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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 32

351-353 AC - Winter Pines Hall, Palanthas

The marriage did not happen in the summer. Not next year, not even the year after that. Not ever.

War happened.

The Dark Queen's constellation was gone from the sky. She was real and She had returned to Krynn from the Abyss. "No one believes that," said Crysania's father when she asked him. But there was an uneasy note in his laughter.

Like all able-bodied noblemen, young Master Wilfred took to the battlefield; like all able-bodied noblemen, he was placed in a safe spot far away from the battlefront, where he could observe the gruesome events down below from the safety of a massive stronghold.

Rumour had it that all around the world people were bravely making a stand against the dark forces, incompetent country girls and inexperienced youngsters fighting side by side with seasoned warriors for the common good. Crysania, on the other hand, was imprisoned inside Winter Pines Hall for the whole two years that the war lasted. She was twenty-one already, two and twenty very soon, but she had never so much as washed the dishes, scrubbed the floor or changed bed linen. Her mother and other relatives would shake their heads and roll their eyes heavenward whenever they heard of commoner women fighting in the war, but Crysania was secretly envious of those fearless girls and rather ashamed of the fact that she had been wrapped up in cotton wool all her life. And although some part of her brain kept saying that she wouldn't last a second out there, she lay in bed at night imagining being all strong and powerful, and people admiring her and telling her how special she was. In her dreams she would face the Queen of Darkness and bring that creature to Her knees. She would save the world. Sometimes these dreams felt so real that she would be confused and disoriented on waking, not knowing whether she was lying in her own bed under her luxurious swan's-down duvet or on some unimaginable battlefield all alone and facing life at last.

But that's just what they were: dreams and nothing more. Inside Winter Pines Hall, Takhisis was just a picture in a book. A frightening wooden figure in a long-lost cave.

The two years of isolation would have been dreary, absolutely dreary, if it weren't for Eldon Tarinius's great library. Lady Amelia no longer objected to her daughter's reading: the fact that she and Eldon had managed to successfully betroth Crysania to a very respectable young man had calmed Amelia down considerably, and although she sorely regretted the postponement of the wedding, most of the time she was purring with contentment inside. If her daughter - finally a fiancée, a bride-to-be! - wanted to read, then read she would. After all, Crysania would soon be leaving Winter Pines Hall to start a new life with her husband, so why shouldn't she be allowed to spend her final years in her childhood home in any way she saw fit? (It was actually Lord Eldon who said that, but for once Lady Amelia was quick to agree: We'll let her read.)

And read Crysania did - a book a day and several books at one time. She read by day and she read by night, by her window or by the light of an oil lamp in her bed, quickly and voraciously, thanking whichever invisible force it was that had granted her this great and singular happiness. The only thing which bothered her was that she should have gained her happiness at the expense of others: for wasn't she in fact celebrating the war as her own personal liberator, while people were dying in their thousands in the battlefields? Wasn't that terribly selfish and wrong? And wasn't it even more selfsh to think that the war went by all too soon? One spring morning, when the icicles on the house were melting and the snow was sliding off the tree branches, the news came that the War of the Lance, as it had come to be called, had ended. Master Wilfred Delamere was not among the casualties. Miss Crysania took the news with quiet dignity, while Lady Amelia all but swooned with relief. She closed the door after the messenger and immediately picked up where she had left off two years ago. There was a wedding to plan, and she'd make sure it would be the greatest wedding Palanthas had ever seen.

Things were starting to look pretty bad, but almost at the last moment, with the wedding only a month and a half away, Crysania did find a way out. It happened on a sunny afternoon when she was sitting in the yellow drawing room, signing the wedding invitations. All fight had gone out of her; she only felt dull and numb. Her hand moved over the finely scented paper like that of a wind-up toy, again and again, with no end in sight. But when she was in the middle of writing her name for the thirty-second time, her hand suddenly stopped. She seemed to forget everything and simply stared at the paper with its entwined initials and family crests, holding the quill very still between thumb and forefinger, astonished at the knowledge that slowly came.

