“Crysania!” he said to himself with interest. “I wonder why she’s here so early?” Then he was seized with a sudden overwhelming disappointment. Suppose she was here to stop the Cataclysm as well! “Drat! Raistlin said I could,” Tas muttered.
Then, he realized she was talking—either to herself or praying—Tas wasn’t sure which. Crowding as close to the curtain as he dared, he listened to her soft words.
“Paladine, greatest, wisest god of eternal goodness, hear my voice on this most tragic of days. I know I cannot stop what is to come. And, perhaps it is a sign of a lack of faith that I even question what you do. All I ask is this—help me to understand! If it is true that I must die, let me know why. Let me see that my death will serve some purpose. Show me that I have not failed in all I came back here to accomplish.
“Grant that I may stay here, unseen, and listen to what no mortal ever heard and lived to relate—the words of the Kingpriest. He is a good man, too good, perhaps.” Crysania’s head sank into her hands. “My faith hangs by a thread,” she said so softly Tas could barely hear. “Show me some justification for this terrible act. If it is your capricious whim, I will die as I was intended to, perhaps, among those who long ago lost their faith in the true gods—”
“Say not that they lost their faith, Revered Daughter,” came a voice from the air that so startled the kender he nearly fell through the curtains. “Say, rather, that their faith in the true gods was replaced by their faith in false ones—money, power, ambition...”
Crysania raised her head with a gasp that Tas echoed, but it was the sight of her face, not the sight of a shimmering figure of white materializing beside her, that made the kender draw in his breath. Crysania had obviously not slept for nights, her eyes were dark and wide, sunken into her face. Her cheeks were hollow, her lips dry and cracked. She had not bothered to comb her hair—it fell down about her face like black cobwebs as she stared in fear and alarm at the strange, ghostly figure.
“Who—who are you?” she faltered.
“My name is Loralon. And I have come to take you away. You were not intended to die, Crysania. You are the last true cleric now on Krynn and you may join us, who left many days ago.”
“Loralon, the great cleric of Silvanesti,” Crysania murmured. For long moments, she looked at him, then, bowing her head, she turned away, her eyes looking toward the altar. “I cannot go,” she said firmly, her hands clasped nervously before her as she knelt. “Not yet. I must hear the Kingpriest. I must understand...”
“Don’t you understand enough already?” Loralon asked sternly. “What have you felt in your soul this night?”
Crysania swallowed, then brushed back her hair with a trembling hand. “Awe, humility,” she whispered. “Surely, all must feel that before the power of the gods...”
“Nothing else?” Loralon pursued. “Envy, perhaps? A desire to emulate them? To exist on the same level?”
“No!” Crysania answered angrily, then flushed, averting her face.
“Come with me now, Crysania,” Loralon persisted. “A true faith needs no demonstrations, no justification for believing what it knows in its heart to be right.”
“The words my heart speaks echo hollow in my mind,” Crysania returned. “They are no more than shadows. I must see the truth, shining in the clear light of day! No, I will not leave with you. I will stay and hear what he says! I will know if the gods are justified!”
Loralon regarded her with a look that was more pitying than angry. “You do not look into the light, you stand in front of it. The shadow you see cast before you is your own. The next time you will see clearly, Crysania, is when you are blinded by darkness... darkness unending. Farewell, Revered Daughter.”
Tasslehoff blinked and looked around. The old elf was gone! Had he ever really been there? the kender wondered uneasily. But he must have, because Tas could still remember his words. He felt chilled and confused. What had he meant? It all sounded so strange. And what had Crysania meant—being sent here to die?
Then the kender cheered up. Neither of them knew that the Cataclysm wasn’t going to happen. No wonder Crysania was feeling gloomy and out of sorts.
“She’ll probably perk up quite a bit when she finds out that the world isn’t going to be devastated after all,” Tas said to himself.
And then the kender heard distant voices raised in song. The processional! It was beginning. Tas almost whooped in excitement. Fearing discovery, he quickly covered his mouth with his hands. Then he took a last, quick peek out at Crysania. She sat forlornly, cringing at the sound of the music. Distorted by distance, it was shrill, harsh, and unlovely. Her face was so ashen Tas was momentarily alarmed, but then he saw her lips press together firmly, her eyes darken. She stared, unseeing, at her folded hands.
“You’ll feel better soon,” Tas told her silently, then the kender ducked back behind the curtain to remove the wonderful magical device from his pouch. Sitting down, he held the device in his hands, and waited.
The processional lasted forever, at least as far as the kender was concerned. He yawned. Important Missions were certainly dull, he decided irritably, and hoped someone would appreciate what he’d gone through when it was all over. He would have dearly loved to tinker with the magical device, but Raistlin had impressed upon him that he was to leave it alone until the time came and then follow the instructions to the letter. So intent had been the look in Raistlin’s eyes and so cold his voice that it had penetrated even the kender’s careless attitude. Tas sat holding the magical object, almost afraid to move.
Then, just as he was beginning to give up in despair (and his left foot was slowing losing all sensation), he heard a burst of beautiful voices right outside the room! A brilliant light welled through the curtains. The kender fought his curiosity, but finally couldn’t resist just one peep. He had, after all, never seen the Kingpriest. Telling himself that he needed to see what was going on, he peeked through the crack in the curtains again.
The light nearly blinded him.
“Great Reorx!” the kender muttered, covering his eyes with his hands. He recalled once looking up at the sun when a child, trying to figure out if it really was a giant gold coin and, if so, how he could get it out of the sky. He’d been forced to go to bed for three days with cold rags over his eyes.
“I wonder how he does that?” Tas asked, daring to peep through his fingers again. He stared into the heart of the light just as he had stared into the sun. And he saw the truth. The sun wasn’t a golden coin. The Kingpriest was just a man.
The kender did not experience the terrible shock felt by Crysania when she saw through the illusion to the real man. Perhaps this was because Tas had no preconceived notions of what the Kingpriest should look like. Kender hold absolutely no one and nothing in awe (though Tas had to admit he felt a bit queer around the death knight, Lord Soth). He was, therefore, only mildly surprised to see that the most holy Kingpriest was simply a middle-aged human, balding, with pale blue eyes and the terrified look of a deer caught in a thicket. Tas was surprised—and disappointed.
“I’ve gone to all this trouble for nothing,” the kender thought irritably. “There isn’t going to be a Cataclysm. I don’t think this man could make me angry enough to throw a pie at him, let alone a whole fiery mountain.”
But Tas had nothing else to do (and he was really dying to work the magical device), so he decided to stick around and watch and listen. Something might happen after all. He tried to see Crysania, wondering how she felt about this, but the halo of light surrounding the Kingpriest was so bright he couldn’t see anything else in the room.
The Kingpriest walked to the front of the altar, moving slowly, his eyes darting left and right. Tas wondered if the Kingpriest would see Crysania, but apparently he was blinded by his own light as well, for his eyes passed right over her. Arriving at the altar, he did not kneel to pray, as had Crysania. Tas thought he might have started to, but then the Kingpriest angrily shook his head and remained standing.