As sleep stole over Nightshade, he thought he heard the woman whisper lovingly, “Mina… My child… My own…”
2
Rhys walked the highway leading north out of Solace, confident he was on the trail of his friends. Not only had the matron seen the kender and the child and the dog, he’d met others along the route who had also seen them. The three were together and well and they were traveling north.
He was cheered to learn that although the three had been on the road several hours before he had started in pursuit, they were not far ahead of him. He had been afraid that Mina might take it into her head to walk to Godshome at a god’s pace, but apparently she and the kender and the dog were ambling along, moving slowly. He half-expected to find them sitting somewhere alongside the road, footsore and tired of arguing.
Time passed, and he did not run into them. He began to wonder if they were still ahead of him. He had no way to know for sure. He no longer ran into many travelers. Night was coming on and he’d seen no sign of them. Thinking he might have to search for them after dark, he had borrowed a lantern from Laura, and now he lit the candle inside and flashed it about as he went along. He knew from past experience with lost sheep that searching done by night was tedious and difficult and often fruitless. He might walk right past them in the dark and never know.
The search would have been easier if he’d had Atta with him. Without his dog, he wondered if it wouldn’t be safest to stop and wait to resume his search in the morning. Then he thought of the three of them alone and benighted in the wilderness, and he pressed on.
He came to the place where the road split. The stacked-up rocks were clearly visible in the lantern light, and Rhys breathed easier. He could reasonably assume that they had been left by the kender to indicate the direction they were traveling, an assumption born out by the fact that Rhys saw Atta’s paw prints at one point and a smallish boot print at another.
He took the road east and entered the forest and soon came to the house, although he did not immediately know it was a house. He was walking slowly, keeping watch on the road, looking for signs of the missing. Every so often he would pause and during one of these times he saw the tiny pinprick of light, shining in the night like a steadfast star.
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.”