Though they were all exhausted from their ordeal in the tower, Rhys did not deem it wise to remain long in the vicinity of Chemosh’s castle. He asked Mina if the small sailboat could make it to Flotsam and she stated that it could, provided they did not venture too far out to sea. They sailed up the coast, north to the harbor city of Flotsam.
They made the journey in safety, with only one brief scare, when Nightshade suddenly toppled over and lay in the bottom of the boat, where he was heard to faintly murmur the words: “meat pie”. Deeply concerned, Mina searched the boat and, sure enough, discovered more pies tucked away in a sack. Nightshade revived wonderfully upon smelling the food and, taking one pie with him, retired to the rear of the boat to eat, thereby avoiding Rhys’ reproving gaze.
They spent several days in Flotsam, resting and recovering. Rhys found an innkeeper willing to give him work in exchange for floor space and blankets in the common room. While he mopped floors and washed mugs, Nightshade and Mina explored the city. Rhys had at first prohibited Mina from leaving the inn, thinking that a six-year-old girl should not be roaming around Flotsam even if she was a god. But after a day spent trying to do his work and keep Mina from pestering the guests, infuriating the cook, and rescuing her after she tumbled down the well, Rhys decided it would be less dangerous if she went off exploring with Nightshade.
Rhys’ main concern was that Mina would go blabbing to strangers about the holy artifacts. Nightshade had described the nature of the artifacts’ miraculous powers, which were truly formidable. Rhys explained to Mina that the holy artifacts were immensely valuable and because of that, people might want to steal them, might even kill to possess them.
Mina listened to him with grave attention. Alarmed at the thought she might lose her gifts for Goldmoon, she promised Rhys solemnly and faithfully that she would keep them a secret. Rhys could only hope she meant it. He took Nightshade aside and impressed upon the kender the need to keep Mina from talking, then sent them both off, with Atta to guard them, to take in the sights of Flotsam so that he could get some work done.
Once, Flotsam had been a swaggering, rollicking, boisterous and free-wheeling rogue of a city. With a reputation for being disreputable, Flotsam had been a haven for pirates, thieves, mercenaries, deserters, bounty-hunters, and gamblers. Then came the Dragon Overlords, the largest and most terrible of which was an enormous red dragon named Malys. She seemed to take delight in tormenting Flotsam, periodically swooping down on the city to set parts of it ablaze, killing or driving off many of the inhabitants.
Malys was now gone and Flotsam was slowly recovering, but the wild child had been forced to grow up, and was now a sadder, though wiser, city.
Most of the ships now in the harbor belonged to the minotaur race, who ruled the seas from their islands to the north to the conquered lands of the former elven nation of Silvanesti to the south and beyond, for the minotaur nation was reaching out to humans, working hard to try to gain their trust. Well aware that their economic survival depended on trade with human nations, the minotaurs were ordered by their commanders to be on their best behavior while in Flotsam. The people of Flotsam, meanwhile, were conscious of their own economic survival and signs welcoming the minotaurs were posted in nearly every tavern and shop in town.
Consequently a city once known throughout Ansalon for its chair-breaking, table-hurling, mug-smashing, bone-crushing bar fights was now reduced to a few bloodied noses and a cracked rib. If a fight did break out, it was quickly squelched by either the local citizenry or minotaur guards. Offenders were hauled away to prison or permitted to sleep it off below decks.
As Nightshade would soon discover, Flotsam was in line to become a model citizen. Crime was down. There was no longer even a Thieves Guild, for the members hadn’t been able to raise enough cash to pay the dues. A settlement of gnomes located outside the city offered the only chance for excitement, but the mere thought of Mina among gnomes made Nightshade shudder.
“Might well bring about the end of civilization as we know it,” he told Rhys.
The kender was pleased, however, to find people interested in his abilities as a Nightstalker. A great many people had been killed by the dragon, and Nightshade’s ability to speak to the departed was much in demand. He lined up a client the second night they were in Flotsam.
