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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 51

Brother,

It's been a long time.

Expect to receive me in three weeks' time.

R.

There was no doubt: it was his twin's handwriting. Bold, clear, self-assured. A far cry from his own sloppy chicken scratch riddled with spelling mistakes.

With the setting sun warming his back through the kitchen window, Caramon Majere gazed down at the four short lines which never seemed to grow any less astounding. During these two weeks he had read those lines about a thousand times, first hoping and then fearing that the note was just a forgery, yet knowing all the time that it wasn't. It was not just the handwriting. He knew Raistlin had held this piece of paper that he was now holding, but he would have been at a loss to explain just how he knew it. He just did.

Fetching a deep sigh, Caramon laid the note on the table, thinking back on the loads and loads of papers and notebooks which somehow Raistlin had always seemed to have about him. He was endlessly writing, his quill scratching on paper in the quiet of the night, and Caramon remembered himself thinking, back in the day, that it was a comforting sound. But if he'd known what Raistlin was writing about, if for once he had risked a peek, more than just a cursory glance while passing by, then maybe it all would have turned out differently.

For a long time he had believed that he knew Raistlin inside out: knew how his mind worked, what he was thinking, and when and why he was thinking it. His twin. His other half. But then he had found out that he knew nothing at all.

Just how long had Raistlin been planning it? Since the day he started learning magic? Since the Test? When they were children? Was he planning it the whole time on their travels together? Every time they sat down to eat, or built a fire, or lay themselves down to sleep in a roadside inn or some forest clearing, was it the only thing on Raistlin's mind? If only I'd looked properly, Caramon thought, I might have found out before it was too late.

He had never told Tika. He'd never told anyone. He could hardly pronounce the words to himself, but he tried anyway, so that he would never again fall into that deep toxic sleep of denial that had lasted for over two decades: My twin brother decided he wanted to become a god. The god of everything. He thought he'd just make the world go down in flames and then rebuild it the way he liked.

Why? Such a small word, such a huge enigma. Why-why-why, uselessly chiming in his head at night as he'd lain in his bed exhausted and half-asleep, fancying he could still hear Raistlin's quill scratching away in the dark, thinking that he should get up and make him stop, that he'd had the chance - several chances - to put an end to it once and for all, but time after time he'd blown it. And then, much too soon, it was already morning - the early sun seeping in through the curtains, the huffed voices of Tanis and Laurana downstairs - and he had absolutely no idea how he would get through another day without losing his mind.

A burst of laughter outside stirred Caramon from his thoughts: Tika and Dezra, still idly chattering away on the veranda. Realising it had grown dark while he was standing there staring at Raistlin's message, he left the kitchen and made his way to the adjoining room, and took a seat by the fire. The days were drawing in and the nights were chilly; summer was winding down and soon it would be harvest time. And what a summer it had been - the best in a very long time. A ghost of a smile briefly appeared on Caramon's lips as he thought of Tika and the baby - he was becoming a father! what a strange, beautiful, terrifying thought! - but his mind was far away, wandering the edges of the darkness it had inhabited only two years ago.

After the Abyss Tanis had taken charge, because he had been unable to function. The half-elf had taken him into his home, given him a room upstairs for as long as he needed it. Caramon had figured he would need it forever: all he had known was that he would never go back to Solace and to his wife, to the life he once had. That was impossible, because Raistlin was gone. Not away in a different city, like he had been after the war, not even in another country, but completely gone. And not just gone, but trapped. In unending pain where he had left him.

The way he saw it, the world did end that day.

So why was he still here, breathing? Sitting on a mountain ovelooking the vast valley that stretched out below him in shades of green and gold, the Ahlanlas River running through its heart like a silver ribbon, as if everything was still possible, as though the world was still beautiful, he had gazed into the bottomless depth and felt its call.

After an hour or so, he'd heard footfalls coming up behind him and knew without looking who it was. Tanis did not speak a word; he merely picked up the uncorked bottle Caramon had smuggled out and flung it far out into the woods; they could hear it crash against the rocks somewhere below - a lonely, hollow sound in the vast silence - and then the half-elf had settled down next to him, still not speaking, and they had sat there side by side for a long time, until Caramon finally spoke.

"He did some good things in his life, you know."

All he got for an answer was a perplexed sigh, the frankness of which wounded him: Tanis had nothing else to offer him. Not anymore.

But he pushed on, obstinately, needing assurance.

