“The wretch has gone mad,” Chemosh muttered, and he left the raving Krell to search for Mina.
The night was lit with an amber glow that blazed through the windows and shone through cracks in the wall and chinks in the masonry. Chemosh found it difficult to see for the blaring light, and as he shielded his immortal eyes against it, his doubt grew.
He was heading for Mina’s chambers when the castle shook and walls trembled. A thundering, grinding roar such as he had heard only once before caused him to stand still with astonishment. The last time he’d heard that roar, the world was being born. Mountains were being lifted up, chasms carved through them, and the seas were white with the foam and the glory of creation.
Chemosh tried to see what was happening, but the light was too bright. He ran up the stairs to the battlements and stopped dead in his tracks.
On a new-formed island of black rock stood the Tower of the Blood Sea. The Tower shone with an amber glow, and there was Mina, standing before him with her arms outstretched, and it seemed to his dazzled vision that she held the tower in her hands. Then she sank down onto the stone and lay there unmoving.
Chemosh could only stare.
Zeboim rose from the sea, walked through the ethers and came to stand over Mina.
The three cousins left their celestial homes and came down to look on Mina.
The man-bull, Sargonnas, stepped over the castle wall and planted himself in the courtyard and glared at Chemosh. Kiri-Jolith, armed and accoutered for battle, also appeared; the White Lady, Mishakal, beautiful and strong, by his side. Habakkuk came, and Branchala with his harp, and the wind touched the strings and made a mournful sound.
Morgion stood in the shadows, regarding them all with loathing yet here regardless, among them. Chislev, Shinare, Sirrion stood together, bound by wonder. Reorx stroked his beard. He opened his mouth to say something, then feeling the weight of the silence, the god of the dwarves snapped his mouth shut again and looked uncomfortable. Hiddukel was grim and nervous, certain this would be bad for business. Zivilyn and Gilean arrived last, the two of them deep in talk that hushed when they saw the other gods.
“One of us is missing,” said Gilean, and his tone was dire. “Where is Majere?”
“I am here.” Majere walked among them slowly, his gaze going to none of them. He looked only at Mina and there was, on his face, inexpressible sorrow.
“Zivilyn tells me you know something about this.”
Majere continued to gaze down at Mina. “I do, God of the Book.”
“How long have you known?”
“Many, many eons, God of the Book.”
“Why keep this a secret?” Gilean asked.
“It was not mine to reveal,” Majere replied. “I gave my solemn oath.”
“To whom?” Gilean demanded.
“To one who is no longer among us.”
The gods were silent.
“I assume you mean Paladine,” Gilean stated. “But there is another who is no longer with us. Does this have something to do with her?”
“Takhisis?” Majere spoke sharply. His voice hardened. “She was responsible for this.”
Chemosh spoke. “Her last words, before the High God came to take her, were these: ‘You are making a mistake! What I have done cannot be undone. The curse is among you. Destroy me and you destroy yourselves.’”
“Why didn’t you tell us this?” Sargonnas roared.
“She was always making threats.” Chemosh shrugged. “Why was this any different?”
The other gods had no answer. They stood silent, waiting.
“The fault is mine,” Majere said at last. “I acted for the best, or so I believed.”
Mina lay cold and still. Chemosh wanted to go to her, but he could not, not with all of them watching him. He said to Majere, “Is she dead?”
“She is not dead, because she cannot die.” Majere looked at each of them, each and every one. “You have been blind, but now you see the truth.”
“We see, but we do not understand.”
“You do,” said Majere. He folded his hands and gazed out into the firmaments. “You don’t want to.”
He did not see the stars. He saw the stars’ first light.
“It began at the beginning of time.” he said, “And it began in joy.” He sighed deeply. “Now, because I did not speak, it could end in bitter sorrow.”
“Explain yourself, Majere!” growled Sargonnas. “We have no time for your blathering!”
Majere shifted his gaze from the time’s beginning to the present. He looked at his fellows.
“You need no explanation. You can see for yourselves. She is a god. A god who does not know she is a god. She is a god who was deceived by Takhisis into thinking she is human.”
“A god of Darkness!” said Sargonnas, exultant.
Majere paused. When he spoke, his voice was soft with sorrow. “She was tricked by Takhisis into serving Darkness. She is—or was—a god of Light.”
Appendix. The Beloved of Chemosh
Death stands as the greatest fear of the mortal races upon Krynn. Maiden and crone, warrior and wizard, sinner and cleric: only the few who have found true peace can look to their soul’s passing and not shudder at the passing of death’s icy fingertips over warm, living flesh. Chemosh is the god of death and is known by all, either directly by name or simply as a terrifying abstract concept.
Fear of death has won Chemosh many souls and worshippers down through the ages of the world. His clerics wielded dark magic, causing long-dead corpses to tear themselves out from the earth. Wizards loyal for a lifetime to the Conclave and the teachings of Nuitari also came to Chemosh, learning the secrets of lichdom and becoming powerful agents of death. Graverobbers, fearful of offending the Lord of Bones, left offerings for his priests.
The theft of the world by the fallen and slain goddess, Takhisis, forever changed the realms of the gods and their relationship with the mortal world. Some gods struggled over the power vacuum left by their former brethren, becoming determined to occupy the thrones of power. Others were forced to evaluate their goals, plans, and methods—set in place for eons—and look to what place there might be for gods in an Age of Mortals. The god of death is determined to fill the void left by the Queen of Darkness and also to change the very image of death in the minds of the living. Chemosh no longer chooses to seek the devotion of necromancers and embalmers. He would prefer to have followers who are vibrant, young, and full of life. Rather than enjoy the fear of mortals, he would gain their love.
The love of the god of death has spread across Ansalon like a plague.
When one of the Beloved of Chemosh enters a community, he is often remembered for a lust for life, not a connection with death. Usually attractive and always confident and charming, the Beloved are the life of the party. They crave flavorful food and strong drink, seek games and rousing conversation. People who stagger home from an evening spent with Chemosh’s chosen, their stomachs full and heads buzzing, might more easily imagine they have spent time with a fun-loving gully dwarf than a chosen servant of the Lord of Bones.
Those who go home from such an evening are the lucky ones, however. A Beloved will inevitably choose one special companion for more special attention. Though it could be a man or woman of any age or profession, it is often someone young and attractive, one eager for a liaison with the Beloved.
The encounter goes much as the victim first intends. The Beloved are passionate in intimate company. When desire has built and the victim is most likely to agree to anything, the Beloved makes a request.
The victim must swear his or her soul to Chemosh.
Many times this request is made lightly, as if such an oath carries no consequences. Other times, the requests are solemn and earnest, with claims that Chemosh is not truly the god of death but is actually one of life unending. If a Beloved does not gain his way immediately, it will beg, plead, and even threaten in order to secure the oath of the victim.