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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 31

Fidgety, nervous; tucking hair behind ears, sitting down one minute and standing the next.

Crysania Tarinius was in a state, and Araminta knew exactly why. Quietly observing the cleric's tense movements from the chair she was sitting in, she wondered what Her Reverence would say if she faced her head on and innocently asked what was bothering her. Would she chalk it up to nerves again, or perhaps to the strain of waiting for news on Gaspar? She would probably choose one of those excuses, or maybe even both. Only neither of them was true.

Frustrated, Araminta took yet another glance at the little mechanical clock she wore around her neck on a chain - an exquisite device, of dwarven make and as reliable as the sunrise - and suppressed a sigh. They had been alone together in this room for forty minutes now: that was more than enough time to come clean and clear the air. But did the Revered Daughter grasp the opportunity? No, she did not. For forty minutes Araminta had waited for Crysania to say it, to explain to her what Araminta already knew from the word on the street. So how long would it take? Another half an hour, two hours? Never? How frustrating, how disappointing. But Araminta had decided that she wouldn't be the one to bring up the subject, not before giving Crysania a chance to do what a friend would do. What a cleric would.

"They must have found something on him," Crysania said, almost to herself, fingering the chain of her holy pendant. "Otherwise why would it take so long? Is it large?" she suddenly asked after a short pause in a slightly raised voice, turning her face to Araminta. "Gaspar's room? I've been there once. It didn't feel all that large." She turned away again, her fingers still working the chain in constant motion.

Araminta was just about to answer that Gaspar's room was indeed rather small, when the door suddenly opened and in walked the two city guards Hugin and Deryk with Gaspar Cloade held by both arms between them. The secretary was pale and visibly shaken; his terrified eyes darted to Araminta as the guards forcibly walked him forward across the naked flagstone floor.

The Revered Daughter stood up, startled by the noise, and Araminta quickly followed suit, unable to break her eyes from Gaspar's anguished stare. She felt confused and disoriented. So they had arrested him? Maybe there was an explanation. Maybe it wasn't what it seemed. But one look at Gaspar again and Araminta knew that there was serious trouble ahead.

"Your Reverence," said Officer Deryk, for formality's sake giving a small bow in front of Crysania, who was waiting with a grave expression on her face. "I regret to inform you that both the missing jewellery and the missing speech have been found in your secretary's possession. Unfortunately, Revered Father Elistan's testament could not be located. My lady, Master Secretary Cloade is here among us now, should you wish to hear him out before we detain him for further questioning. He's standing right beside me."

All the while the Revered Daughter had listened to Officer Deryk unmoved in countenance or attitude. "Master Cloade," she now began to say, but Gaspar forthwith interrupted her.

"My lady," the secretary gasped in a choking voice, staring wildly into Crysania's face as if he could by sheer power of will make her see his plight. "I've been framed! Please, you have to believe me!"

"Master Cloade," Crysania repeated, not at all unkindly. "Please calm yourself down. I just need to ask a few questions. Officer, where did you find the jewels, exactly?"

"He had stored them under the mattress in his bed, my lady," said Officer Hugin rather smugly. "The speech was rolled up in a vase holding some aldabra feathers."

"And did you put them there, Gaspar?" Crysania said; still calm, still professional.

"I did not," Gaspar croaked, emphasizing each word separately, so as to better convey his innocence. "It's a setup, I'm telling you! Why would I do something like this, why? Do you people honestly think" - to Hugin and Deryk - "that I would risk the displeasure of the Platinum Father and the salvation of my soul by harming one of His own, and the leader of the church to boot, for crying out loud? Revered Daughter" - back to Crysania - "you're a good, kind lady, everyone knows that, and I would never do anything, not anything at all, ever, to cause you pain. I'd rather die."

Crysania listened quietly to the man's rambling words. She was undecided. Her face rippled with emotion before she said, "I want to believe you, Gaspar, I really do. But I don't see why someone would walk into your chamber and..."

"The rebels!" Gaspar cried, cutting the lady off again. "There are movements to depose you, doesn't everyone know that by now?"