"He hated folk laughing at those who were less fortunate. The weak. The downtrodden. I laughed at them so many times." He swallowed hard and whispered, "All the time."

Still Tanis would not speak. But Caramon could tell the half-elf was listening.

"Like this one time, when we were sellswords, there was this young girl at the camp, travelling with the cook. She was just seventeen or maybe eighteen, very young anyway, and her name... See? I can't even recall her name. Raist would. In any case, she had a clubfoot and some sort of speech defect, so she couldn't walk nor talk properly, and everyone just called her names, laughing in her face and sticking out their feet to trip her up, the usual stuff. Now one day it happened that she got a letter - one of the fellas saw the edge of it poking out of her apron pocket, see, so he snatched it and they started passing it around, holding it high up out of reach and saying it was a love letter from an ogre or something. But we're sitting a little further away, Tanis, and all of a sudden, when Raist sees what's happening out there, he just puts down his fork and gets up, and he walks over to the bloke twice his size holding the letter up in the air, and he calmly grabs the letter from behind, straight out of the bloke's big fat hand. And so the bloke wheels round, gaping with his mouth open, and everything goes quiet - 'cause Raist is a wizard, you know, and they were all of them dead afraid of what he might do next. Well, what he did was he handed the letter back to the girl who'd been crying her eyes out and said - you know what he said, Tanis? - he said 'Can you read, honey?', very gently and quietly like, and seeing her shake her head Raist tells her to follow him, and he sits her at our table and reads the letter out to her. And -"

He found he was choking with emotion; he could not go on.

After a short silence, Tanis asked softly, "Who was it from?"

"Her mother. I reckon someone had helped her with the writing. The girl listened ever so quietly, just staring at Raistlin completely still, her eyes big as plates. You see, I don't think anyone had ever been that nice to her." Caramon smiled at the memory; there were tears standing in his eyes. "That was my little brother."

He waited, but Tanis made no comment.

"Wasn't that amazing? What he did?" Caramon insisted, desperately reaching out.

"Yeah. That was something else," said Tanis at last.

But when Caramon glanced up at his friend, he could see that the half-elf's gaze was fixed in the distance and his face was set in a grim expression.

"I mean, he did things like that all the time."

"Yeah," said Tanis again. But his gaze, detached and inscrutable, was still lingering on the treetops.

Suddenly, it was unbearable. "I'm sorry," Caramon whispered, feeling the horror like a thousand stones sitting on his shoulders, steadily crushing him and grinding him into the hard black earth. "I'm so sorry, Tanis."

Now, finally, Tanis turned to look at him, his brows rising in consternation. "It wasn't your fault," he said quietly but firmly, all the while searching Caramon's expression.

Unable to meet his eye, Caramon let his gaze fall down to his empty hands. "But... I don't know what went wrong. Was it me?"

"Never think that," Tanis replied sharply without pause. "Caramon, I forbid you to think that."

"Then what should I think?"

"I think," Tanis began slowly, and after a short hesitation he concluded, "I think you were the best thing that happened to him."

There was another long silence before Caramon answered, his voice hardly audible. "But it wasn't enough."

To this Tanis made no reply.

They went on sitting quietly for a while longer, gazing out at the dusk slowly descending over the valley.

The worst thing was, Caramon now thought two years later in the town and the house he'd believed he would never return to, the very worst thing was that Tanis had been right all along. And Flint. And Sturm. Even Kit. All of them. Like a fool he had stood up for his brother time and again, never seeing what everyone else saw when they looked at Raistlin: a brutal and sadistic man who knew how to get what he wanted. Even after the Test he had stood up for him, more fiercely if anything and with absolute conviction, to not have to face the possibility which had only slowly turned into a probability and then at last into a certainty:

He did not know it was just an illusion. There was no way of knowing it was not really me.

Yet he went on loving and forgiving, telling himself that there had been some sort of mistake, that he was the one to blame, and if need be Raistlin surely would bend over backwards to keep him safe, no doubt he would lay down his life for him, unquestioning, without the tiniest bit of hesitation. The Test - explainable. The black robe - fully explainable too. It was only during that whole sordid affair which had begun almost exactly three years ago from today that it had finally started to come clear to him that this man - his twin, his other half, for gods' sakes - had no more feeling for him than a servant or slave, and that the things Raistlin did could not be explained away by any factor of chance or accident. And when he had seen him in the Abyss, the empty shell of a man hurling vile abuse at him, growling that he would kill him and wanting him to die with the knowledge that he had become a god, he had known at last: at some point down the road, maybe right in the beginning, maybe later, who could tell, he had lost his little brother. What remained was just a very efficient machine, a life-size replica of a human being, but cold to the touch and beyond all repair.

