do? There was a thirty-foot-wide well to his left. Remnants of a wall surrounded it. He saw no sign that she had gone that way.

Di An was terrified of the wide blue sky and dazzled by the sun. Yet she'd visited the surface before. Di An had said she'd only been to the upper world at night. The black sky would not have been so threatening to cavern dwellers as the cloudless vault she'd beheld upon leaving the temple. If Di An had been paralyzed during the hours of daylight, she might have recovered enough by now to creep back to the place she'd last seen Riverwind… here at the temple!

So sure was Riverwind that he'd made the right deduction that he called out quietly, “Di An?” More loudly. “Di An?”

A sob, then: “Here.”

He turned and mounted the cracked steps again. There, slumped in a far corner of the portico, was the elf girl. She didn't move until Riverwind knelt beside her, then she flung her arms around him. Her grip was strong with fear.

“Are you all right?” he asked gently. She didn't answer, but kept her face pressed to his chest. “I thought you might be lost in the swamp.”

“I thought you were dead!”

“No. One of the lizard men dealt me a mortal wound, but the goddess raised me up and healed all my hurts. And she gave me this.” She sat back, and he brought the staff around for her to see. Di An looked puzzled so Riverwind explained what Mishakal had told him.

“The gods have favored you,” she said. Di An put a hand to his cheek. Impulsively, she kissed him, but Riverwind broke away. “Don't,” he said, “You know I love another.”

“She is far away.”

“Goldmoon is always here,” he said, touching a hand to his heart.

Di An shrank from him, pulling back into the deep shadows of the temple wall. “I'm sorry. I thought, since my change, you might see me differently. Not as a child, but as a woman.”

Riverwind cupped her cheek with one hand. “You are a beautiful woman, Di An. And you've been a brave companion.” He found his gaze caught by her enormous dark eyes. Those eyes regarded him with frank devotion. Even as he spoke to her of the futility of her feelings for him, he found himself leaning toward her. Her hand came up and rested lightly over his on her face. Her lips were trembling. “A beautiful and true companion,” he said softly.