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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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Happy New Year to all my readers, and thank you thank you thank you for the amazing feedback and comments you've sent me by email. I'm absolutely floored by the support I've received and will continue to work on the story whenever I've got the time. Hope you'll stay on board! :)
Again, if you want to be added to my mailing list to be informed of future updates, please send me an email at rosa_tenebrum@yahoo.com

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CHAPTER 44

What a strange day it had been. Nonsensical. Unreal.

Lying on the bed, exhausted to the bone, Crysania wondered how she had managed to get through it and how many more of these days she would have to get through still before all this was over.

Solamnia. She should never have agreed to it. And yet she had no choice but to stay and follow: her travelling cloak lay neatly folded over the back of the chair; her bag was sitting on the floor by the door, packed with some of her old winter clothes she had found hanging in the wardrobe. All checked and ready to go - unlike herself.

Trying to calm her mind, Crysania hugged her prayer book to her chest. Although she could no longer see the holy book, she drew deep comfort from its weight in her hand, the scent of leather and ink, the feel of the gold-lettered pages under her fingers. Once it had belonged to Elistan; after the Revered Father's death, his library had passed to his successor. Anguished by the thought, Crysania put the book away and decided to get some rest. She knew she was dead tired, but sleep had never seemed further away: as soon as she closed her eyes and lay still, the merry dance in her head would kick off again, replaying the morning, the afternoon and the evening over and over - all the things Raistlin had said and done, the sound of his voice and laugh. It was amazing how fast she could go from one side to the other with him: one moment she was terrified, the next deliriously happy. The moments of happiness were only transitory, but that did not make them any less enticing; for whenever Raistlin showed concern for her - asking her if she was all right, telling her that nothing bad would happen to her as long as he was near - she was momentarily transferred into a world she had thought would come into existence after the Abyss. She so desperately wanted to believe in that world still, and at times Raistlin made it so very easy for her to do so.

I found it in the backyard garden. Everything was dead, except for that single red rose. It reminded me of you.

A few hours ago he had spoken those words from the doorway behind her as she was holding the rose up to her nose, pleasantly surprised, her lips parted into a dreamy half-smile - just when had Raistlin managed to sneak in and place it atop the pillow without her hearing? The rose was sweet-scented and lovely, but when she heard Raistlin's voice, the smile on her lips vanished, and without answering she placed the flower on the table and walked away to the window; there she had waited rigidly, and when she had finally heard Raistlin leave, she had picked the rose up again and gripped it tightly, one hand after the other, steadily applying more and more pressure until the thorns drew blood.

Later on, downstairs, she had hoped that Raistlin would see the cuts on her fingers. He hadn't said anything, but, as always, she had felt his gaze on her, watchful as ever, when they shared another quiet meal in the solitude of the house, exchanging amenities about the day, the weather, and everything else except the obvious. If no trouble came up, they'd leave tomorrow night. The library was very impressive. The trees had changed colour overnight from yellow to orange. These were the things she had learned, and all the while she had been hoping and dreading that Raistlin would say something else, something that would have brought the dream world closer again, so that she could have pretended that she was really there and that she had said yes to him, to what was meant to be, in the Temple Gardens. But he did not ask her again, and muttering excuses she had quickly withdrawn back upstairs to her room to hold herself together. Sitting there on the bed, numb and adrift, she had found to her dismay that she missed the wine and the drowsiness from the night before; it had made her drop her reserve, pushing the past so far back that she could barely see it and breaking down the wall of silence inside her that she could not get past otherwise. Because beyond that wall there was a promise: that little boy, hurt and lost and scared, was waiting for her right there, telling her that her love would make all the difference in the world.

Everything was dead, except for that single red rose. It reminded me of you.

He was wrong. The rose too was dead. He had killed it.

She had wanted to say: Look at my hands. See? This is you.

She had wanted him to take her hands and kiss them so that the wounds would burn.

The rain was pattering on the roof again, and lulled by its soft sound Crysania found herself starting to cross over into slumber; soon she was asleep. Amidst the white, the woman from her dream last night reappeared, looking at her with a grave face, her mouth forming words Crysania could not hear. She was going to ask the woman who she was, but just as she was extending her hand to see if she could touch her, she was jolted awake by a knock on the door.