And he had also known he had never loved him more.

Rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger, Caramon leaned back wearily in his chair. What was he doing? Had he not promised to himself to not think these things and feel these feelings ever again? Because that was the only way - the only way - he could move on and give Tika the life she deserved. That was the decision he had made, a conscious decision to choose happiness, on the day that was supposed to have been his last - one quick slash would do it - but instead of death had come a vision: the sword had clattered from his limp hand, and he had ended up weeping on the floor in his upstairs room, thanking Paladine for His mercy. Raistlin was not in any pain but sleeping - he was waiting for him somewhere in a place between life and death, and he would see him again, but only after a very long time. The next day Caramon had packed his belongings, said goodbye to Tanis and Laurana, and started his long journey back to Solace where his wife - his loving, patient, wise Tika - had been waiting for his return well over a year, not knowing where he was or if he'd ever come back.

Yes - a conscious decision to be happy. But now, after all this time and all the healing he had fought to achieve, a single short handwritten note had pushed him right back to the beginning. The words were light, affable, almost jocular: see you soon, long time no chat. Brother. As if nothing had changed, as if they had last parted on the most flourishing terms. Why would the gods send Raistlin back? Wasn't it a bit risky letting him out of sight like that? And whose idea had it been in the first place? Theirs? Raistlin's?

As Caramon sat there thinking, trying to wrap his head around the situation, a troubling thought suddenly came to him, one so startling that it made him huff an incredulous little laugh.

No. It was ridiculous that he should even be considering it.

Leaning in to poke the fire, he tried to shake it off, but the thought persisted.

What if, it whispered, what if he's gone to her?

Caramon laid the fire iron aside and stared unmoving into the flames. Impossible. No way she would never ever, not in a million years, let Raistlin anywhere near her again. Besides, she was bound to have a whole horde of security guards hovering about her day in and day out - for surely if you were to become the church leader, you didn't just prance about as if you were footloose and fancy-free, now did you? The leader of Paladine's church - Caramon had to admit the news had given him pause. Sure, there had been rumours for years, but he didn't think anyone had actually taken them seriously. She was too young. Too fresh. Too different from what people expected a church leader to be. But he was glad for her. She deserved every piece of happiness she could possibly get. Maybe someday he would see her again in some religious ceremony, standing shiny bright high up on an altar. But he didn't think he could talk to her. He wouldn't know what to say. There was nothing to say.

On second thought, he decided he did not even want to see her. With nightmarish horror he imagined how Tika, twittering like a bird, would drag him over to the cleric and ask her if she remembered her husband. That's what Tika would do, because they basically, sort of, in a way knew Her Reverence, and Tika was terribly pleased about it too. When the news of the lady's election had reached Abanasinia, Tika had told everyone in town that she had personally shaken the Revered Daughter's hand during her visit to Solace two years ago. And more than that, the holy lady had stopped for the night at their inn, to be escorted in the morning to Wayreth by Tika's very own husband. What say you, should we put up a plaque? she'd asked him jokingly, nudging him with an elbow, and then she had recited in a solemn voice, To commemorate the visit of Her Holiness Revered Mother Crysania to Solace in the spring of 356. What could he do except try to match her tone and act naturally? Forcing a laughter, he had hoped Tika would put the news-sheet away and go back to brooming the floor. But she'd continued to read, ravenously, and then suddenly cried out, What, she's blind? She wasn't blind when she was here. Poor woman. I wonder what happened to her. Letting the new-sheet fall to her lap, she had gaped at him with a puzzled look.