Mina was eager to go with Nightshade to the graveyard “to see the spooks” as she put it. Nightshade, considerably offended by this undignified term, told her quite sternly that his encounters with spirits were private, between him and his clients, not to be shared. Mina sulked and pouted, but the kender was firm, and that night after dinner, he went off by himself, leaving Mina with Rhys.
Rhys told her to help him sweep up. She gave the kitchen floor a couple of swipes with the broom, then she tossed it aside and sat down to pester Rhys about when they were going to start for Godshome.
Nightshade returned late in the night, bringing with him a set of cast-off clothes and new boots for himself and for Rhys, whose old boots were cracked and worn through. As it turned out, the kender’s client was a cobbler and he’d taken the boots in payment. Nightshade also brought a meaty bone for Atta, who accepted it with relish and proved her gratitude by lying on his feet as he related his adventures.
“It all started when I was visiting the graveyard last night and chatting with some of the spirits when I noticed a little boy-”
“A real little boy or a spook?” Mina interrupted.
“The proper term is spirit or ghost,” Nightshade corrected her. “They don’t like to be called ‘spooks’. It’s quite insulting. You believe in ghosts, don’t you?”
“I believe in ghosts,” said Mina. “I just don’t believe you can talk to them.”
“Well, I can,” said Nightshade.
“Prove it to me,” Mina said slyly. “Take me with you tomorrow night.”
“That wouldn’t be right,” Nightshade returned. “Being a professional, I keep my client’s communications confidential.” He was pleased at having uttered several large words in a row.
“You’re telling us about them now,” Mina pointed out.
“That’s different,” said Nightshade, though for a moment he was flummoxed as to how. “I’m not using their names!”
Mina giggled and Nightshade went red in the face. Rhys stepped in, told Mina to quit teasing Nightshade, and told Nightshade to go on with his story.
“The little boy ghost,” said Nightshade with emphasis, “was really unhappy. He was just sitting there on this tombstone, kicking it with his heels. I asked him how long he’d been dead and he said five years. He was six when he died, and he was eleven now. That struck me as odd, because the dead usually don’t keep track of time. He said he knew how old he was because his father came to visit every year on the little boy’s birthday. That seemed to make him sad, so to cheer him up, I offered to play a game with him, but he didn’t want to play. Then I asked him why he was still here among the living when he should be on his soul’s journey.”
“I don’t like this story,” Mina said, frowning.
Nightshade was about to make a stinging remark when he caught Rhys’ eye and thought better of it. He went on with his tale.
“The little boy said he wanted to leave. He could see a wonderful, beautiful place and he wanted to go there, but he couldn’t because he didn’t want to leave his father. I said his father would want him to go on with his journey and I told him that they’d meet up again. The little boy said that was the problem. If he did meet his father again, how would his father recognize him after so much time had passed?”
Mina had been fidgeting, but she was quiet now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, listening intently, her amber gaze fixed on the kender.
“I told him his father would know. The little boy didn’t believe me and I said I would prove it.
“I went to the cobbler and I told him I was a Nightstalker and I’d talked to his son and that there was a problem. At first the cobbler was kind of rude, and there might have been a small scuffle when he tried to throw me out of his shop. But then I described his little boy to him, and the cobbler calmed down and listened.
“I took the cobbler to the graveyard, and his son was there waiting for him. The cobbler told me that he thought about his son every day, and he imagined what he would be like as he was growing up, and he said that was why he came to visit on his birthday. That he could see his little boy growing up in his mind. When the little boy heard this, he knew that no matter how much he changed, his father would know him. The boy quit kicking the tombstone and gave his father a hug and then he left on his journey.
“The father couldn’t see his little boy or hear him, of course, but I think he did feel the hug, because the father said I’d lifted a weight from his heart. He felt at peace for the first time in five years. So he took me back to his shop and he gave me the boots and he said I was a-”
Sitting up straight, Mina said abruptly, “What if the little boy hadn’t died? What if he’d lived and grown to be a man and he’d done things that were wicked? Very, very wicked. What would happen then?”
“How should I know?” Nightshade said crossly. “That has nothing to do with my story. Where was I? Oh, yes. The cobbler gave me the boots and he said I was a-”
“HI tell you,” said Mina solemnly. “The little boy must never grow up. That way, the father will still love him.”