Disoriented, she sat up and listened tensely, and when the knock came again she called out, "Yes? What is it?"

"Open up. Quick."

There was a quiet urgency in Raistlin's voice that sent Crysania's pulse racing. Draping her cloak across her shoulders, she scurried to the door to open it.

"Don't panic now," Raistlin said in a subdued voice, "but there's someone on the veranda."

Crysania's heart sank in terror. "Who?"

"I don't know. But I intend to find out. I want you to stay here and not make a sound before I get back, all right? It might be nothing."

"Did you see anyone?"

"No, I didn't. But I heard their steps."

"Their steps? How many do you think there are?"

"Keep your voice down. Like I said, it might be nothing. Just the wind playing tricks."

"It's not the wind. They've found us, haven't they?"

"They will, if you won't keep your voice down. I'll go and check, and -"

"Oh no, you won't leave me here. I'm coming with you."

"And do what? I can handle this, Crysania. Trust me."

"Wait. What if it's not the rebels? It could be someone trying to help."

"We'll soon find out. Not a sound now, all right? Crysania?"

"Fine. Just... be careful."

"I will. I won't be long, I promise."

Softly Raistlin closed the door and left Crysania standing on the other side. With a sigh, she leaned her back against the wall and shut her eyes, silently calling out to Paladine for help. Please. Not the rebels. The City Guard. She listened for long moments, tense and very alert, but all she could hear was the rain: there were no footsteps, nor anything else. What was going on out there? She felt a frustrated anger - if only she could see. She was so utterly tired of feeling so damn useless all the time. Just then a loud banging noise outside made her jump, and Crysania's anger flared. How many more tests would she have to pass before Paladine was satisfied that she had done enough? If He had indeed freed Raistlin from the Abyss and brought them back together like this, then what did He want her to do about it? A sign, that was all she was asking. Because, judging from His silence, what she was doing was clearly wrong. But the other option was simply incomprehensible: no matter what Raistlin claimed, she could not believe that the Platinum Father would want her to give herself to the mage. How could He ever condone that? Did He want to make her the ultimate example of forgiveness and reconciliation? Maybe that's what it was, and if so, then - what a terrifying thought - the only thing standing in her way was herself - and she would never step aside. Never, Crysania thought fiercely, never, never, never, and with a deep shuddering breath she clenched her hands to make the thorn cuts sting.

A minute felt like an hour, two a lifetime. If it was the City Guard, Crysania thought discouragedly, Raistlin would be back by now; already they would be saddling their horses and heading back to the city escorted by a group of soldiers. Trying to keep her distress from turning into a full-fledged panic, Crysania told herself that Raistlin would manage: he'd said he could handle it and handle it he would. They were just acolytes, weren't they, just acolytes most likely, and Raistlin was hands down the most accomplished mage to ever walk the face of Krynn, everyone knew that, so there was absolutely nothing to worry about, was there? She had first-hand experience of just how powerful Raistlin's magic was, and suddenly a memory rose in Crysania's mind of the plague-ridden village Raistlin had burned to the ground before her very eyes: she had never seen anything like it, and she felt herself coming up in goosebumps still. In that small, empty village Raistlin had raised his arms to the sky and called down the lightning: standing in the middle of the blaze, he had commanded the fire to reach out and consume everything - the dead, the grey hovels, the rotting fences - and once the fire was in full blaze he had drawn her through the flaming curtain into that whirling vortex of ash and smoke to watch the world burn. She could still remember how cold and quiet it was inside the fire storm, and she could never forget the look on Raistlin's face as he conducted the destruction: to his words the fire answered, at the movement of his hand the wind rose. Now that Crysania thought back on that night, she realised with a pang that she had always cherished those moments inside the wheel of flame as the most loving thing Raistlin had ever done to her. He had allowed her to share his magic, and the knowledge made a small wistful smile flicker across Crysania's lips as she continued to wait.