Crysania.

The rays of the sun coming through the high windows fell on her name, rendering it almost translucent, and she stared at the letters as if seeing them for the very first time.

Crys-an-ia. Beloved of the gods.

She could not understand why she hadn't figured it out sooner, even though she had been studying the old languages for some time now.

All along, the answer had been right there in front of her, too close for her to see it.

And she had found the cave in the forest. The cave had found her.

The numbness left her: it was like shooting up from under the surface after holding her breath for too long, her lungs filling with air, the sunlight kissing her newborn skin. Suddenly she remembered all the talk there had been about the religious and spiritual awakening caused by the war. Apparently, a man whose name Crysania could not recall, although she was sure she had heard it spoken by a servant, had resurrected the old religion which was now spreading, spreading like wildfire throughout Krynn, because people believed it was the faith in the gods that had helped defeat the Dragon Highlords. She also remembered hearing that the man whose name eluded her was building a temple for Paladine in Palanthas, which, she had read, was once the lord city of the Platinum Father.

Crysania laid the quill on the table, got up and marched straight into the library with an air of determination. She collected all the books on religion she could find, which was not much, and leafed through them, the light inside her growing all the while brighter and more powerful. The theology of Paladine's grace was abstract and analytical, entirely captivating in its unconditional doctrine, but what especially caught her eye was the fact that His clerics led a life of celibacy, unless - Crysania read on and frowned in disappointment - unless they married. But then she gave it a second thought and her expression brightened again. No aristocrat would marry a cleric. That would never happen. Her wedding would be called off. Leaning back in her chair, Crysania imagined what it would be like when they heard the news. Aunt Cora, who already was of the opinion that her niece was quite morbid and unnatural, would stand there with her jaw on the floor. Her mother would simply faint, and Master Wilfred himself would try very hard not to show his disappointment over not getting her in bed after all. Crysania pictured the reactions with great relish, completely aware and feeling only slightly ashamed that she was taking a nasty pleasure in thinking how her choice would humiliate and baffle them all. But she was getting ahead of herself. First of all, did clerics still exist? And if they did, were there any female ones? If she travelled to Palanthas - just for the sake of thought - she could perhaps see someone, maybe the nameless leader himself, and find a way to leave Winter Pines Hall for good.

Crysania closed the book she had been reading and spent the rest of the day deep in thought, signing the rest of the invitations one after the other in an outward show of obedience, but all the time plotting her escape coldly and tactically, feeling more and more certain with each passing hour that religion would be her means to an end. And yet at the back of her mind was a thought, not as yet admitted, growing together with the secret light inside her. For if the Dark Queen was real, was Paladine not real too? Had she not felt His presence in the cave, soothing her, comforting her?

The first part of her plan was very easy and simple. When three days later two of the family's servants, Glover and Nola, were leaving for a trip to the city, Crysania ambushed them in the yard just as they were getting ready to climb into the carriage. She was all smiles and extremely sweet. Surely they could spare a moment in Palanthas to have a look at the temple under construction and ask about the man people said was preaching Paladine's word there? Although Glover and Nola knew Miss Crysania loved history and culture, they were nevertheless astonished at the young lady's request. But they said they would do as she wished. It was not for them to question the orders of their superiors.

Crysania told herself she should be prepared to be heavily disappointed. Glover and Nola might return empty-handed, and she would have to think up something else. But all that fear was in vain, for the servants returned in the evening with news almost too good to be true. The temple they were building in Palanthas was very white and very grand, they said, and right next to that shiny and sparkly building there was a smaller and more modest one where people gathered every day to listen to the words of Revered Father Elistan, the religious worthy who had brought back the old faith. Every day? Yes, every day, at noon.

A coincidence. That is what Crysania's brain said. A stroke of fate, said her heart.

