Spring Dawning in Staughton proved to be far more interesting than anyone had anticipated. Word soon spread through the city that a miracle had occurred at the hostelry. As word spread, people began leaving the fair grounds and hastening to see for themselves.
One of the groomsmen was an eyewitness and he was now the center of attention, urged to tell and retell his story for the benefit of those who had arrived late.
According to the groomsman, who was reputed to be a sober and responsible individual, he had been returning from the hostelry’s stables when the black palanquin was carried into the courtyard. The four bearers lowered the palanquin to the ground. Mina stepped out of it. The bearers removed a fancifully carved wooden chest from the palanquin, and at Mina’s behest, carried it to her room. Mina entered the hostelry and was not seen again, though the groomsman lingered in the courtyard on purpose, hoping to catch another glimpse of her. The four female bearers returned to the palanquin. They took up their positions at the front and back of the palanquin and stood there, unmoving.
A kender immediately descended on the bearers and began badgering them with questions. The bearers refused to answer, maintaining a dignified silence. They were so silent, in fact, and so completely oblivious of the kender—when by now any normal person would have given him a box on the ears—that he poked one of the bearers in the ribs.
The kender gasped and poked the woman again.
“It’s solid rock!” the kender cried shrilly. “The lady’s turned to stone!”
The groomsman immediately assumed the kender was lying. Further investigation revealed otherwise. The four female bearers were four black marble statutes. The black palanquin was a black marble palanquin. People swarmed to the hostelry to see the wondrous sight, doing additional wonders for the innkeeper’s business in ale and dwarf spirits.
Despite a torrential rainstorm, the hostelry’s courtyard was soon packed with people, with the crowds overflowing into adjacent streets. The people began chanting “Mina, Mina!” and when, after about two hours, Mina appeared at one of the upper story windows, the crowd went wild, cheering and exhorting her to speak.
Throwing open one of the lead-paned glass windows, Mina gave a brief talk, explaining that Chemosh had returned to the world with new and stronger powers than before. She was constantly interrupted by rumbles of thunder and cracklings of lightning, but she persisted and the crowd hung on every word. Chemosh was no longer interested in going about cemeteries raising up corpses, she told them. He was interested in life and the living, and he had a special gift to offer anyone who would follow him. All his faithful would receive life unending.
“You will never grow older than you are this day,” Mina promised. “You will never be sick. You will never know fear or cold or hunger. You will be immune to disease. You will never taste the bitterness of death.”
“I’ll become a follower!” jeered one youth, one of the inn’s best customers in the dwarf spirit line. “But only if you come down here and show me the way.”
The crowd laughed. Mina smiled at him.
“I am the High Priestess of Chemosh, here to bring the message of the god to his people,” she said in pleasant tones. “If you are serious in becoming one of his followers, Chemosh will see into your heart and he will send someone to you in his name.”
She shut the window and faded back into the room, out of sight. The crowd waited a moment to see if she would return, then some went home to dry out, while others went over to poke and pinch the statues or watch those who trying unsuccessfully to chip at them with hammer and chisel.
Of course, the first thing people did was to rush word of the stone statues to Lleu, the cleric of Kiri-Jolith.
Lleu didn’t believe it.
“It’s some third-rate illusionist trick,” he said, scoffing. “Rolf the groomsman is gullible as they come. I don’t believe it.” He rose from his desk, where he had been writing a letter to his superior in Solanthus, detailing his concerns about Chemosh. “I’ll go expose this charlatan for what she is.”
“It’s no trick, Lleu,” said Marta, cleric of Zeboim, entering the study. “I’ve seen it. Solid stone they are. Black as Chemosh’s heart.”
“Are you sure?” Lleu demanded.
Marta nodded gloomily, and Lleu sat back down again. Marta may have been a cleric for a goddess who was cruel and capricious, but the cleric herself was honest, level-headed, and not given to flights of fancy.
“What do we do?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Marta. “My goddess is not happy.” An enormous clap of thunder that knocked several books from the shelves testified to Zeboim’s perturbed state of mind. “But if we go gawking at the statues like every other person in this city, we will only be lending credence to this miracle. I say we ignore it.”
“You’re right,” said Lleu. “We should ignore it. This Mina will be gone in a day or two. The people will forget about it and go on to some other wonder—a two-headed calf or some such thing.”
He winced as another horrific thunder bolt shook the ground.
“I only wish I could convince her Holiness of that,” Marta muttered, glancing toward the rain-soaked heavens. Shaking her head, she left the temple to return to her own.
Lleu knew his advice was sound, but he found he could not go back to work. He paced about the temple, confused and at odds with himself. Every time he passed the statue of the god, Lieu looked at that stern and implacable face and wished he possessed such determination and force of will. He had thought that once he did. He was distraught to find that perhaps he didn’t.
He was still pacing when there came a knock at the temple door. The cleric opened it to find one of the potboys from the hostelry.
“I have a message for Father Lleu,” said the boy.
“I am he,” said Lieu.
The boy held out a scroll tied up with a black ribbon and sealed with black wax.
Lleu frowned. He was tempted to slam the door in the boy’s face, then realized that word would go around that he was afraid. He was young and insecure. He hadn’t been in Staughton that long and he was working hard to establish himself and his religion in a city that only marginally cared. He took the scroll.
“You have leave to go,” he told the boy.
“I’m to stay, Father, in case there’s a reply.”
Lleu was about to say that there would be no reply, that he had nothing to say to a High Priestess of Chemosh, but again, he thought of how that would look. He tore off the black ribbon, broke the seal, and hastily read through the missive.
I look forward to our discussion. I will he at leisure to receive you at the hour of moon rise.
In the name of Chemosh
“Tell the High Priestess Mina that I would like very much to come to talk theology with her, but that I have pressing matters of my own temple to which I must attend,” Lieu said. “Thank her for thinking of me.”
“I’d reconsider if I were you, Father,” said the potboy with a wink. “She’s a looker.”
“The High Priestess is a cleric and she is your elder,” said Lieu, glowering. “As am I. You owe both of us more respect.”
“Yes, Father,” said potboy, chastened. He scuttled off.
Lieu returned to the altar. The cleric looked again at the face of Kiri-Jolith, this time for reassurance.
The god regarded him with a cold eye. Lleu could almost hear the voice. “I want no cowards in my service.”
Lieu did not think he was being cowardly. He was being sensible. He had no need to bandy words with this woman and he certainly had no interest in Chemosh.
He went back to his study to finish his letter.
The quill sputtered. He spilled the ink. At last he gave up. Staring out at the pouring rain that beat on the roof of the temple like a drummer summoning all true knights to battle, Lieu tried to divest himself of thoughts of amber eyes.