Mina giggled and Nightshade went red in the face. Rhys stepped in, told Mina to quit teasing Nightshade, and told Nightshade to go on with his story.
“The little boy ghost,” said Nightshade with emphasis, “was really unhappy. He was just sitting there on this tombstone, kicking it with his heels. I asked him how long he’d been dead and he said five years. He was six when he died, and he was eleven now. That struck me as odd, because the dead usually don’t keep track of time. He said he knew how old he was because his father came to visit every year on the little boy’s birthday. That seemed to make him sad, so to cheer him up, I offered to play a game with him, but he didn’t want to play. Then I asked him why he was still here among the living when he should be on his soul’s journey.”
“I don’t like this story,” Mina said, frowning.
Nightshade was about to make a stinging remark when he caught Rhys’ eye and thought better of it. He went on with his tale.
“The little boy said he wanted to leave. He could see a wonderful, beautiful place and he wanted to go there, but he couldn’t because he didn’t want to leave his father. I said his father would want him to go on with his journey and I told him that they’d meet up again. The little boy said that was the problem. If he did meet his father again, how would his father recognize him after so much time had passed?”
Mina had been fidgeting, but she was quiet now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, listening intently, her amber gaze fixed on the kender.
“I told him his father would know. The little boy didn’t believe me and I said I would prove it.
“I went to the cobbler and I told him I was a Nightstalker and I’d talked to his son and that there was a problem. At first the cobbler was kind of rude, and there might have been a small scuffle when he tried to throw me out of his shop. But then I described his little boy to him, and the cobbler calmed down and listened.
“I took the cobbler to the graveyard, and his son was there waiting for him. The cobbler told me that he thought about his son every day, and he imagined what he would be like as he was growing up, and he said that was why he came to visit on his birthday. That he could see his little boy growing up in his mind. When the little boy heard this, he knew that no matter how much he changed, his father would know him. The boy quit kicking the tombstone and gave his father a hug and then he left on his journey.
“The father couldn’t see his little boy or hear him, of course, but I think he did feel the hug, because the father said I’d lifted a weight from his heart. He felt at peace for the first time in five years. So he took me back to his shop and he gave me the boots and he said I was a—”
Sitting up straight, Mina said abruptly, “What if the little boy hadn’t died? What if he’d lived and grown to be a man and he’d done things that were wicked? Very, very wicked. What would happen then?”
“How should I know?” Nightshade said crossly. “That has nothing to do with my story. Where was I? Oh, yes. The cobbler gave me the boots and he said I was a—”
“HI tell you,” said Mina solemnly. “The little boy must never grow up. That way, the father will still love him.”
Nightshade stared at Mina in astonishment. Then, leaning close, he said in a loud whisper, “Is that why she’s a—”
“Go on with your story,” Rhys said quietly. He reached out his hand and gently smoothed Mina’s auburn hair.
Mina gave a fleeting smile, but she did not look up. She sat gazing into the fire.
“Uh, anyway, the cobbler gave me the boots,” Nightshade said, subdued. He sat looking uncomfortable and then remembered. “Oh, I have something else!” He went to retrieve a large cloth bag and plunked it down triumphantly.
Rhys had noticed the bag, but had been careful not to ask questions, not being truly certain he wanted to know the answers.
“It’s a map!” Nightshade stated, pulling out a large, rolled-up sheet of oiled paper. “A map of Ansalon.”
He spread out the map on the floor and prepared to show it off. Unfortunately, the map kept wanting to roll back up again, and he had to anchor it down with two ale mugs, a soup bowl and the leg of the stool.
“Nightshade,” said Rhys, “a map like this costs a lot of money—”
“Does it?” Nightshade frowned. “I don’t know why. It looks kind of beat-up to me.”
“Nightshade—”
“Oh, all right. If you insist, I’ll take it back in the morning.”
“Tonight,” said Rhys.
“The minotaur captain won’t miss it until morning,” Nightshade assured him. “And I didn’t take it. I asked the captain if I could borrow it. That was right before he passed out. My minotaur is a little rusty, but I’m pretty certain ‘Ash kanazi rasckana cloppf’, means ‘Yes, of course you can, my friend.’” (Translation: “Shove off before I gut you, you little turd!”)
“We’ll both return the map tonight,” said Rhys.
“Well, if you insist. But first, don’t you want to look at it? This shows the way to—”
“—to Godshome?” cried Mina, jumping up eagerly.
“Well, no, Godshome’s not on here. But it does show Neraka, which is somewhere near where Godshome might be.”
“Which is where?” Mina asked, squatting down beside the map.
Nightshade hunted a bit, then placed his finger on a mountain range on the western side of the continent.
“And where are we?” Mina asked.
Nightshade placed his finger on a dot on the eastern side of the continent.
“That’s not far,” said Mina happily.
“Not far!” Nightshade hooted. “It’s hundreds and hundreds of miles.”
“Pooh. Watch this!” Mina stepped on the map, almost squashing Nightshade’s fingers. Placing her feet close to each other, she walked heel, toe, heel, toe from one side of the map to other side. “There. You see? That was about three steps. Not far at all.”
Nightshade gaped at her. “But that’s—”
“This is boring. I’m going to bed.” Mina walked over to where she had her blanket stashed. Spreading it out, she lay down and immediately sat back up. “We’re starting for Godshome tomorrow,” she told them, and then laid back down, curled up, and went to sleep.
“Three steps,” Nightshade repeated. “She’s going to expect to get there by tomorrow night.”
“I know,” said Rhys. “I’ll talk to her.” He gazed somberly at the map and sighed. “It is a long way. I hadn’t realized just far we had traveled. And how far we have to go.”
“We could book passage on a ship,” Nightshade suggested. “We might find one that would allow kender—”
Rhys smiled at his friend. “We might. But would you put yourself into the hands of the Sea Goddess again?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Nightshade said with a grimace. “I guess we walk.”
He plopped down on his stomach and continued to study the map. “It’s not a straight line from here to there. How will we remember the route?”
He rolled over comfortably on his back, propped his head on his arms. “The minotaur won’t miss his map until morning. If we had something to write on, I could copy it. I know! We could cut up my old shirt!”
He brought the shirt back along with a pair of shears he borrowed (legitimately) from the innkeeper and a quill pen and some ink. Nightshade then settled down happily to make a copy of the map and plot out their route.
“Do you know anything about all these different countries?” he asked Rhys.
“I do know something of them,” Rhys said. “The monks of my order often leave the monastery to travel the world. When they return, they tell tales of where they have been, what they have seen. I have heard many stories and descriptions of the lands of Ansalon.”