"Oh yes, the rebels," said Officer Deryk with a cynical smile. "They do pop up in your speech rather frequently, don't they, Cloade? Don't you worry. You'll get to tell us everything once we take you to the Vault. Give us a few names, and we'll even arrange for your friends to come over personally. Wouldn't it be lovely to discuss the conspiracy behind bars?"

"Minta," Gaspar grunted miserably, casting his eyes at Araminta now. "Minta, please. You tell them. I'm not like that, and you know it!"

Araminta swallowed hard, her gaze locked into Gaspar's, and to her horror she saw tears starting to well in the man's eyes. He was completely out of sorts and his painful confusion seemed so real. But then a sliver of ice settled inside Araminta. Of course Gaspar would say he was innocent. Didn't criminals always claim that? The Revered Daughter was right: why would anyone go to the trouble of framing Gaspar when they could have just walked straight out of the temple with the stolen items? Please, Minta, tell them, Gaspar was still saying, but Minta did not know what to say. And since she did not know what to say, she decided to remain quiet.

"With your permission, my lady," said Deryk to Crysania, tightening his grip on Gaspar's arm, "we will take him to the Vault now and officially arrest him. The sooner we get him to talk, the better."

"My lady, please," Gaspar panted, his eyes swimming with tears, "Please don't let them take me. It's awful down there!"

"It's not for me to establish your guilt or innocence," Crysania said firmly, although the man's pleading tone clearly tore at her heart. "I'm sorry, but this must be investigated to the end."

"Your Reverence, please, I beg you!" In a fit of desperation, Gaspar suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Crysania's hand. "I didn't do it, I swear! By the Platinum Father, I swear!"

"Easy, easy!" The guards forced Gaspar away from Crysania, and she, startled, stepped back.

"Revered Daughter," Gaspar still went on, holding Crysania fixed in his gaze, "I can't go to jail, I can't! I've got seven children. They expect me home tonight!"

Araminta looked at Crysania and saw she was struggling: for one uncomfortable moment she was sure that the Revered Daughter would tell the guards to let Gaspar go. But then Crysania pulled herself together and said coolly, "Take him away, officers. We need to get to the bottom of this."

Gaspar went still for an instant, and then he started to scream. "No! You can't do this!" he shouted, tugging and thrashing between the guards. "Your Reverence, you must believe me! I'm no traitor!"

"Yeah, yeah," said Hugin harshly as they started to walk Gaspar out of the room, "Save it for someone who cares."

"We'll make him talk," said Deryk reassuringly to Crysania and Araminta, following his colleague to the door. "And we'll find the testament, too."

After the officers and Gaspar were gone, neither of the women spoke for a moment. Crysania went back to her chair and just sat there, stunned and disbelieving. Looking at the cleric, Araminta could sense her embarrassment: again she had trusted, again she had been betrayed.

"For what it's worth," Araminta said gently, sitting down in the chair next to Crysania's, "I never would have believed he could do something like this either. I trusted him too, you know."

Crysania gave an uneasy smile, but said nothing.

"In a way, I suppose it's a relief to know it was him," Araminta continued, half knowing that she kept on chattering to deal with her own shock - Gaspar, not Gaspar, how could it be Gaspar -, "and to know the culprit is no longer at large out there. Gaspar will talk, I'm sure. He'll identify the rest of the conspirators, and the whole thing will blow over soon."

Except maybe it won't, Araminta added in her mind, not with the missing testament and the unfortunate letter, and at this thought her earlier irritation flared up again. It occurred to her that she knew what had made Gaspar do it; it didn't take a genius to put one and one together. Upset and angry, Araminta decided to confront Crysania about the matter once and for all.

"So why do you think he did it?" she asked the cleric in an affected tone of curiosity. "I mean, that was my first thought when they brought him in. Why now, after almost a year of loyal service." She crossed her arms and waited for Crysania to speak, watching for signs of remorse on her face, but, alas, finding none.

The Revered Daughter only shrugged. "Maybe it was his idea from the start. Maybe he applied for the post just to bring me down."