What was needed now was a trip to the city. Alone, with only Oliva and their coachman Baxter Dassendale for company. That would be easy. But how to get gracefully rid of Oliva and Baxter in Palanthas? They would be hovering about all day, following her around like shadows, making sure she was safe. Maybe she could bribe them and encourage them to treat themselves to something new and expensive, telling them to enjoy a day off in the city while she would be choosing presents for her bridesmaids - the very reluctant cousins Eudora, Rufina and Celavia, whom she hadn't spoken to in years - and her lady mother.

That was precisely what she said the next morning, using her most pretentious voice. No Mama, you cannot come along with me. You wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, now, would you?

Little white lies here and there, and very soon she found herself sitting in the carriage next to Oliva, with the sun blazing down on her and the little bells on the horses' bridles tinkling with a silvery sound as they trotted towards Palanthas with gathering speed. As soon as they were out of sight of Winter Pines Hall, Crysania removed her poke bonnet and shawl and gloves, dumping them in Oliva's lap.

"But Miss Crysania..."

She silenced Oliva with an imperious gesture and turned her smiling face towards the sun. She knew she should have avoided the sun at all costs, lest she should get a tan on her face and end up looking like a peasant on her wedding day, but right now she could not have cared less. Screw that. She felt very brave and reckless all of a sudden, and excitement bubbled up inside of her as she realised that the carriage was perhaps taking her to what could very well be the beginning of her new life. So screw the wedding. Screw the invitations and the flowers and the endless recitations of ghastly poetry. Screw it all. If everything went according to plan, there would be no wedding. Enjoying the feeling of freedom and control she had not known in years, taking pleasure in the feel of the fresh air on her face, Crysania closed her eyes and smiled at the blue skies above her.

About two hours later they drew up near the jewelry stores. Baxter threw his whip aside and jumped down from his seat to open the door for Crysania. After he had helped her from the carriage, it was time to say her lines. Extracting two purses of money, Crysania turned to look at Dexter and Oliva with a radiant smile. Now, my friends, I should like to visit every shop in the street (Baxter paled but kept on smiling bravely); you will be bored to death, I'm afraid, so why wouldn't you do something else in the meanwhile? With these words, she handed them the purses and watched their eyes widen with surprise. No, no, you two deserve some time off, and I don't want to hear any objections. After a few moments of persuasion and a series of promises that she wouldn't stray off the street into any dark side alleys, Oliva and Baxter accepted. Bye, then. And remember - not a word of this to Lady Tarinius. I'll be fine. It is only two hours.

The pair curtseyed and bowed and finally made off towards the other parts of the city, leaving Crysania alone in the street. She watched the servants stroll away, then turned heel and opened her lace parasol and walked straight past the jewelry stores with quick and determined strides, head down, not wanting to draw attention. That was hopeless, of course. Every time she looked up she caught people stealing glances at her pale yellow travelling dress made of satin, her pearl earrings, her elaborate bun adorned with a jewel-inlaid ivory brooch. Little girls turned to gaze after her. Their mothers curtseyed and their fathers touched their hats and said "My lady" as she passed. She also heard whistles and shouts. A rough-looking man on the street corner gave her a lewd smile and accompanied it with a rude gesture she didn't quite understand.

Fortunately, Crysania knew where she was going, having travelled past the old temple grounds in a carriage many a times before. But she had never seen the place looking like it did now. Where once had been only ruins and fragments, now stood the beginnings of what was to become Paladine's holy house. One group of labourers was hard at work on the scaffoldings around the outer walls, while another group was digging up earth and stones and erecting massive marble pillars on the half-finished marble floor. Sand and gravel was everywhere; steel reinforcement bars, different kinds of rod and a variety of slabs were scattered in random piles.

Although far from finished, the temple left Crysania breathless. It was so white and so big, flashing in the early autumn sun like the most precious of gems. She stared at the building in awe. She could live there. In silence and peace, studying ancient writings and never having to bother about matters of marriage and childbearing again. It was a pleasant thought, but first she would have to find the building where Revered Father Elistan preached. It was not hard to find: the only building adjoining the temple was a small modest-looking house to the left of the construction site, so she thought that must be the one Glover and Nola had meant.

