He continued on until he came to a place where trampled brush and broken sticks indicated his friends had left the road and gone into the woods. They were traveling in the direction of the light, which he judged came from a candle in a window, a beacon left to guide those who wander in the night.
He walked the flagstone path. The flowers had closed up in slumber. The small house was wrapped in stillness. On the road, he had heard the sounds of animal movement in the forest, the calls of night birds. Here all was silence, sweet and restful. He felt no unease, no sense of threat or danger. As he came closer, he saw the curtains in the window had been drawn aside. The candle stood in a silver candle holder on the window sill. By the light of a dying fire, he could see a woman sitting in a rocking chair, holding in her arms a slumbering child.
The woman rocked slowly back and forth. Mina’s head lay upon the woman’s breast. Mina was too big to be rocked like a baby and she would have never permitted it, had she been awake. But she was deep in sleep and would never know.
The expression on the woman’s face was one of such unutterable sorrow that it struck Rhys to the heart. He saw Nightshade asleep with his head on the table and Atta slumbering by the fire. He was loath, suddenly, to knock, not wanting to disturb any of them. Now that he knew his friends were in safe-keeping, he would leave them here and return for them in the morning.
He was starting to withdraw when Atta either heard his footfall or sniffed his scent, for she gave a welcoming woof. Leaping to her feet, she ran to the door and began to whine and scratch on it.
“Come in, Brother,” the woman called. “I have been expecting you.”
Rhys opened the door, which had no lock, and entered the house. He patted Atta, who wagged not only her tail, but her entire back end in joyous greeting. Nightshade had jumped at Atta’s bark, but the kender was so worn out that he went back to sleep without waking.
Rhys came to stand before the woman and bowed deeply and reverently.
“You know me, then,” she said, looking up at him with a smile.
“I do, White Lady,” he said softly, so as not to wake Mina.
The woman nodded. She stroked Mina’s hair and then kissed her gently on the forehead. “Thus I would comfort all the children who are lost and unhappy this night.”
Rising to her feet, the White Lady, as some knew the goddess Mishakal, carried Mina to bed. Mishakal laid the child down and covered her with a quilt. Rhys tapped Nightshade gently on the shoulder.
The kender opened one eye and gave a large yawn. “Oh, hullo, Rhys. I’m glad you’re alive. Try the gingerbread,” Nightshade advised, and went to back to sleep.
Mishakal stood gazing down at Mina. Rhys was overcome with emotion, his heart too full for speech, even if he knew what words to say. He felt the sorrow of the goddess, forced to place the child born of joy in the moment of the world’s creation in eternal slumber, knowing her child would never see the light that had given her birth. And then had come the more terrible knowledge that when her child had first opened her eyes, she had not looked on light, but on cruel darkness.
“It is not often a mortal pities a god, Brother Rhys. It is not often a god deserves a mortal’s pity.”
“I do not pity you, Lady,” Rhys said. “I grieve for you and for her.”
“Thank you, Brother, for your care of her. I know you are weary, and you will find rest here as long as you require. If you can stave off your weariness for a little longer, Brother, we must talk, you and I.”
Rhys sat down at the table on which were still scattered crumbs of gingerbread.
“I am sorry for the destruction and loss of life in Solace, White Lady,” Rhys said. “I feel responsible. I should not have Mina brought there. I knew Chemosh was seeking her. I should have foreseen he would try to take her—”
“You are not responsible for the actions of Chemosh, Brother,” Mishakal said. “It was well you and Mina were in Solace when Krell attacked. Had you been alone, you could not have fought off him or his Bone Warriors. As it was, my priests and Majere’s and those of Kiri-Jolith and Gilean and others were there to assist you.”
“Innocents died in that battle…” Rhys said.
“And Chemosh will be made to account for their lives,” Mishakal said sternly. “He flouted the decree of Gilean by trying to abduct Mina. He has brought the wrath of all the gods down upon him, including the anger of his own allies, Sargonnas and Zeboim. A minotaur force is already marching on Chemosh’s castle near Flotsam with orders to raze it. The Lord of Death has fled this world and is now entrenched in the Hall of the Dead. His clerics are being hunted and destroyed.”
“Will there be another war?” Rhys asked, appalled.
“None can say,” Mishakal replied gravely. “That depends on Mina. Upon the choices she makes.”
“Forgive me, White Lady,” Rhys said, “but Mina is not fit to make choices. Her mind is deeply troubled.”
“I am not so sure of that,” Mishakal said. “Mina herself made the decision to go to Godshome. None of us suggested that to her. Her instinct draws her there.”
“What does she hope to find?” Rhys asked. “Will she truly meet Goldmoon, as she expects?”
“No,” said Mishakal, smiling. “The spirit of my blessed servant, Goldmoon, is far from here, continuing her soul’s journey. Yet Mina does go to Godshome in search of a mother. She seeks the mother who brought her into joyous being, and she seeks the dark mother, Takhisis, who brought her to life. She must choose which she will follow.”
“And until she makes her decision, this religious strife will continue,” Rhys said unhappily.
“That is sadly true, Brother. If Mina could be given an eternity of time to decide, eventually she would find her way.” Mishakal sighed softly. “But we don’t have eternity. As you fear, what has started as strife will devolve into all-out war.”
“I will take Mina to Godshome,” said Rhys. “I will help her find her way.”
“You are her guide and her guardian and her friend, Brother,” said Mishakal. “But you cannot take her to Godshome. Only one may do that. One with whom her fate is inextricably bound. If he chooses to do so. He has the power to refuse.”
“I don’t understand, White Lady.”
“The gods of light made this promise to man: mortals are free to choose their own destiny. All mortals.”
Rhys heard the gentle emphasis on the word “all” and thought it strange, as if she were including one mortal who might otherwise be singled out as exceptional. Wondering what she meant, he thought back on her words and suddenly he understood her.
“All mortals,” he repeated. “Even those who were once gods. You speak of Valthonis!”
“As Mina goes to Godshome seeking her mother, so she also seeks her father. Valthonis, who was once Paladine, is not bound by the edict of Gilean. Valthonis is the only one who can help her find her way.”
“And Mina has sworn to kill him—the one person who could save her.”
“Sargonnas is clever, far more clever than Chemosh. He plans to give Mina a choice—darkness or light. Gilean cannot very well interfere with that. And Sargonnas gives Valthonis a choice, as well. A bitter dilemma for Mina, for Valthonis, for you, Brother,” said Mishakal. “On the morrow, I can send you and Mina and those who choose to go with you to meet with Valthonis if you are still resolved upon this course. I will give you the night to consider, for I may well be sending you to your death.”
“I do not need the night to think about this, White Lady. I am resolved,” said Rhys. “I will do what I can to help both Mina and Valthonis. And do not fear for him. He does not walk alone. He has the Faithful, self-appointed guardians, who are sworn to protect him…”