"He's a secretary," Araminta retorted sharply. "He knows a lot about rhetorics and letter-writing, sure, but the finer points of theology are beyond him. And believe me when I say, I got to know him well enough during these nine months to know he wasn't in the least offended by the idea of you leading the church. In fact, he was completely fine with it, and what's more, he respected Elistan's choice. So there must have been something else that drove him to it, don't you think?"

"You just said you knew him, so why don't you tell me?" Crysania snapped, turning her face away from Araminta and her prying gaze.

But Araminta kept on looking at the woman, not caring about her discomfort, set on making her talk. "I knew him, yes," she said tensely, "but apparently not well enough. Maybe I should ask people about him. You know, go out to the markets and have a word. It's amazing the things you hear on the street."

On hearing these words, Crysania hung her head even lower, a telltale red creeping to her pale cheeks. She looked so forlorn and defeated that Araminta instantly regretted having spoken so meanly to her, childishly hinting and insinuating just to punish her and make her feel uneasy - as if she hadn't gone through enough already, this beautiful, smart and talented woman, so young that she was almost a girl still, with the heavy weight of responsibility sitting on her frail shoulders.

"I just wish you would have told me," Araminta said, her voice low and full of apology. "That's what friends are for."

"I told Gaspar," Crysania replied quietly. "See where that got me."

The wistful, empathetic smile on Araminta's lips abruptly dissolved when Crysania's answer sank in. So she and Gaspar were the same to her? She was just another employee, not a friend, despite the two years they had spent together, seeing each other almost daily; despite the fact that she had been there from the beginning, helping her through the first painful months of her blidness? Embarrassed and hurt, Araminta drew back in her chair and looked at Crysania's face - she looked at the upper bow of her lip which she had rarely seen curving into a smile, she looked at the line of her nose and the line of her chin, at the frosty grey eyes which held no emotion - and for the first time she realised, truly realised, how reserved, how cold, how traumatized a woman the Revered Daughter was: locked in her past and still willing to play with fire.

"Why did you do it, Crysania?" Araminta asked candidly, trying to keep any note of accusation from her voice. "Why did you agree to meet that man?"

She asked the question out of genuine concern, but Crysania only scoffed at her words. "So now it's my fault that Gaspar did what he did?" She waited for a good while, but when Araminta did not respond, she went on the defensive. "I met him twice, Araminta. Twice. First, out of duty as a cleric, I gave him an audience, because he asked for one; then, on the second time, I went to say goodbye."

"Why didn't you say goodbye on the first time?" Araminta demanded, and watched Crysania's answer froze in her throat.

The Revered Daughter blinked a couple of times and then said, after a charged silence: "What does it matter now? Everything's ruined, anyway." She shook her head. "How he must hate me to have done this."

"Look here, Crysania," Araminta said with a sigh. "Gaspar only found out less than a year ago. I've known for two years, but I'm telling you, lady, it was a hell of a lot to take in when I first heard. So whatever Gaspar did, I can't exactly blame him for not having yet digested the information. And then all of a sudden..."

"Twice, Araminta," Crysania overrode her heatedly. "Two times. Less than half an hour. And Gaspar was there, watching."

"Well, did you do anything that might have set him off?"

"Of course not!" Crysania cried.

Araminta shrugged. "So I guess twice was once too many for our Gaspar. And frankly, I too am struggling to understand. I'm worried for you," she hastened to add in order to soften the harsh tone in which she had instinctively spoken. "The mage asked for an audience, fine, but you didn't have to give it to him, did you? Not after what he did to you."

Crysania raised her eyes to the ceiling with a deep, exasperated sigh. "But that's just the point, Araminta. I cannot - indeed, I will not - discriminate between those who should and should not be welcomed into the House of Paladine. The Platinum Father teaches us every day that the greatest forgiveness is to pardon someone for a wrong they have done unto you, and I, for one, seek to live according to Paladine's example."

Araminta sucked at her bottom lip, staring down at her arthritic hands, trying to wrap her brain around what Crysania had just said. Forgiveness. That was noble, of course, and admirable too. Truly admirable. So why did she have the awkward feeling that the Revered Daughter said one thing and meant the other? That the Revered Daughter's notion of forgiveness didn't exactly match hers?

