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Evermore: The Gathering	By : RosaTenebrum Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 9663 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Dragonlance series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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CHAPTER 28

The walk back from the Shrine of Remembrance was spent in an uncomfortable silence.

Crysania had been irritable and distracted all day, very unlike her usual self, and when Araminta had gently sought to guide her by the elbow to the candle-lit altar by which she was to pray, the Revered Daughter had snapped that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself, thank you very much. For the first time Araminta had seen an aristocratic lady instead of a cleric, and she had backed off, embarrassed and self-conscious, straightening the train of Crysania's dress as she knelt down and then sitting morosely in the dark corner for the forty minutes her prayers took.

Now, back at the temple, Crysania was walking so fast it was hard for Araminta to keep up with her. A good thing, actually: a slower gait would have required conversation, and right now amiable chatting just didn't seem like an option. Come to think of it, today was only another in a series of awkward moments: it was as if an invisible wall had risen between them during the past two weeks or so, and the only explanation Araminta could think of was that Crysania's nerves must be shot because of the approaching inaugural ceremony. It would be a huge event, after all, even for someone of her capabilities. Even for someone who wasn't blind.

Moved by pity and newfound understanding, Araminta entered the Revered Daughter's chambers closely at her heels. At first what she saw did not register. She stood there for several moments, her mouth agape, slowly taking in the view before her. When she found her voice again she said to Crysania in a strangled whisper, "Don't move. Stay right where you are."

Crysania turned to her assistant. "What is it?" she asked with a definite note of irritation in her tone.

Yes, what was it? Most of the furniture tipped over, books pulled from the shelves and tossed on the ground. Broken glass and piles of scattered paper everywhere. The drawers open, the contents dumped on the floor. "The room," Araminta replied slowly, carefully thinking out her words so as not to upset Crysania. "Don't get startled now, but it's been thoroughly searched."

Crysania's irked expression turned into one of astonishment as she wheeled around to face the room; she stared about her wildly for a while, turning her head left and right, as if she could actually see the damage. Then she turned back to Araminta again and said in a small voice, "All of it?"

"Yes. Everything. The floor is just... littered. Listen, um, maybe it would be better if you sat down," Araminta added warily, the incident at the shrine still clear in her mind.

Crysania's eyes widened and narrowed. "I think I'll stand," she said, and to prove the point even further, she started to pick her way through the rubble towards the bookshelf on the far wall.

Araminta felt a spark of irritation as she watched the Revered Daughter's stumbling walk. Did she hope to break her neck? Why oh why was it so hard to accept help, to admit to a weakness? Araminta couldn't prevent an exasperated sigh. Paladine forgive her, but she was starting to think a fall would do Crysania a world of good. Perhaps a sprained ankle was just what was needed to tone down her attitude.

Araminta's thoughts came to a halt when Crysania suddenly said, groping the shelf for something that wasn't there, "Oh, please no."

"Crysania?" Araminta replied, alarmed at the cleric's tone of voice.

"My speech," the Revered Daughter simply said. "Elistan's testament."

"Yes?" Araminta had a sinking feeling she already knew the answer but hoped she was wrong.

"Gone. Both of them." Crysania turned, and her face was as bloodless as her voice. "Come and see for yourself."

Araminta checked all the shelves, and she checked the papers on the floor, but there was no way around it: the speech and the testament were indeed gone. She straightened up and cast another bemused look across the room. What was going on? Who could have done this? Only now, as the initial shock was starting to wear off, did she realize something. "I'll go summon the City Guard," she said. "I'll bring Gaspar as well." She hovered for a moment longer, undecided, wanting to ask if Crysania was all right. But, standing with her arms folded and with a perplexed frown on her face, the Revered Daughter did not seem to encourage such questions, and so Araminta quit the room without further fuss.

As soon as her assistant was gone, Crysania slumped onto the bed. Her legs and arms were trembling; her mouth was trembling. She placed a flat hand beneath her throat, trying to stop the shaking. What was happening? First Raistlin, now this. Was Paladine testing her still, her ability to rule His church? Was He making her suffer on purpose, not answering her prayers and leaving her to deal with these dreadful ordeals on her own? She couldn't handle it, she knew she couldn't, despite what everyone thought. Her breathing was growing too shallow and too rapid, and as she sat there heaving for air she felt the familiar dark wing of panic brush her mind: soon, very soon she would lose control of herself and faint. No, worse: she would die. She was, in fact, dying right now; she was alone and she could taste the sand in her mouth, even as her skin was burning under the merciless glare of the never-setting sun. But suddenly, in this maelstrom of terror, she saw a way out: the silver letter knife in one of the drawers. It would be easy, so miraculously easy to press it down, to make another small cut on her ankle where nobody could see. She almost smiled as she remembered how good it had felt, that tiniest of cuts, and the minute drop of blood it had drawn. But she had promised to herself that she would not do it again. Never. She would not. She wouldn't have to, because just the thought of it, the possibility of doing so, made her breathing easier and calmed her soul.