After a quarter of an hour or so, she could finally hear light steps coming up the stairs. Her body tensed up, and she was conscious of a slow terror creeping up her spine: had she locked the door or not? No sooner had the thought occurred to her than the door was already being opened, and then Raistlin said assuringly, "It's all right - we're all right."

"Oh, thank god," Crysania breathed out, leaving the wall. "What happened?"

"Three armed clerics. Not friendly," Raistlin interjected in response to Crysania's hopeful expression. "I went out through the back door and saw two of them looking in at the windows. As soon as they spotted me, they prepared to strike. But I was faster. I put them to sleep, and their friend on the veranda as well."

"By magic?"

"Yes, by magic."

"How long will they sleep?"

"Very long. But we have to go. Now. When they realise in Palanthas that the trio won't have returned by morning, they'll send more men to investigate."

"Solamnia, then?" Crysania said, almost in a whisper. A few hours more and she might have grown accustomed to the idea. But once again everything was happening too fast. She had seen Winter Pines Hall, ridiculously, as the final bulwark against chaos and confusion, a sort of critical point between safe and unsafe: here she had still been able to fool herself into thinking that the return to Palanthas was just around the corner. But what would happen when they left the house? The night was waiting, vast and dark, and already Crysania could feel her grasp of the rope leading back to daylight beginning to fail.

"It's the nearest and safest," Raistlin said impassively, and as much as Crysania would have wanted to, she could not argue with that. To conceal her fear from the mage, she turned to get her bag. With Raistlin watching, she quickly fastened the clasps of her cloak, picked up the bag and turned back to him with an expression of feigned bravery. "Let's get going then," she said and sounded so affected that she was immediately ashamed.

Crysania waited in the corridor as Raistlin gathered up his belongings from the room next to hers. When she heard him close the door, she started confidently towards the staircase, thinking that Raistlin was following close behind. But instead she bumped straight into him, nearly losing balance, and for one dazed moment she felt his hands on her shoulders gently setting her right. Blushing fiercely, Crysania hurried past Raistlin to the stairs and started the descend, her heart thumping like crazy on every step, her mind refusing to let go of the sensation of his touch.

Downstairs she waited another few moments as Raistlin checked the rooms and exstinguished the fires one by one, plunging the great house back into the darkness from which it had been lifted only the night before. With breathless anxiety, Crysania listened to the sounds around her, wondering about the sleeping rebels. What if Raistlin was wrong, and they woke up the instant the two of them stepped out of the house? But outside everything was peaceful, and the night air was soothingly fresh. Crysania said she'd keep the key, and when Raistlin had readied the horses and tied them together, they walked them out of the yard through the rustling carpet of leaves.

"How did they get in?" Crysania asked, grateful, despite the danger, that there was something neutral to talk about and to distract herself from thinking about the touch in the hallway. "Is the gate broken?"

"No. I think they found the opening in the fence and left their horses outside. Maybe they got spooked and took off, 'cause I don't see any."

After locking the gate, Raistlin put the key in Crysania's bag and tightened the saddle cinches on both horses. He then held the stirrup for Crysania and finally mounted himself.

"Are you comfortable there?" he asked from beside her.

"Yes."

"Not too cold?"

She shrugged. "Not yet."

"If you need anything, anything at all, just tell me."

Crysania nodded, found herself almost blushing again, and quickly occupied herself with the reins.

"We'll go south through the mountains," Raistlin said, "take a short stop in Ryn and go on until we reach Relgoth. With any luck, we should be there before midnight tomorrow. We'll rest for a day or two, before setting out for Solanthus."

Crysania nodded again, firmly, only her rigorous grip on the reins betraying her inner terror. Digby was tugging at the bit, anxious to be on the move; the reins were hard and rough, chafing painfully against the cuts on her fingers.

"Ready?" Raistlin asked, like he had asked her two years ago, when he had taken her by the hand and led her to the portal.

The wind was cold, blowing strands of hair from Crysania's plait into her eyes. Shivering inside her cloak, she grabbed the reins tighter and straightened her posture.

"Ready."
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Evermore: The Gathering