Her hair was drawn back from her head, pulled back so tightly that it stretched the skin over her cheekbones, erasing many of her wrinkles, making her look younger. She was an impressive sight, one that the audience, in their opiated state, appreciated to the fullest. Murmurs of admiration and awe swept through the arena.
Judith raised her hands for silence. The audience obeyed. All was hushed, no one coughed, no baby whimpered.
"Those supplicants who have been deemed acceptable may now come forward to speak to those who have passed beyond," the High Priest called out. He had an oddly high-pitched voice for a man his size.
Eight people, who had been herded into a sort of pen on one side of the arena, now shuffled down the stairs in single file, guided by the priests. The supplicants were not permitted to step onto the floor of the arena itself, but were kept back by ropes.
Six were middle-aged women, dressed in black mourning clothes. They looked pleased and self- important as they entered behind the priests. The seventh was a young woman not much older than Raistlin, who looked pale and worn and sometimes put her hand to her eyes. She was also wearing mourning clothes, her grief was obviously fresh. The eighth was a stolid farmer in his forties. He stood rock still, stared straight ahead, his face carefully arranged so as to betray no emotion. He was not dressed in mourning and looked extremely out of place.
"Step forward and make your requests. What is it you would ask Belzor?" the High Priest called out.
The first woman was escorted to the fore by a priest. Standing in front of the High Priestess, she made her request.
She wanted to speak to her deceased husband, Arginon. "I want to make sure he's fine and wearing his flannel weskit to keep off the chill," she said. "This being what kilt him."
High Priestess Judith listened, and when the woman finished, the High Priestess made a gracious bow. "Belzor will consider your request," she said.
The next woman came forward with much the same desire, to speak to a dead husband, as did the four who came after.
The High Priestess was gracious to each, promising that Belzor was listening.
Then the priests led forward the young woman. She pressed her hands together, gazed earnestly at the High Priestess.
"My little girl died of. of the fever. She was only five. And she was so afraid of the dark! I want to make sure. it's not dark. where she is…" The bereaved mother broke down and sobbed.
"Poor girl," said Caramon softly.
Raistlin said nothing. He had seen Judith frown slightly, her lips compress in a tight, forbidding smile that he remembered very well.
The High Priestess promised, in a tone somewhat colder than that she had used with the others, that Belzor would look into the matter. The young woman was helped back to her place in line, and the priests led forth the farmer.
He appeared nervous but determined. Clasping his hands, he cleared his throat. In a loud and booming voice, speaking very rapidly, without a pause for breath or punctuation, he stated, "My father died six months ago we know he had money when he died 'cause he spoke of it when the fit was on him he must have hid it but we can't none of us find it what we want to know is where the money is hid thank you."
The farmer gave a curt nod and stepped back in line, nearly trampling the priest who had come up to escort him.
The audience murmured at this; someone laughed and was immediately stifled.
"I am surprised he was permitted to come forward with such an ignoble request," Sturm said in a low voice.
"On the contrary," Raistlin whispered, "I imagine that Belzor will look upon his request with favor." Sturm looked shocked and tugged on his long mustache. He shook his head. "Wait and see," Raistlin advised.
The High Priestess once more raised her hands, commanding silence. The audience held its breath, an air of excited expectation electrified the crowd. Most had been in attendance many times previous. This was what they had come to see.
Judith lowered her arms with a sudden dramatic gesture, which caused the voluminous sleeves to fall and cover her hands, hiding them from sight. The High Priest began to chant, calling upon Belzor. Judith tilted her head. Her eyes closed, her lips moved in silent prayer.
The statue moved.
Raistlin's attention had been focused on Judith; he caught sight of the movement out of the corner of his eye. He shifted his gaze to the statue, at the same time drawing his brother's attention to it with a nudge.
"Huh?" Caramon gave a violent start.
The crude stone statue of the viper had come to life. It twisted and writhed, yet as Raistlin narrowed his gaze to focus on the statue, he was not convinced that the stone itself was moving.
"It's like a shadow," he said to himself. "It is as if the shadow of the snake has come to life. I wonder."
"Do you see that?" Caramon gasped, awe-struck and breathless. "It's alive! Kit, do you see that? Sturm? The statue is alive!"
The shadowy form of the snake, its hood spread wide, slithered forward across the arena. The viper was enormous, the swaying head brushed the high domed ceiling. The viper, tongue flickering, crawled toward the High Priestess. Women cried out, children shrieked, men called hoarse warnings.
"Do not be afraid!" cried the High Priest, raising his hands, palm outward, to quiet the worshipers. "What you see is the spirit of Belzor. He will not harm the righteous. He comes to bring us word from beyond."
The snake slithered to a halt behind Judith. Its hooded head swayed benignly over her, its gleaming eyes stared out into the crowd. Raistlin glanced at the priests and priestesses in the arena. Some, especially the young, gazed up at the snake with wonder, utterly believing. The audience shared that belief, reveled in the miracle.
A subdued Kit was grudgingly impressed. Caramon was a firm believer. Only Sturm remained doubtful, it seemed. It would take more than a stone statue come to life to displace Paladine.
Judith's head lifted. She wore an expression of ecstasy, her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed, her lips parted. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead.
"Belzor calls forth Obadiah Miller."
The widow of the late Miller stepped nervously forward, her hands clasped. Judith shut her eyes, stood slightly swaying on her feet, in rhythm with the snake.
"You may speak to your husband," said the High Priest.
"Obadiah, are you happy?" asked the widow.
"Most happy, Lark!" Judith replied in an altered voice, deep and gravely.
"Lark!" The widow pressed her hands to her bosom. "That was his pet name for me! It is Obadiah!"
"And it would please me very much, my dear," the late Obadiah continued, "if you would give a portion of the money I left you to the Temple of Belzor."
"I will, Obadiah. I will!"
The widow would have spoken with her husband further, but the priest gently urged her to step back, permitting the next widow to take her place.
This one greeted her late husband, wanted to know if they should plant cabbages next year or turn the parcel of land on the sunny slope over to turnips. Speaking through Judith, the late husband insisted on cabbages, adding that it would please him very much if a certain portion of all their produce should be given to the Temple of Belzor.
At this, Kit sat up straight. She cast a sharp, questioning look at Raistlin.
He glanced at her sidelong, nodded his head once very slightly.
Kit lifted her brows, silently interrogating him.
Raistlin shook his head. Now was not the time.
Kit sat back, satisfied, the pleased smile again on her face.
The other widows spoke to their dead. Each time the deceased husband came forth, he managed to say something that only a wife would know. The husbands all concluded by requesting money for Belzor, which the widows promised, wiping away happy tears, to grant.