Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

Then forget her.

"If only it were that easy. I think I am obsessed with her."

You use her now as an excuse for staying on the ground. Pining for the human woman when you have important things to do.

"I'm not afraid of the Silver Stair," he said softly. He'd said that more than an hour ago when he first came here, after he'd made sure everyone was sleeping except the sentries and a handful of Camilla's soldiers. Both were on the far side of the settlement at the moment.

What is keeping you? his father prodded. Your friends climb this regularly, you've told me. Why not you? The power is here.

"I love magic," the elf said, "but this… this is overwhelming."

Too much to take a chance on?

"I've been taking more chances, Father. A great many more." The elf sucked in a deep breath and stood on the lowest step. He quickly climbed up the first dozen and peered toward the camp of the Solamnic soldiers. Nearby stretched what was left of the citadel, a gaping black hole in the ground, with bits of charred timbers sticking up in all directions. The workers had started clearing everything away, but it would be days before they were ready to start building again.

It does not matter if anyone sees you, Son. They will merely see one of Goldmoon's faithful climbing the Silver Stair.

He continued up, the air growing colder as he went. The elf bundled his cloak so tightly about him he entertained the notion that he might smother himself. He slowed his gait as the campfires grew smaller. The steps were narrow and terribly steep, and there were no handholds.

It is heights you are afraid of, my son, isn't it? Not the power of the Silver Stair.

"How does Goldmoon do this? And Jasper with his short legs?" Gair's words were muffled by the folds of his coat. "What do they see at the top?"

Several dozen steps later, he asked, "Where is the top? There's no end in sight."

The snow had stopped and a gentle fog had settled in, its tendrils wrapping about the elf as he continued his journey. He was grateful for the fog, as it helped to mask him. He had no intention of making it to the top step and receiving a vision this night, though he didn't want any passing sentries or knights to know that. Not that either would question his not climbing to the top, he suspected, as they likely knew little about the magical site anyway. They would simply believe he had changed his mind, or like others among Goldmoon's students he got too tired and stopped.

When he was high enough, certain that the light fog and his distance from the ground concealed him reasonably well, he sat upon a narrow step and curled his fingers over the translucent edge. It was far colder here than on the ground, and his teeth chattered, so the elf directed his healing energies to warm himself a little. He concentrated, feeling the arcane energy that coursed through the Silver Stair, and he urged it to course through him.

Gair closed his eyes and forced all thoughts of Camilla from his mind. The air was not so sweet now, and his breath was shallower. He seemed for some reason to breathe deeper when he was near Camilla, perhaps wanting to capture the scent of her inside of him. He focused on the chill air, then he pictured the silver stairway twisting up and out of sight, imagined that the energy that ran the entire length of the stairway was rushing toward him. The elf directed all of his thoughts to this latter notion, slowed his breathing and felt his strength drain from him, felt himself slip toward unconsciousness, felt his fingers loosen their grip on the step. He felt himself slump forward, and for a heartbeat he worried that he would fall from his perch and plummet to his death. His legs felt numb and he couldn't feel his toes. He felt terribly weak all over.

"Faith," he croaked. "I must have…"

Just as he felt the blackness of unconsciousness rush up to meet him, he also felt a rush of warmth, greater than that he had nurtured with his simple healing spell. The tingling heat roused him, rising from where the tips of his fingers touched the step, reaching up through his arms and into his chest, then down into his legs. It felt like the Raging Fire-the hottest summer month in Abanasinia. It felt incredibly powerful and wonderful. His physical strength was not returning, but his magical strength, what Goldmoon called the power of the heart, was increasing dramatically.

Gair slowly opened his eyes and brought a finger to his temple. "Nura… Arale." They were the names of his young sisters. He repeated their names over and over, opened the door to their misty realm and sensed them waiting. Like the ghost in the Schallsea harbor, they hovered before him, looking two-dimensional, like floating shadows.

"I will give you form. We can be together again, after all those years we missed."

No, the girls said, their forms retreating.

Surprised, Gair's mind stretched out to them. "Nura, Arale, you died too young, missed too many years. I can give those years back to you. I am certain of it. I have the power of the Silver Stair. Who will be first?"

Neither of us. It is wrong, they replied, retreating farther still.

He could see them now only as wispy images the size of his fist. They were growing smaller with each heartbeat.

"It is wrong you died so young," he entreated. "Don't go! I've gone to so much trouble!"

Let them go.

"Father?" Gair peered into the darkness of the spirit realm. With the power of the Silver Stair boosting his enchantment, Gair was able to delve deeper into the misty dimension, could see his father much more clearly now, as clearly as when he was alive in the Silvanesti woods.

Let them go, Gair. I wanted them to live again, as you did. I thought you might be able to persuade them. But they have accepted their deaths and want to stay here. So young… such a pity.

"And you, Father, do you accept your death?" Gair still felt the power of the Silver Stair pulsing through him, felt the step beneath his fingers crack as he drew more arcane energy from the ruin. "I want so to use this power. Such power within my grasp, Father. You can't imagine the energy. I wanted to give my sisters back some semblance of life. Since they refused, would you allow me to give you substance, Father?"

The elder Graymist's spirit floated closer.

"Father?"

Gair frowned when the elder Graymist shook his head, too. "All this power within my grasp-"

No, my son. There are others more worthy of life than I. Look around. Can you see them?

"No. I…" The words caught in the elf's throat as he saw other shapes coalescing around his father, some elven, and some of those recognizable from his time in Silvanesti, people his father knew and whom he vaguely knew. He was so young then. Had they died in the dragon attack also? The others were a mix of humans of various nationalities. There were barbarians among them, Que-Nal perhaps. A dozen shapes, then two dozen, nearly three. Their insubstantial arms, which were growing more tangible with each passing heartbeat, reached out to Gair. Their eyes, once hollow, now glowed softly white like stars… .

"Stars fallen to earth," the elf whispered.

They glowed brighter now with energy, with the arcane power he was pulling from the Silver Stair and passing to the spirits. He kept one hand on the step, raising the other to rub his temple, helping him to concentrate. "All… this… power." He began to work the healing spell Goldmoon had taught him, the one he tried on the general in the harbor. Could he heal a spirit enough to return it to some semblance of life? Would his spell give it a corporeal body as fleshy as his own? If he could accomplish it on one of the images here, perhaps he could do so to Riverwind. Goldmoon would be so happy.