Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

The winter wind played around her, teasing her red cloak, which was threatening to become entangled in her feet. With a quick tug, the cloak fluttered to the ground, stark in the faint moonlight against the snow. Camilla opened her eyes and gave her garment a quick glance, as if she were making a note of where she left it. She returned her gaze to the spiraling steps in front of her, and she told herself again she wouldn't be doing this if she hadn't been polite and joined Goldmoon and the gnoll in a drink.

"Polite," she grumbled as she climbed higher. "Politeness had nothing to do with it. I let down my guard, indulged in a bit of melancholic ruminations, and… oh, my."

Camilla glanced down again. She felt herself swaying on the step and spread her legs as much as possible to gain better balance. There were a few lights below, around the construction site. She knew men and women were still working. A few of the tents glowed softly, as if lanterns were burning merrily inside of them, their occupants unable to sleep.

Taking a deep breath, she resumed her climb. "Don't these stairs ever stop? To think Goldmoon regularly climbs them, at her age." Camilla had witnessed truly elderly folks take the climb, hobbling up with canes, and the dwarves from time to time, their stubby legs finding this a real challenge. Jasper had climbed it again just last night.

Their legs? She touched her thighs. Her legs were aching. Camilla considered herself very well conditioned. If she was having trouble with these steps, how did the common folk in Goldmoon's settlement handle them?

Higher and higher. Still there was no end to them. The knight considered climbing back down. This was a waste of time. The chill air had helped to sober her, bringing with it more thoughts that this stunt was absurd. She had no reason to climb these stairs. Foolish though it may be, she decided, it was now a matter of triumphing over this insubstantial-looking relic. She needed to reach the top just to prove that she could do it. She would reach the top and then instantly climb down.

"In the name of Kiri-Jolith," she breathed, "do these stairs indeed reach to the stars?"

Her side ached. The air was thin, and she gulped it in raggedly. Her teeth were chattering from the cold, and when she reached down to touch her legs again, the leggings she wore felt like ice. A mist rose around her; she suspected it was the low-hanging cloud she'd spied from the ground. She stopped to catch her breath and toyed with the notion of sitting here for a moment.

"Just a moment. Sit in the cloud and think and rest." Camilla had no idea how long she had spent in Goldmoon's tent or how long it had taken her to climb this high. If morning came before she was finished, the steps would vanish from sight. Would she plummet to the ground? Disappear with them? Or were the steps always here but you could only see them in the moonlight?

Faster, she urged herself. She climbed above the mist, climbed so high it looked as if she were standing amid the stars. "Stars fallen to earth," she whispered, remembering her stroll with Gair. "So beautiful."

Camilla saw no top step, but suddenly when she thought she didn't have the energy to go any farther, she was standing on it, balanced like a dancer on a gossamer strip of… what? Just what were the steps made of? She breathed only faintly, worried that too much motion might cause her to topple. "Foolishness," she whispered. "Foolishness and cherry wine."

"I much preferred ale, dwarven if I could get it." The voice was strong and rich, coming from in front of her and behind her at the same time.

Forgetting for an instant just where she was, she pivoted and found herself in an oak-ringed glade. It was late spring or early summer, judging by the leaves on the trees and the wildflowers that grew in clumps here and there and at the feet of a towering elderly man in ornate plate mail.

His long gray hair and drooping mustache were teased by a breeze that felt pleasant and warm. All trace of Schallsea Island's winter had vanished in a heartbeat. A long sword and a shield, both gleaming in the midafternoon sun, and a great horned helmet were propped against a large block of black granite.

"Vinas Solamnus," Camilla said in disbelief.

"Ah, fate has sent someone to fast with me" came the rich-sounding reply. "Come!" He crooked a finger at her, beckoning her closer.

She didn't hesitate, didn't consider that she was on the very top of the Silver Stair and that one step, which she was taking now, and another and another, might send her hurtling through the air. She wasn't falling, wasn't thinking about the ruin. She was thinking only about the great man several yards in front of her, and she was walking on solid ground. It had rained recently, and the mud was sticking to the soles of her boots. The grass felt fresh with the moisture.

He smiled kindly at her, took her hand, and led her to the granite slab. "You have me at a disadvantage," he said. Again the wonderful voice. Mesmerizing. "You know who I am, but I've no clue who you are, beautiful lady."

Beautiful? He called her beautiful, but she wasn't beautiful, and she wasn't really here. She was only dreaming.

"Your name?"

"Camilla," she said, her name nervously catching in her throat. "Camilla Weoledge."

He scratched his chin with his free hand. "A familiar name."

Up close, she noticed that he appeared gaunt, as if he hadn't eaten in days. There was a line of stubble along his chin and cheeks, and his hair was tangled at the ends. His boots were worn and dirty, hinting that it had taken him a while to journey here.

"Where are we?"

"Sancrist Isle, beautiful Camilla. Join me?" He knelt at the rock, and she knelt nearby, but a few feet away so she could study him.

"What are we doing here?"

"Fasting, praying, looking for guidance."

"Praying to whom?"

"Kiri-Jolith."

He closed his eyes and a serene expression came over his rugged features. He looked so much like the Vinas Solamnus of the paintings and sculptures she'd seen- the man who had founded the order of the Solamnic knights so long ago and who she idolized above all others. It couldn't be him. He would be bones and dust now, and she couldn't be on Sancrist Isle. She was on Schallsea Island. Wasn't she? On the Silver Stair?

Her stomach growled, and she noticed that the afternoon sun had turned to evening. Morning and evening flashed before her again and again until her belly felt like an empty pit and her lips were cracked like a dry riverbed from lack of water.

It was daylight again, and she was still kneeling, as was the image of Vinas Solamnus. She was hungrier than she ever remembered, so terribly thirsty. She tried to say something, but her throat was so dry, no sounds would come out. Foolishness, she thought to herself. Time to end this dream. She made a move to leave, but her legs felt like tree trunks rooted to the spot. The sky darkened again and the stars came out. Constellations that were familiar to her before the Chaos War. Constellations of her youth, representing the gods Habbakuk, Paladine, and Kiri-Jolith.

The stars shimmered and began to fall like snowflakes, grew and formed transparent images of three humans in shining plate mail. They shimmered more brightly, solidifying before her eyes. The gods were taking human form-the historic vision of Vinas Solamnus.

The celebrated event was played out before Camilla's wide eyes. Vinas rose and was touched by each god image, was instructed to create a knighthood such as Krynn had never known.

"It will last for generations," the image of Habbakuk said.

"Three separate orders will there be." This from the image of Paladine. "Each shall uphold our ideals, and together the knights shall unite the lands."

"The knights will carry on your concepts of goodness and honor," Kiri-Jolith finished.