"That's very good," Araminta said jarringly, the unpleasant knot that had begun to form in her stomach growing ever tighter. "But I'm afraid most people don't see it that way. Gaspar certainly didn't."

But Crysania kept on shaking her head in stubborn denial.

"You're a cleric," Araminta went on, not intending to back down an inch, hoping to talk sense into Crysania. "You've got high ideals and great aspirations. You think on a different level to most others, I get that. But please, please consider for a moment the point of view of the man in the street. You, a cleric. A Revered Daughter of the Platinum Father, the high god of the deities of light; he, a servant of Nuitari, a practicer of black magic, a follower of Paladine's greatest enemy. People don't see that as righteousness or charitable virtue or whatever fancy name you want to call it. To them it's just wrong. A sin."

"Yes, well, the people don't get to decide, do they?" Crysania said in a cold even tone: the imperious noble speaking to a commoner.

It was a tone Araminta had heard all too often lately, and her own answer came out much more sharp and high-pitched than she'd intended. "Oh, you're right. The people won't get to decide, but the clerics will. You think they'll let it go? Once the vestry finds out, which I'm sure is only a matter of time, I wouldn't be surprised if they decided to hold a vote whether you should go or stay."

Now Crysania's face filled with anguish. "What is the matter with people? Say revenge, and everyone's with you. Say love, and they look at you like a leper. That's what's wrong," she said passionately, challenging Araminta, daring her to disagree. "That's a sin."

The saints preserve us, Araminta thought, seeing the incredible truth written all over the Revered Daughter's face. Her soul recoiled in digust, but she could not unsee what she now saw looking at Crysania.

Poor girl. She had loved the mage from the beginning and she had never stopped.

"Crysania," Araminta said gently, but firmly enough to get through to the woman. "You can't go on like this."

Crysania stared in front of her, her mouth set in a hard, determined line. "Like how? You mean, expressing Paladine's love to those who need it the most?"

Araminta sighed softly and said, "I think we both know you do a little more than that."

Crysania continued to stare blankly into space, and then all of a sudden her eyes filled with tears and she looked quickly down. "Nothing happened," she whispered. "Not then, not now."

"You know that's not what I meant. Crysania, dear, you have to let this go."

The Revered Daughter said nothing. Her face wore a strange expression that did nothing to calm Araminta down. What frightened her the most was that Crysania was not even denying it for the sake of her own dignity; she was just sitting there with that strange expression on her face, allowing Araminta to suggest that she might still harbour feelings for the man who had abused her trust and abandoned her like a piece of trash. Had she forgotten all of that? All the pain and the humiliation, and the months of despair that came after? The half-open doors striking her in the face, tripping over and falling down time after time, the strands of twine Araminta had threaded from the bedpost to the table and from the table to the lavatory for her to follow?

"Promise me you won't see him again," Araminta insisted, unnerved by the stretching silence. "Crysania? Promise me."

"I told him goodbye, didn't I?" Crysania suddenly lashed out. "You don't trust me. No one here trusts me."

"Nonsense," Araminta said faintly, taken aback by Crysania's sudden change in attitude. "I do trust you. I'm just concerned for your safety, that's all. Have you forgotten what he did to you?"

Crysania flinched, but then some change went through her and reflected on her face, chilling Araminta to the bone. My god, she thought, she thinks it's her fault. She thinks she deserved it.

"Despite what you might think, you don't owe him anything," Araminta said, aiming at a comforting and reassuring tone, but only managing to sound slightly panicked. "He's not worthy of your time or attention, and I'm sure Paladine understands that. He's a violent, dangerous man, you know he is. He used you. He crippled you."

"He did not want this for me." Crysania gestured at her eyes that were still swimming with tears.

"No. He wanted you dead."

It was a nasty thing to say, but clearly the Revered Daughter needed reminding. The words hit her like ice water: her face twisted and her shoulders tensed; her mouth was trembling, as if holding back a scream. Watching her, Araminta found herself responding with such empathy that she felt her own eyes fill with tears as well. Maybe today was the day. Maybe all of this was needed for Crysania to finally start healing. Fully excpecting the cleric to burst into tears, Araminta leaned closer to the woman, the soothing words of consolation ready on her lips.