Crysania crossed the street and approached the small building. She placed her gloved hand on the doorknob and hesitated for a moment, not sure what would happen next. What if it was the wrong place? And if it wasn't, what would she say or do?

Plucking up courage, she pulled the door open, peeked in and almost turned back right away. It was definitely the right place: there was a throng of people already gathered in the surprisingly spacious room illuminated by many wax-dripping candles perched in metal holders. And there was a terrible smell - a smell of cooked cabbage and wet wool, and some other smell Crysania had never smelt before. Disgusted, she raised her wrist to her nose and let her eyes slide across the row of bodies. Rags, injuries, bandages. That was all she could see. Infected wounds, amputated limbs, physical deformities. She started to close the door, horror-stricken by the silent suffering before her, but then the thought of giving up now made her so terribly angry that she yanked the door open and stepped inside at once.

She took a place in the back row, painfully aware that she stood out like a silken yellow exclamation mark among the poor. A few people glanced at her. Some of the eyes held accusation - what are you doing here? what could you possibly need from here? - but most of them were empty and hollow, expressing nothing but lifelong weariness. Crysania looked around her, left and right, and the longer she looked, the sadder she became. These people were commoners, but they hadn't chosen to be born into the lower class. They hadn't chosen to be mangled and mutilated or to have their houses wiped out by war. They hadn't chosen disease. They were just people like herself. Or like that little girl in the forest to whom she had tried to give her earrings a long time ago.

Suddenly the atmosphere changed; something was happening at the front. Because Crysania was rather small, she had to stand on her tiptoes to try to see above the heads of the crowd. Frustrated, she took a fews steps to the left and managed to find a spot with a clear view of the front of the room. Four figures stood there in grey robes, looking austere and ascetic, with candles in hand. Acolytes, Crysania thought, and her heart leapt with joy when she saw that two of them were women, one around her age, the other a bit older in years. As Crysania watched, the acolytes started to circulate around the room at an energetic pace, holding open the mouths of their velvet pouches, soliciting money from volunteers.

And then Revered Father Elistan appeared, dressed in a white robe. He was a thin, gaunt man with ice-blue eyes, a white closely cropped beard and thinning grayish hair, about fifty years of age. His scholarly appearance made a positive impression on Crysania, but she wasn't entirely sure about his message. The Revered Father started to speak, and he spoke wonderful words of comfort and redemption, to be sure, but when it came down to it, they were just words. Because if the Platinum Father existed, who was to say He was really walking the earth again? And even if He was, who was to say that He cared for the people and wanted to protect them? But when Crysania looked around she saw that she was alone in her doubt. The men and women gathered in Elistan's house were all believers: they were holding their arms up in the air and rocking softly from side to side, faces glowing with ecstasy and eyes closed, listening to the Revered Father preach about the great mystery of Paladine's love. Crysania turned to look at him again, somewhat annoyed this time, thinking that the man was ruthlessly exploiting the weak and the helpless. She wanted to open her mouth and challenge him, but then she remembered that he was her escape plan. But how could she ever join his church and thus compromise her intellect and dignity? Unlike those around her, she was able to think for herself; she wouldn't let anyone tell her what to do or how to feel. Moreover, she needed evidence. And don't you have it? said the tiny voice inside her that she had systematically tried to extinguish for long, and she again remembered the warmth and comfort she would feel in the ancient cave of worship as she stood there surrounded by a sense of peace and serenity. Is that not why you keep going back there?

"Come to me, my children," Revered Father Elistan was saying, stretching out his thin arms. "Paladine is here, His presence has descended among us! Come! Come and be healed by the Platinum Father, our one anchor in the storms of this world!"

Crysania watched with distaste as the crowd jostled each other attempting to get to the front. Those poor souls. Easily influenced and susceptible to grand words, they elbowed their way towards the cleric as if he was god himself.

