Mina rose to her feet and ran over to the minotaur. She crouched beside him but did not touch him. She rose and walked over to where the kender’s body lay beneath the green cloak. Reaching down, she carefully replaced a corner the wind had blown askew. Her empty amber eyes shimmered.
“I can fix him,” she said. She stood up and flung her arms wide, encompassing the wounded and the dead, encompassing the blasted temple, the accursed valley. “I am a god! I can make all this as if it never happened!”
“You can,” said Valthonis. “But to do that you would have to go back to the first second of the first minute of the first day and start time again.”
“I don’t understand!” Mina cried, perplexed. “You speak in riddles.”
“All of us would start over if we could, Mina. All of us would wipe out past mistakes. For mortals this is impossible. We accept, we learn, we go on. For a god, it is possible. But it means wiping out creation and beginning again.”
Mina looked rebellious, as though she didn’t believe him, and Valthonis feared for one frightening moment that she was in such pain she might actually try to ease her own suffering by plunging herself and the world into oblivion.
Mina sank to her knees and lifted her face to heaven.
“You gods! You pull at me and tug me in all directions!” she shouted. “You each want me for you own ends. Not one of you cares what I want.”
“What do you want, Mina?” Valthonis asked.
She looked about, as though wondering herself. Her gaze went to the kender, lying broken and lifeless beneath the green cloak. Her gaze went to the unconscious Galdar, loyal friend. Her gaze went to Rhys, who had comforted her when she woke crying the night.
“I want to go back to sleep,” she whispered.
Valthonis’ heart ached. His own tears blurred his vision, choked off his voice.
“But I can’t.” Mina said brokenly. “I know. I have tried. They call my name and wake me…”
She gave a sudden, anguished cry. The tears flooded her amber eyes, so that the Walking God’s reflection seemed to be drowning.
“Make them stop, Father!” she begged, rocking back and forth in her terrible agony. “Make them stop!”
Valthonis crossed the stone floor of the valley of Neraka and came to stand beside his daughter. She knelt before him, clutched at his boots. He took hold of her and raised her up.
“The voices will not stop,” he said. “For you, they will never stop—until you answer them.”
“But what do I say?”
“That is what you must decide.”
Valthonis handed her the scrip Rhys had carried for so long. Mina regarded it, puzzled. Unwrapping it, she looked inside. Her two gifts lay there, the Necklace of Sedition, the crystal Pyramid of Light.
“Do you remember these?” Valthonis asked.
Mina shook her head.
“You found them in Hall of Sacrilege. You were going to give them as gifts to Goldmoon when you came to Godshome.”
Mina gazed long at the two artifacts, one of consuming darkness, one of enduring light. She wrapped them back up, reverently and carefully.
“Is the way to Godshome far, Father?” she asked. “I am so very tired.”
“Not far, daughter,” he answered. “Not far now.”
8
A hairy finger pried open one of Rhys’ eyelids, causing him to wake with a start, startling Galdar who nearly poked out Rhys’ eye. The minotaur withdrew his hand and grunted in satisfaction. Sliding an enormous arm beneath Rhys’ shoulders, he heaved Rhys to a sitting position and thrust a vial between Rhys’ lips, dumping some sort of foul-tasting liquid into his mouth.
Rhys choked and started to spit it out.
“Swallow!” ordered Galdar, giving him a thump on the back that caused Rhys to cough and sent the liquid trickling down his throat.
He gagged and wondered if he’d just been poisoned.
Galdar grinned at him, showing all his teeth, and grunted, “Poison tastes a lot better than this stuff. Sit still for a moment and let it do its work. You’ll be feeling better soon.”
Rhys obeyed. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t feel strong enough yet to be prepared for the answers. His jaw ached and throbbed, though it was no longer broken. His diaphragm was sore, every breath hurt. The potion seeping through his body began to ease the pain of his wounds, if not the pain in his heart.
Galdar, meanwhile, took hold of Atta’s muzzle, gripping it tightly while another minotaur in soldier’s harness, bearing the emblem of Sargas, deftly smeared brown glop over her wound.
“You’d like to bite my hand off, wouldn’t you, mutt?” said Galdar, and Atta growled in response, causing him to chuckle.
When the minotaur was finished with his ministrations, he nodded to his companion. Galdar released the dog and both minotaurs sprang back. Atta rose, somewhat wobbly, to her feet. Keeping a distrustful eye on the minotaur, Atta came to Rhys to be petted. Then she limped over to the green cloak. She sniffed at it and pawed the cloak and looked back at Rhys and wagged her tail, as though saying, “You’ll fix this, Master. I know you will.”
“Atta, come,” Rhys said.
Atta stayed where she was. She pawed again at the cloak and whined.
“Atta, come,” Rhys repeated.
Slowly, her head and tail drooping, Atta limped painfully over to Rhys and lay down at his side. Putting her head on her paws, she heaved a deep sigh.
Galdar squatted beside the body. He moved slowly and stiffly. His blood-matted fur was slathered with the same brown goop his men had spread on Atta. Galdar lifted a corner of the green cloak and looked down at Nightshade.
“Sargas commands us to honor him. He will be known among us as Kedir ut Sarrak.” (Kender with Horns)
Rhys smiled through his tears. He hoped Nightshade’s spirit had lingered long enough to hear that.
The minotaur soldiers gathered up their belongings, making ready to leave. No one wanted to stay in this place any longer than necessary.
“Are you fit to travel, Monk?” Galdar asked. “If so, you are welcome to come with us. We will help you carry your dead and the mutt, if she won’t bite,” he added gruffly.
Rhys gave grateful assent.
One of the minotaur lifted the small body in strong arms. Another picked up Atta. She barked and struggled, but at Rhys’ command, she quit fighting and allowed the minotaur to carry her, though she growled with every breath.
“I want to thank you for your help—” Rhys began.
“I had nothing to do with it,” Galdar interrupted. He waved his good hand at his soldiers. “You can thank this mutinous lot. They disobeyed my command and came after me, even though I had ordered them to stay behind to wait for me.”
“I’m glad they disobeyed,” said Rhys.
“If you must know, so am I. Go on ahead,” Galdar told his men. “The monk and I cannot walk as swiftly. We will be safe enough. There are only ghosts left in this valley now, and they cannot harm us.”
The minotaurs didn’t appear to be too certain of this, but they did as Galdar commanded, though they did not move quite as swiftly as they could have, but kept within shouting range of their commander.
Galdar and Rhys walked together, both of them limping. Galdar grimaced and pressed his hand to his side. One of the minotaur’s eyes was swollen shut and blood trickled from the base of one of his horns. Rhys’ stomach and jaw both hurt, making breathing difficult and painful.
“Where will you go now?” Rhys asked.
“I will return to Jelek to resume my duties as ambassador to you humans. I doubt you want to go there,” he added with a wry glance at Rhys. “But my men and I will not abandon you. We will wait with you until help arrives.”
“Help may be long in coming.” Rhys spoke with an inward sigh.