But the words died half formed, for it was Crysania who spoke first.

"Get out."

Araminta was surprised into stillness. The cleric's voice had been quiet, almost threatening. Stunned, more out of instinct than will, Araminta tried again, reaching out for Crysania's hand.

"Don't touch me!" Crysania screamed, pulling away from her. "I don't want to be touched!"

Araminta removed her hand, shocked and hurt.

"Get out," Crysania said again between clenched teeth, breathing heavily. "I don't want you here. I don't want anyone here!"

Araminta stood up slowly, her upset laced with sorrow. She did not think she had ever seen a grown woman in so much emotional pain. The loneliest woman in the world, she thought, looking at Crysania. That's what she seemed to her.

Reluctantly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, Araminta left the room without a word, vowing to return later when Crysania had calmed down.

The tears came as soon as Crysania heard the door close. She sat and wept for a long time, hating her weakness, hating that part of her that she kept closely in check but had now been lured out by Araminta's words, making her feel as if she was back there again, back in the early days after the Abyss when she had felt so worthless and stupid and unwanted. She had vowed not to cry again. She was strong. She would never give up and let her disability prevent her. She would hold her head up high and become the leader of the church, dazzling everyone. That thought was the only thing that had kept her going after... after that which happened. But the more Crysania thought about it now, the more certain she became that she had been Elistan's choice, not Paladine's. Elistan had never said he'd received a vision from the Platinum Father that she was to be his successor. Maybe it was all in his own head. What had got into him? She had shared his viewpoints, to be sure, but so did many others.

But none of that mattered now, and against her will, the tears that were already drying up started to flow again. She cried from sorrow and from shame, from terror and relief: terror of knowing that her past was now out in the open; relief because it finally was. Araminta was right. The vestry would set up a vote and she would be put out of office. She now knew she never should have buried the matter. She should have come clean right away and confessed her weakness in a public show of repentance. But how, when she couldn't even confess it to herself? Crysania thought about all this for a while, deeply regretful, but then a spark of anger started to flicker inside her. What did she have to apologize for? All she'd done was show exemplary love for someone people thought was beyond redemption. It was so simple, and yet no one seemed to understand that. Not Araminta, not the clerics who had started the uprising against her. She was so disappointed in them. How could a cleric think that loving the enemy flew in the face of Paladine's teaching?

But then Araminta's words came back to Crysania - I think we both know you do a little more than that - and she felt herself flush all over with the thought. Paladine's exemplary love, she told herself again. Nothing wrong with that at all. But another voice inside her persisted, louder and much more insistent than the first one. What about all those times when you woke up wet and shivering from dreams that you didn't even know yourself capable of? When the mere touch of his hand on your arm sent a bolt of lightning through your throbbing veins? When you lay in his arms in the early autumn sun, encouraging him, urging him to take you?

Nothing happened, she had told Araminta, but in her mind it had happened again and again. Perhaps Araminta and Gaspar and everyone else had read it in her face as clear as day. The letter - she could imagine Gaspar eagerly writing it, drawing conclusions, putting into words the insides of her mind, posting it to the rebels. She should never have gone to Gaspar that night. She should have gone straight to Araminta, but she knew why she hadn't done it: because Araminta would have had the guts to stop her. She knew Araminta would never have agreed to send that note or arrange a meeting, and that's why she had chosen Gaspar instead. Because Gaspar was in awe of her. Because Gaspar did everything she told him to.

Because she couldn't allow anyone to stand in her way.

No - unlike Araminta thought, she had not forgotten. But she could. Wouldn't it be easy, just to pretend that nothing ever happened, to forget and hurt no more?

Araminta had not seen what she had seen. What she had seen but not managed to keep alive.

But this time.

Crysania, sweetness. We never had a proper chance, and Paladine knows that. But I'm here now. I'm here.

Stirring her stagnant soul, waking her up inside again.

The poor would understand. Those who were not even allowed to enter the church were the ones with the purest love. They'd forgive her.

Crysania opened her eyes, startled. Forgive her what? Her thoughts were starting to scare her.

She could not.

She could not.

She could.
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Evermore: The Gathering