Nightshade stared at Mina in astonishment. Then, leaning close, he said in a loud whisper, “Is that why she’s a-”
“Go on with your story,” Rhys said quietly. He reached out his hand and gently smoothed Mina’s auburn hair.
Mina gave a fleeting smile, but she did not look up. She sat gazing into the fire.
“Uh, anyway, the cobbler gave me the boots,” Nightshade said, subdued. He sat looking uncomfortable and then remembered. “Oh, I have something else!” He went to retrieve a large cloth bag and plunked it down triumphantly.
Rhys had noticed the bag, but had been careful not to ask questions, not being truly certain he wanted to know the answers.
“It’s a map!” Nightshade stated, pulling out a large, rolled-up sheet of oiled paper. “A map of Ansalon.”
He spread out the map on the floor and prepared to show it off. Unfortunately, the map kept wanting to roll back up again, and he had to anchor it down with two ale mugs, a soup bowl and the leg of the stool.
“Nightshade,” said Rhys, “a map like this costs a lot of money-”
“Does it?” Nightshade frowned. “I don’t know why. It looks kind of beat-up to me.”
“Nightshade-”
“Oh, all right. If you insist, I’ll take it back in the morning.”
“Tonight,” said Rhys.
“The minotaur captain won’t miss it until morning,” Nightshade assured him. “And I didn’t take it. I asked the captain if I could borrow it. That was right before he passed out. My minotaur is a little rusty, but I’m pretty certain ‘Ash kanazi rasckana cloppf’, means ‘Yes, of course you can, my friend.’” (Translation: “Shove off before I gut you, you little turd!”)
“We’ll both return the map tonight,” said Rhys.
“Well, if you insist. But first, don’t you want to look at it? This shows the way to-”
“-to Godshome?” cried Mina, jumping up eagerly.
“Well, no, Godshome’s not on here. But it does show Neraka, which is somewhere near where Godshome might be.”
“Which is where?” Mina asked, squatting down beside the map.
Nightshade hunted a bit, then placed his finger on a mountain range on the western side of the continent.
“And where are we?” Mina asked.
Nightshade placed his finger on a dot on the eastern side of the continent.
“That’s not far,” said Mina happily.
“Not far!” Nightshade hooted. “It’s hundreds and hundreds of miles.”
“Pooh. Watch this!” Mina stepped on the map, almost squashing Nightshade’s fingers. Placing her feet close to each other, she walked heel, toe, heel, toe from one side of the map to other side. “There. You see? That was about three steps. Not far at all.”
Nightshade gaped at her. “But that’s-”
“This is boring. I’m going to bed.” Mina walked over to where she had her blanket stashed. Spreading it out, she lay down and immediately sat back up. “We’re starting for Godshome tomorrow,” she told them, and then laid back down, curled up, and went to sleep.
“Three steps,” Nightshade repeated. “She’s going to expect to get there by tomorrow night.”
“I know,” said Rhys. “I’ll talk to her.” He gazed somberly at the map and sighed. “It is a long way. I hadn’t realized just far we had traveled. And how far we have to go.”
“We could book passage on a ship,” Nightshade suggested. “We might find one that would allow kender-”
Rhys smiled at his friend. “We might. But would you put yourself into the hands of the Sea Goddess again?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Nightshade said with a grimace. “I guess we walk.”
He plopped down on his stomach and continued to study the map. “It’s not a straight line from here to there. How will we remember the route?”
He rolled over comfortably on his back, propped his head on his arms. “The minotaur won’t miss his map until morning. If we had something to write on, I could copy it. I know! We could cut up my old shirt!”
He brought the shirt back along with a pair of shears he borrowed (legitimately) from the innkeeper and a quill pen and some ink. Nightshade then settled down happily to make a copy of the map and plot out their route.
“Do you know anything about all these different countries?” he asked Rhys.
“I do know something of them,” Rhys said. “The monks of my order often leave the monastery to travel the world. When they return, they tell tales of where they have been, what they have seen. I have heard many stories and descriptions of the lands of Ansalon.”