Crysania gathered her strength and stood up from the bed. She poured herself a drink of water and sipped it, slowly calming down. There it was again: the shame which always followed. Dying? Ridiculous. Whatever had made her think that she would, again? There was nothing wrong with her. Someone had broken into her rooms, but that would be solved. Paladine would soon speak to her again. And Raistlin... Well, she had told him to stay away and incredibly enough he seemed to have got the message. She was just fine. Everything was under control. This is what Crysania decided, and when Araminta returned fifteen minutes later with two members of the City Guard, she was once again the very picture of dignity and restraint.

Where were you, when did you leave, how long did you stay. These were the questions, among several others, that the uniformed officers asked the two women sitting at the table by the window beneath a rich tapestry depicting Mishakal and the Disks. The eyes of the younger officer - Hugin was his name - constantly drifted from his notepad to the tapestry and the Revered Daughter; he was a bit flustered, not knowing where to look. Probably deeply religious, Araminta thought to herself, and nervous to be in the same room with the soon-to-be head of the church, especially one so young and devastatingly beautiful.

"You said you'd bring Gaspar," Crysania suddenly said, perking up. "Where is he?"

Araminta shrugged. "Couldn't find him."

"Who's Gaspar?" demanded the older officer. "Your secretary, my lady?" he repeated as the women answered in one voice, and upon receiving an affirmative reply from Crysania he launched a series of questions regarding Gaspar Cloade's position in the church. What did you want him to be brought here for, Your Reverence, and how long has he worked for you? Is it surprising for some reason that he cannot be found? Did you look everywhere, Mistress Araminta?

As his colleague carried on with the interview, Officer Hugin explored the main door. "Hey Deryk," he said. "The lock hasn't been tampered with. Someone either had a key or got in some other way."

Officer Deryk flicked his head to the left. "Check the balcony door."

Hugin did as he was told and soon announced the lock to be in pristine shape.

Deryk pursed his lips thoughtfully and spoke as if to himself. "So someone entered with a key, looking for the two documents, not knowing their location. Had to turn everything upside down."

Holding his quill poised above the page, Officer Hugin turned to Crysania. "Your Reverence, can you tell us what else is missing?"

With a somewhat bitter smile Crysania shifted her empty gaze in the man's direction. "I wouldn't know, would I?"

The guard went red-faced and muttered something unintelligible. Crysania's expression softened and she apologized to him, saying she was feeling a little out of sorts, and Hugin smiled and said he understood, but Araminta could see the man was taken aback and remained wary of the Revered Daughter for the rest of the conversation. She decided to step in to make things easier for the officer. "I don't see anything missing," she said. "I'll check some more, of course, but really there's nothing much to take here. No money. No valuables."

"Except..." Crysania made a face of frustration and turned to Araminta. "The ceremonial jewels."

"Oh, good grief!" Araminta sprang up at once and hurried through the narrow door on the right into the small adjoining cloakroom. The ceremonial jewels, of course! They had been brought in for a fitting yesterday, and as Araminta approached the cabinet she already knew what she would see inside. She opened the door and peeked in. Yes: only the purple velvet pillow on which the official jewelry of the head of Paladine's Holy Church had sparkled only a day before. "Gone," Araminta said blankly to the officers, who had come up behind her and were now leaning in to inspect the cabinet handle. Having established that there was no lock on the door, they wanted details on the shape and size of the jewels as well as the circumstances of their arrival to the Revered Daughter's rooms. To these questions Araminta answered as best as she could, after which she left the men to do their job and went back to the living area where she found Crysania still sitting in the same chair below the tapestry, her eyes fixed on the floor, the tip of her finger lightly tapping her lip.

Araminta drank some water and eased herself into the chair next to Crysania. "The jewels..."

"I heard."

Silence descended and stretched. Araminta sipped at the water again and, clearing her throat, placed the empty goblet on the table. "I'm sure they'll catch whoever did this," she said, because what else could you say in a situation like this?

But Crysania did not seem to be in need of any reassurance. "They had a key," she said, her tone brimming with the anger of the betrayed.

"Now, let's not jump to conclusions. Someone might have stolen it." But in her mind Araminta too was already going through a list of candidates. Was there someone with a particularly good reason to put a spoke in Crysania's wheel? Someone with an old grudge? A theological grudge? Or something personal? None of it seemed to make much sense.

The officers exited the cloakroom and reseated themselves, looking very serious. "Well," said Officer Deryk, the spokesman for the pair, "I'm afraid it looks like someone is rather keen to prevent the lady's inauguration."

Crysania lifted her chin. "Yes, I gathered that much."

