Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

As she continued to ascend, more doubts about her capabilities crept into her mind. It took a considerable effort now to lift her legs to attain the next step, and there were so many steps left to go. She didn't want to give up, wouldn't willingly give up, but she recognized that no matter how strong her mind was, her body would not permit her to go much farther, perhaps not any farther.

As well, there was the climb down to consider.

Goldmoon knew the Silver Stair was the only surviving Celestial Ladder on all of Krynn. At one time, there had been two others, and each was said to take those who dared to climb them to the home of a god of magic. The Silver Stair was reputed to be the link to Solinari, the god of good magic. The other two ladders, the Star Stones in Neraka and the Moon Steps in Northern Ergoth, were said to have led to the homes of Nuitari and Lunitari respectively. Both those stairways had collapsed during the Chaos War.

Goldmoon glanced down. She no longer saw the firefly lights of the port town of Schallsea, nor could she see the ground-only blackness, cut through by the moonbeam of glistening silver steps winding away below her. Higher, she demanded of herself… just a little higher.

The fact that this one Celestial Ladder remained, Goldmoon thought, surely was a sign that good would ultimately triumph in the dragon-plagued world. Now if she could only triumph over the limitations of her body and reach the top before she froze to death.

A few more steps and a mist swirled around her head. Clouds, she guessed as she reached deep inside herself to summon the very last of her strength, climbing higher still. Suddenly the mist swirled all around her, and she could no longer make out the stairway above or below her-even directly beneath her feet. Her pace slowed to a crawl as she forced herself on, edged one foot up at a time, feeling for the next step. It was so terribly cold here, and the air was incredibly thin. It hurt just to breathe.

"Not much farther." Please, she added to herself, please don't let it be much farther. There had to be an end to the stairway, didn't there? It couldn't continue on to infinity.

She felt as if she couldn't move another inch when her head poked above the clouds and the last few steps came into view. "Not much farther," she stated with more conviction as she slowly struggled up the remaining few steps, her legs so sore it felt as if tiny needles were being jabbed into them.

Balancing carefully on the top step, she gazed out at a majestic sea of stars spread out like a blanket before her. She sucked in her breath, overwhelmed by the stark resplendence. Abruptly the stars were gone, the cold gone. The stairway beneath her feet had faded. In a heartbeat, stretching out before her was an arid plane.

"By the vanished gods," she breathed in hushed disbelief. The air grew instantly warm around her, night turned to bright day, and waves of heat drifted up from the parched ground. The waves quavered and caught her attention, coalescing to form an image of a beautiful woman.

"Mishakal," Goldmoon whispered. Her fingers fluttered up to touch an ornate disk hanging around her neck, the symbol of Mishakal, the goddess of healing magic whom she revered and had dedicated her life to so many years ago. "Mishakal?" Goldmoon somehow found a new reserve of strength. She took a step forward and another, experiencing a moment of panic so intense it felt as if her heart were being squeezed. This is an illusion, she admonished herself. You're standing on the topmost step of the Silver Stair, and if you move another inch you'll fall a very long distance.

The goddess floated backward, her arms beckoning Goldmoon to follow. She seemed so incredibly real.

"It's an illusion," Goldmoon stated aloud. Nevertheless, she edged a foot out. The ground, cracked like a scorched riverbed, felt solid enough beneath her bare feet, and it felt genuine-dry and jagged and unpleasant to walk upon. The tingling of the stair was gone. She tentatively took another step, and then another and another. As she neared the goddess, the air grew warmer, as hot as a blistering day during Raging Fire.

"Mishakal," Goldmoon said in a strong voice, staring into the diaphanous face of the goddess. "Where are you? Have you truly left Krynn? Am I only imagining you?"

As if in answer, the effigy faltered, and Goldmoon stretched out a hand to touch it, hoping to hold on to some part of the goddess, and therefore some part of the faith she once fervently had in her and in all of Krynn's deities. "Mishakal? No!"

The image wavered until it was so transparent she could hardly make it out, then it grew until it towered over Goldmoon and the plateau. It darkened and thickened, taking on a new visage.

"Chaos." The word sent the color draining from Goldmoon's face.

The God of All and of Nothing opened his maw and laughed at the insignificant healer so far below him. Goldmoon thrust her hands over her ears to blot out the sound. Instead, she heard the laughter more clearly. As it grew louder, it became distorted, sounding like the roar of a great fire one moment, next like the booming thunder of a storm. The sound receded, but it did not disappear entirely, as other noises came from the god's mouth-snarls and battle cries. He opened his maw wider, and tiny dragons fluttered out in a blur of racing colors.

The soft thunder of his laughter was gradually drowned out by the cracks from bolts of lightning that came from blue dragons. As those dragons grew larger and started circling the god's head, Goldmoon made out Knights of Takhisis astride their backs. The dragons passed close so the riders could jab lances at the god's eyes. Silver dragons joined the blues, Solamnic knights mounted atop them. Their small swords glimmered like stars.

The plain beneath Chaos's feet rippled, and from the ground sprouted more knights and dragons, all fighting the God of Everything and of Nothing-and all to no avail. Goldmoon guessed she was seeing the Chaos War in the Abyss played out before her.

The fight continued for what seemed like hours, though she sensed only minutes had passed. Nothing seemed to faze the god. Nearly hidden behind the god's leg, Goldmoon saw the diaphanous image of Mishakal once more, and near her a kender who plunged a knife into the god's boot.

The laughter stopped, and the great form of Chaos seemed to tremble. The god inhaled deeply then, drawing back into his mouth the forms of the dragons and knights-and the form of Mishakal, who spiraled around his body and then slipped inside his mouth as his teeth clamped closed.

"Chaos took the gods with him," Goldmoon stated softly. "When he left Krynn, he bade them to follow." She stared at the great image, which trembled more noticeably now. As Goldmoon continued to watch, his form began to shrink and then to melt. She stepped backward as a god pool formed on the plateau, red with the blood of Chaos and those he had slaughtered. The pool bubbled like lava, adding to the heat of the place, and Goldmoon's eyes grew wide as the bubbles rose above the pool and collected into the images of the great dragons now plaguing Krynn.

They flew toward her, diving and passing through her like phantasms, so fast that they were a blinding blur of red and white, black and green and blue. She blinked and trembled in disbelief as the dry ground rippled, the lava becoming a bright green now and covering the land, the bubbles thinning and forming tall blades of grass. Trees sprouted at the edge of her vision, circling her as the sky darkened again. She stood in a clearing now, and before her was the Silver Stair, its steps glimmering invitingly as they had when she first saw them. Minutes ago? Just this instant? Waiting to be climbed.

"I…" For a moment Goldmoon wondered if she had ever climbed the stairs in the first place, if she had instead fallen down from exhaustion and merely imagined the arduous climb and the images of Chaos and Mishakal at the top. There was no cloak on her shoulders, and no sandals at the base of the steps that twinkled several yards away. She glanced behind her: no discarded lantern.