She did not know and could not explain how she ended up on her knees at Revered Father Elistan's feet, weeping in humility and joy. It was very hot in the house: the air was stuffy and stale, a mixture of incense, pus and sweat, and the crowd kept pushing forward. She was starting to feel very drowsy all of a sudden and she couldn't help but go along, drawn almost against her will; a single thought floated somewhere - leave, you should leave now - but the force that pulled her in deeper and deeper was much stronger, and soon she found herself in the front row, entranced and unable to resist, watching in a daze as the Revered Father laid hands on people and prayed to Paladine that the sick be healed. He was just about to move on to the next in line when his eyes fell on Crysania: he stopped, thunderstruck, and looked straight at her for a long, long time. There was something disconcerting in his gaze, almost as if he recognised her and was only surprised that she hadn't come sooner, but she wasn't afraid - she felt a serenity and calm like never before, the click of pieces locking into place, and she knew she could talk to this man about everything, that she would tell him her life story, every injustice, every hurt. Slowly Elistan started to approach, never dropping his gaze from her, and Crysania looked back into the cleric's face, the irresistible tide of rapture creeping up inside her, bidding the man to come and set her free. He came; he placed a hand on her head, and she felt a cool gentle breeze sweep through the stuffy room, even as the light inside her, the light that had started to grow a long time ago without her realising it, burst into flame. Her soul was liquid fire; she closed her eyes and saw the love she had been waiting for all her life: a river of light, the face of god.

All too soon the vision vanished, and the next moment Crysania found herself on the floor, sobbing. She knew she should have been ashamed of herself, she should have been absolutely mortified by showing emotion in public, but she also knew there was no need to be embarrassed, not with this man. The Revered Father's touch on her head was strong and reassuring, his voice even and warm, and she wanted to stay there at his feet forever; she wanted to see what he saw, believe what he believed, live what he lived. In tears she watched as he kissed the lame and the injured: he did not care if they were disfigured or badly crippled - he touched them still, his blue eyes shining with pure and honest love. Someone bumped into Crysania's shoulder. She turned, smiling, but saw the girl was blind; smiling still, she reached out and took the girl's hand into hers. For half an hour more she stood in admiration, following the Revered Father's every move. Their eyes met a few times, and each time he smiled at her, gentle and knowing.

It was over so soon. Elistan departed through the back door, and the acolytes began to usher the people out of the house.

Crysania walked back to the markets, oblivious to the buzz of the city, no longer even noticing the looks she got. She was quiet when she went to buy the decoy presents, she was quiet when Baxter and Oliva came to fetch her, and she was quiet all the way home. She now knew female clerics existed, but what about aristocratic clerics? Revered Father Elistan had seen her dress and jewels, he had seen her clean skin and shiny hair, and yet he had nodded his approval; more than that, there had been an invitation in his eyes. And the fire inside her, was not that a sign? That fire did not come from Elistan. It came from the Platinum Father, who had lighted up her soul like a candle, and at that moment she had known what she was for, finally.

Sitting in the carriage that was taking her to her home for the final time, Crysania looked back on her life and saw everything in a new light. All the loneliness and longing and the desire to be something, to become, to succeed, to love and to be loved, to find happiness, truth, meaning. Crys-an-ia. Beloved of the gods.

That evening, in the golden light of the setting sun, she left the house and went to her cave. There she stepped out of her shoes and for the first time walked all the way to the front, barefooted and unafraid, and when she reached the raised platform on which the wooden figures stood, she prostrated herself on the dirty soil in front of the Platinum Father. She had never been able to bring herself to speak to the god before, something in her had resisted, although she was now aware that she had wanted to address Him all along.

"Forgive me, Paladine," she whispered. "Forgive me for ever having doubted you."

A terrible noise to her left startled her: right before her eyes the statue of Takhisis with its bloodred mouth fell down with a crash, tumbling onto the ground in a tangled heap of rotten wood and dusty fabric. The dark iron crown rolled off Her head.

After the noise and her pounding heart had settled, Crysania looked up at Paladine's painted face with a strengthened resolve.

"Platinum Father," she said determinedly. "Two nights, and I'll come."
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Evermore: The Gathering