A sad note in Rhys’ voice caused Nightshade to look up from his work. “What’s the matter?”
“All those of my order are urged to make such a journey, but it is not required,” Rhys replied. “I had no intention of leaving my monastery. I did not think I needed to know any more of the world than what I could see from the green pastures where I tended the sheep. I would have remained in the monastery all my life, but for Mina.”
He looked over at the child, who was asleep on the floor. Mina’s sleep was often restless. She cried out, whimpered and cringed, and now she had tangled herself up in her blanket. Rhys rearranged the blanket, tucked it around her, and soothed her until she grew more peaceful.
When she was breathing more evenly, he left her and returned to where Nightshade was still studying the map.
“It occurs to me that the head of my order may know something about Godshome. Although it is out of our way, I believe it would be worth our while to first seek guidance at the Temple of Majere in Solace-”
“Solace!” Nightshade repeated excitedly. “My favorite place in the whole world! Gerard’s there, and he’s the best sheriff in the whole world. Not to mention chicken and dumpling day at the Inn of the Last Home. Is that Tuesday? I think it was Tuesday. Or is Tuesday pork chop and green beans day?”
The kender returned to his work with renewed vigor. Drawing on his own information (gleaned from fellow kender and therefore not entirely to be relied upon) and Rhys’ knowledge of the lands through which they would have to travel, he eventually determined the route.
“We walk overland along the northern coast of the Kyrman Sea,” Nightshade explained, when it was all finished. “We go past the ruins of Micah, which, according to the map is about thirty miles, then we travel another seventy miles through the desert, and on to the city of Delphon. What do you know about the humans of Khur? I’ve heard they’re very fierce.”
“They are a proud people, renowned warriors, with strong loyalties to their tribes that often lead to blood feuds. But they are noted for their hospitality to strangers.”
“That never seems to include kender. Still, with all those blood feuds, they must have a lot of dead people hanging about. Perhaps they’ll need my services.”
Taking this hopeful view, Nightshade went back to his map. “There’s a road from Delphon that leads west through the hills to the capital city of Khuri-Khan. Then there’s another big stretch of desert and another hundred miles or so after that, and we come to Blode, home of the ogres.”
Nightshade heaved a sigh. “Ogres like kender-for supper. And ogres kill humans or make them their slaves. But that’s the only way.”
“Then we must make the best of it,” said Rhys.
Nightshade shook his head. “If we get through Blode alive-which is a big ‘if’-we come to the Great Swamp. A Dragon Overlord named Sable used to live there, but she’s dead and the curse she cast on that land died with her. Still, the swamp is a nasty place, with lizards and man-eating plants and poisonous snakes. After that, we have to find a way across the Westguard River, then we go west a bit, go south a bit, skirt the coastline of New Sea, travel through Linh and Salmonfall and we finally reach Abanasinia.
“Once there, we cross the Plains of Dergoth, then travel through Pax Tharkas and into what used to be Qualinesti past the Lake of Death. I have to admit I’m kind of looking forward to that part. I’ve heard there are lots of wandering spirits in the lake. Elf ghosts. I like elf ghosts. They’re always very polite. After that, we cross the White Rage River and then venture into Darkenwood, which isn’t all that darken anymore, from what I’ve heard. Then we head out over the Plains of Abanasinia, pass through Gateway and finally trek north to Solace. Whew!”
Nightshade wiped his brow and went off to fetch a mug of restorative ale. Rhys sat in his chair by the fire, contemplating the map, envisioning the journey.
A monk, a kender, a dog, and a six-year-old god.
Walking deserts, mountains, swamps, plains, forests. Encountering civil wars, border skirmishes, tribal battles, blood feuds. As well as the usual hazards of the road: washed-out bridges, forest fires, torrential rainstorms, bitter cold, sweltering heat. And the usual dangers: thieves, trolls, ogres, lizard-men, wolves, snakes, the odd wandering giant.
“How long do you think the trip will take us?” Nightshade asked, wiping foam from his lips.
A lifetime, Rhys thought.