"Anyone come to mind?"

Crysania gazed at the man and a rueful smile curved her lips. "I'm a woman. I'm aristocracy. I always knew it would come to this."

"It's... There are different branches of thought," Araminta hastened to clarify. "But really, I can't imagine anyone would go this far."

"A theological disagreement, you say? Hm. Right. We'll start investigating straight away. Do not worry, Your Reverence," Deryk added with a respectful inclination of his helmeted head, "we'll catch whoever did this."

"We'll also post armed guards round the clock at your door and in the gardens," Hugin eagerly put in. "Near the balcony, of course. At the gates, too."

As the guards were preparing to leave, they promised that the Revered Daughter would be informed as soon as there were any developments. They exchanged thank yous and goodbyes, and then the door closed behind the men and the two women were alone.

Araminta stood for a while beside the door, rubbing her aching hands and looking at Crysania, uncertain as to what to say or do. "This won't change a thing, you know," she finally said. "The ceremony will happen, with or without the jewels."

"I know." Crysania stared ahead for a few seconds, motionless and silent, and then she started, as if coming out of a daze, and said, "I need a new speech."

Relieved to see a reaction, Araminta walked over and took a seat. "We've got almost three weeks. I think we'll manage." Then she added, her voice low with regret, "It was so beautiful, the one we had."

Crysania did not flinch or frown. She said, "Words. That's all it was."

Araminta let her gaze drop to her lap, dismayed but not at all surprised by the coldness of Crysania's response. She was doing it again: thwarting her every attempt at closeness. That was nothing new. What Araminta hadn't seen before, however, was this utter listlessness, this utter lack of orientation coupled with an almost nihilistic rejection of anything worthwhile that had lately seized the Revered Daughter, and Araminta was seriously starting to wonder if it was just a case of the nerves or something else altogether. "Well," she said, looking for a suitable approach. She didn't find one. She was about to stand up and pour herself another drink, when Crysania suddenly spoke. She didn't look at Araminta, but her quiet voice was filled with anguish as she said,

"The testament was my only memory of him. Something tangible."

Araminta leant back in her chair. "I know," she said, suffocating a sigh. As it happened, Elistan's testament was also the only piece of evidence with regard to the question of succession in the church; it was the only document which clearly stated Elistan's will that Crysania Tarinius should follow him as the leader of the church. Araminta dearly hoped there existed a copy. Because if not... She suffocated another sigh. "It's going to be all right," she simply said. Another platitude. She wished she hadn't voiced it. She knew Crysania hated it. She glanced at the cleric, gauging her reaction, but Crysania's attention wasn't on her.

"Will you send for the cleaners?" Crysania was saying; she was rubbing her arms as if she was freezing.

"Of course." Araminta got up and paused. "Are you coming?"

The Revered Daughter turned her face up at her. "No," she said, surprised.

Araminta stared at the woman. "You can't stay here tonight."

"Of course I can."

"But... What if they return?"

"Didn't you hear?" Crysania's voice was flat and emotionless. "The place will be swarming with guards. Besides, there's nothing more to take." She smirked and added, "Except me, of course."

If that was a joke, Araminta did not find it funny. "Right," she said discouragedly. "If you should need anything, you know where to find me." These words sounded nothing like the ones she had been meaning to say. She had wanted to invite Crysania over to her rooms for the night. She would have offered her some tea to calm her. She would have talked with her to make her feel better. She would have gladly given her a warm, friendly hug. Most people would have appreciated such care and help from a friend after an unpleasant event. But Revered Daughter Crysania was not like most people, and she didn't want any of these things. The only thing she wanted was to be left alone. Feeling incredibly sad and weary all of a sudden, Araminta bid Crysania goodbye, said once again that she would notify the cleaners and took her leave.

Crysania sat still for a moment longer; then she got up on shaky feet and knelt down in the middle of the destruction. But the familiar prayer posture did not soothe her: a cold spike of terror pierced through her numbness, small at first, but soon growing in size at an alarming rate. She knew she was heading towards a crash. All her guilt, all her doubts, all the obstacles along the path - surely all pointed to one conclusion? Maybe Elistan had been wrong about her. Maybe he had mistaken her for somebody else, somebody worthy to replace him as the leader of the church.

And maybe, just maybe, this was Paladine's punishment for the thought that had flashed through her mind in the night, quick and slippery and unbearable. She pretended she hadn't seen it, but it was there like a knife, pricking her at every turn.

You know as well as I do that this was meant to be.

In the night, hovering somewhere between sleep and awake, in a time with no memory, she had known it. And now she was paying for it.

With a breathless sob, Crysania closed her eyes and put her hands together, but for the first time in a very long time she could not find the words to address the Platinum Father.

Why speak if nobody would listen?
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Evermore: The Gathering