Gods, she didn't know the half of it. As far as Tika was concerned, he had accompanied the Revered Daughter to Wayreth, and that was it. For Tika, that was the end of the story. She didn't know that, together with Raistlin, the cleric had unwittingly brought the world to the brink of ruin. She also didn't know - how could she? - that her husband had fallen for the woman like a lovesick schoolboy. Differently, confusingly, like he had never fallen for anyone before. Because she was different and confusing. Not like any other woman he had ever met. She didn't care for smiles. She despised his stupid jokes. Not once had he caught her gazing dreamily at his physique. But he went for it anyway, foolishly, desperately, firmly believing that she would respond to him. Why wouldn't she? All the others had. So one day, when the almost unbearable longing had overcome him, he'd pulled the cleric into his arms in his tent, holding her close all flushed and excited while flat out confessing his love to her. But she'd told him, rather coldly, to let go of her, and the look on her face as she said it had hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest: instead of desire there was complete rejection, even distaste in her eyes, and in that single moment the truth which he had known all along but refused to accept came down on him like a dark, cold torrent of icy water: she was crazy for Raistlin.

Caramon had never seen anyone looking at anybody like she did his brother. Dazzled. Completely smitten. And he'd never seen his brother looking at anyone quite the same way either.

But what did she get for loving Raistlin? Half the time she was swallowing tears, shaking and stuttering, making excuses. It was all her fault, all hers: the bruises on her wrist, the cut on her lip, the torn dress. From one accident to another until she ended up blind and dying on the floor of hell, like a toy he had broken and forgotten.

Still, those looks they'd exchanged. As Caramon considered those looks, he realised with a sick sensation that he wasn't so sure she would never let Raistlin near her again.

And wasn't that exactly what he himself was doing? Telling his brother that he would learn to live with the things he'd done, when he should have turned his back on him.

But how could he do either of those things? How?

Caramon shut his eyes, his mind a hopeless jumble, and dropped his head into his hands, not hearing the front door open.

Picking her way through the kitchen with a basket of fresh laundry under her arm, still smiling from her silly chat with Dezra, Tika happened to glance into the side room as she passed and saw her husband sitting hunched in the armchair, gazing bleakly into the hearth with his head between his hands.

Tika's smile faded.

Her natural impulse was to set down the basket, go over and put her arms around Caramon, and whisper in his ear and ask him what he was thinking about. Normally she would have done just that. But not this time. Because she knew what he was thinking about.

Already, again, forever, he was a wedge between them.

And sure enough, glancing to her right Tika spotted a piece of paper on the table beside the door. She now saw it for the first time; she'd had no interest whatsoever in reading the note and so she'd never demanded Caramon to show it to her. But there it was now, so she might as well take a look.

Tika's face, usually warm and alive, wore an icy blank expression as she stepped over to the desk. Balancing the basket to her hip, blowing a strand of loose hair off her face, she dipped her head - she couldn't even bring herself to pick the paper up and touch it - and read:

Brother,

It's been a long time.

Expect to receive me in three weeks' time.

R.

A dark, bitter smile crept to Tika's lips as she scanned the words.

Imperatives. Always imperatives. Always that same air of entitlement.

No explanations, no details, no reasons given.

Brother. After everything. Brother.

Tika shook her head angrily, the dark grimace still twisting her features. Just another nasty little mindgame - that's what it was. Already he was doing it. One look at her husband, at the way he was sitting out there all lost and alone, and she knew that Raistlin was already slithering back into his head, softly, quietly taking up space until there was no room for anything else.

But she was ready. She had told Caramon that she would leave the moment Raistlin walked in the door, but of course she had not meant it. She would never leave Caramon with that monster. She would stay and stand as a barrier between them, an unwavering pillar of strength and support, so that whatever it was that Raistlin was after would crash and break against her rock-solid love.

Immediately she was aware of the thought which always haunted her, the spectre lingering at the back of her mind: It did not work the first time. You loved and you lost. The memory of him was more powerful than your love.

She would strangle that spectre to death. Now was the time. For she was not afraid anymore. And there sure as hell was no point in hoping that the whole thing would just go away if she ignored it. So let the brother come; let him find out that she was no longer that girl he had bullied into silence, who couldn't ever do the correct thing with him. Gods, it made her sick to think about the way she had been back then, passive and unable to stand up for herself, bursting into tears at his cruel remarks.

But she was so much more. And she'd make him see that.

Two years ago I told Raistlin that if he came home with me, I'd learn to live with what he'd... what he was.

A cold pit grew in Tika's stomach at the memory of Caramon's words, until it threatened to stomp the head of her newfound confidence. Just what had Caramon meant by that? What could be worse than the thing that had happened in the Test?

Out of the corner of her eye, Tika saw Caramon stir and start to rise. Quickly, as if she'd been doing something improper, she turned the note face down on the table, and hurried up the stairs and out of sight with her basket.
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Evermore: The Gathering