One started after them. The silent Elspeth stopped him.
“He gave his word,” she said, using signs, touching her hand to her mouth, then to her heart. “He made his choice.”
Grieving, the Faithful began to trace their steps, returning the way they had come. It was some time before any of them realized that Elspeth was not with them. Mindful of their promise, they began to search for her and at last they found her trail. She walked the same path the Walking God had been traveling—the road to Neraka. She refused to turn aside, and mindful of their promise to care for her, the Faithful accompanied her.
4
Rhys was dreaming that he was being watched and he woke with an alarmed start to find his dream was true. A face hovered over him. Fortunately, the face was one Rhys knew, and he closed his eyes in relief and calmed his racing heart.
Nightshade, chin in hand, was sitting cross-legged beside Rhys, peering down at him. The kender’s expression was gloomy.
“About bloody time you woke up!” Nightshade muttered.
Rhys sighed and kept his eyes closed a moment longer. Until his dream, his slumber had been deep and sweet and easeful, and he let go of sleep with regret. All the more so since it appeared by the glimpse he’d had of Nightshade’s grim expression that waking would not be nearly so pleasant.
“Rhys.” Nightshade poked at him with his finger. “Don’t you dare go back to sleep. Here, Atta, slobber on him.”
“I’m awake,” said Rhys, sitting up and ruffling Atta’s fur, for the dog was unhappy and she pressed her head into his neck for comfort. Still soothing Atta, Rhys sat up and looked about.
“Where are we?” he asked, amazed.
“I can tell you where we’re not,” stated Nightshade glumly. “We’re not in the house of the pretty lady who makes the best gingerbread in the world. Which is where we both were yesterday, and the day before that and we were there when I went to sleep last night, and that’s where we should be this morning, only we’re not. We’re here. Wherever ‘here’ is. And I don’t mind telling you,” the kender added in a tense tone, “that I’d rather be somewhere else. Here is not a nice place.”
Rhys gently put Atta aside and rose swiftly to his feet. The forest was gone, as was the small house, where, as Nightshade had said, he and the kender, Atta and Mina had spent two days and two nights—days and nights of blessed tranquility and peace. They had intended to set out upon the final stage of their journey this morning, but it seemed Mishakal had forestalled him.
They looked out upon a desolate, barren valley slung between the charred ridges of several active volcanoes. Tendrils of steam drifted up from the blackened peaks, trailing into a sky that was a stark and empty blue. The air was chill, the sun small and shrunken and impotent, radiating no warmth. Their shadows straggled across the trackless gray stone floor of the valley and dwindled to nothing. The air was thin and sulphurous, difficult to breathe. Rhys could not seem to take in enough to fill his lungs. Most awful was the silence which had a living quality to it, like an inhaled breath. Watchful, waiting.
Strange rock formations littered this valley. Enormous black crystals, jagged-edged and faceted, thrust up out of the stone. Some standing twenty feet high or more, the monoliths were scattered about the valley at random. They were not a natural formation, did not appear to have sprung up out of the ground. Rather, it seemed they had been cast down from heaven by some immense force whose fury had driven them deep into the valley floor.
“The least you could have done is bring the gingerbread with you,”
Nightshade said. “Now we don’t have any breakfast. I know I agreed to come with you to find the Walking God, but I didn’t know the trip was going to be quite so sudden.”
“I didn’t either,” Rhys said, then added sharply, “Where’s Mina?”
Nightshade jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Mina had waited with him beside the slumbering Rhys until she’d grown bored and wandered off to investigate. She stood some distance away, gazing at her reflection in one of the crystalline monoliths.
“Why are you looking all tense like this?” Nightshade demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“I know where we are,” said Rhys, hurrying over to fetch Mina. “I know this place. And we must leave at once. Atta, come!”
“I’m all for leaving. Though leaving doesn’t look to be as easy as coming,” Nightshade stated, breaking into a run to keep up with Rhys’ long strides. “Especially since we have no idea how the ‘coming’ happened. I don’t think it was Mina. She was asleep on the ground when I woke up and when she woke up, she was as startled and confused as I was.”
Rhys was certain the White Lady had sent them to this terrible place, though he could not imagine why, other than that it was said to be close to Godshome.
“So, Rhys,” said Nightshade, his boots thunking on the stone and causing dust to swirl in small, slithering eddies over the floor like side-winding snakes, “where are we? What is this place?”
“The valley of Neraka,” Rhys replied.
The kender gasped, his eyes going round. “Neraka? The Neraka? The Neraka where the Dark Queen built her dark temple and was going to enter the world? I remember that story! There was a guy with a green jewel in his chest who murdered his sister, only she forgave him and her spirit blocked the Dark Queen’s entry, and she lost the war and the brother came back to his sister and together they blew up the temple and… and this is it!” Nightshade stopped to stare with excitement into one of the black monoliths. “These ugly rocks are pieces of Takhisis’ temple!”
“Mina!” Rhys called out to her.
She didn’t seem to hear him. She was staring fixedly at the rock, seemingly mesmerized. Rhys slowed his pace. He didn’t want to startle or alarm her by accosting her suddenly, without warning.
Meanwhile Nightshade was mulling things over. “Neraka had something to do with the War of Souls, too. That war started when Takhisis became the One God and she was going to keep all the souls imprisoned here. Poor souls. I spoke to a good many of them, you know, Rhys. I was glad for them when the war was over and they were finally free to depart, though the graveyard was awfully lonely after that…”
“Mina,” called Rhys softly.
Motioning for Nightshade to keep back, Rhys walked slowly toward her. The kender caught hold of Atta and both of them stopped, both of them panting in the thin air.
“Neraka. War of Souls. Neraka,” Nightshade muttered. “Oh, yes, now I remember it all! Neraka was where the war started and… Omigod! Rhys!” he shouted. “This is where Mina came to start the War of Souls! Takhisis sent her out of the storm…”
Rhys made a stern, emphatic gesture, and Nightshade gulped and fell silent.
“I guess he already knew that,” the kender said and put his arms around Atta’s neck and held onto her tightly—just in case the dog was scared.
Rhys came up to stand behind Mina.
“Who is she?” Mina demanded, frightened. She pointed at her reflection in the black crystal.
Rhys’ breath caught in his throat. He could not speak. The Mina that stood beside him was the child, Mina, with long red braids and freckles on her nose and guileless eyes of amber. The Mina reflected in the black crystal was the woman of the soul-imprisoning amber eyes, the warrior woman who had been born in this valley, the woman who had worshipped the One God, the Dark God, Takhisis.
Mina flung herself in sudden fury at the black rock, kicking it and beating it with her fists.
Rhys seized hold of her. The sharp rock had already cut her hand. Blood trailed down her arm. He hauled her back from the rock. She jerked free of his grip and stood panting and glaring at the rock, and wiped the blood from her cut onto her dress.