Nightshade entered the grotto staggering beneath a load of driftwood. He dumped it down on the floor and then stood staring at the girl, who lay unmoving on the cold stones as Rhys chafed her chill hands, trying to warm them. Atta trotted inside, sniffed at the girl, growled, and retreated to a far corner.
“We need tinder to start the fire,” said Rhys. “Perhaps some seaweed. If you could hurry…”
Muttering under his breath, Nightshade summoned Atta and the two went back out. Rhys hoped he would be quick about his task. The girl’s skin was cold and clammy to the touch, her heartbeat slow and sluggish, her lips and fingernails blue. He would have wrapped her in his own robes, but they were as wet as her cotton smock.
He glanced around the grotto that had once been a shrine to Zeboim. An altar to the goddess stood at the far end. He had paid it scant attention when the minotaur had first brought him here. He’d had far more urgent matters to think about, such as being chained to a wall and threatened with torture and death. Now, hoping he might find something of use, he left the child and went back to look at it more closely.
The altar was crudely carved out of a single piece of red-and-black striped granite. A conch shell had been placed reverently on the altar that was adorned with a frayed, sea-green piece of silk. Breathing a prayer of thanks to Majere and another prayer asking forgiveness of Zeboim for defiling her altar, Rhys lifted up the shell, removed the cloth, then carefully put the shell back.
Rhys took off the child’s sopping-wet smock, rubbed her dry with the silk cloth, and wrapped her up in it, winding it around her much like the cocoon from which the fabric had been spun. The girl ceased to shiver. Some color came to her pallid cheeks, the blue faded from her lips.
“Thank you, Zeboim,” said Rhys softly.
“You’re not very welcome,” said the Sea Goddess, sharply. “Just make certain you scrub my cloth and put it back when you’ve finished.”
Zeboim entered the grotto quietly, subdued-for her-with a only a moderate breeze stirring the blue-green dress that frothed about her bare feet. She cast a bored glance at the girl on the floor.
“Where did you dredge up the kid?”
“I found her washed up on the shore during the storm,” Rhys replied, watching the goddess closely.
“Who is she?” Zeboim asked, though she didn’t seem to much care.
“I have no idea,” Rhys replied. He paused, then said quietly, “Do you know her, Majesty?”
“Me? No, why should I?”
“No reason, Majesty,” said Rhys, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Nightshade must have been mistaken.
Stepping over the girl, Zeboim came to Rhys and knelt down before him. She reached out with her hand, caressed his cheek.
“My own dear monk!” she said in dulcet tones. “I am so glad to see you safe and sound! I’ve been consumed with worry for you.”
“I thank you for your concern, Majesty,” said Rhys warily. “How may I serve you?”
“Serve me?” Zeboim was dismayed. “No, no. I came merely to inquire about your health. Where is your friend, the… um… dear little kender. And that mutt. Dog. I mean, dog. Sweet dog. Oh, my dear monk, you’re so cold and wet. Let me warm you.”
Zeboim fussed about him. Drying his robes with a touch of her hand, she lit the pile of driftwood with a flick of her finger. All the while, Rhys waited in silence, not fooled by her blandishments. The last he’d seen of the Sea Goddess, she had told him she would watch in glee as Mina put him to death.
“There, isn’t that better?” Zeboim asked solicitously.
“Thank you, Majesty,” Rhys said.
“Is there anything else I can do for you-”
“Perhaps tell me why you’ve come,” Rhys suggested.
Zeboim looked annoyed, then said abruptly, “Oh, very well. If you must know, I’m looking for Mina. It occurred to me she may have come to you, seeing that she found you interesting. I’m sure I don’t know why. I think you’re as dull as dishwater. But Mina couldn’t stop talking about you, and I thought she might be here.”
She glanced about the grotto, and shrugged. “It seems I was mistaken. If you see her, you will let me know. For all the grand times we had together-”
As she started to leave, her gaze fell again on the child wrapped in the altar cloth. Zeboim halted, staring.
The girl lay on her side, curled up in a ball. Her face was hidden by the cloth, but her tangled red braids were clearly visible in the firelight. The goddess looked at the girl, then she looked at Rhys.
Zeboim gasped. Swooping down on the girl, the Sea Goddess grasped hold of the altar cloth and dragged it from the child’s face.
Zeboim grasped the girl’s chin and wrenched her face to the firelight. The girl woke with a cry.
“Stop it!” said Rhys sharply, intervening. “You’re hurting her.”
Zeboim laughed wildly. “Hurt her? I couldn’t hurt her if I drove a stake through her heart! Did Majere do this? Does he think he can hide her from me with this stupid disguise-”
“Majesty-” Rhys began.
“Ouch!” Zeboim cried, snatching back her hand. She glared down at the child in shock. “She bit me!”
“Come near me and I’ll bite you again!” the girl cried. “I don’t like you! Go away.”
She wrapped herself more snugly in the altar cloth, curled into a ball, and closed her eyes.
Zeboim sucked her bleeding hand and regarded her intently.
“Don’t you know me, child?” she asked. “I’m Zeboim. We’re friends, you and I.”
“I never saw you before,” said the girl.
“Majesty,” said Rhys uneasily, “who is this girl? You seem to know her.”
“Don’t play games with me, monk,” said Zeboim.
“I am not playing a game, Majesty,” said Rhys earnestly.
Zeboim shifted her gaze to him. “You’re telling the truth. You truly don’t know.” She gestured at the slumbering child. “She is Mina. Or rather, she was Mina. I have no idea who she thinks she is now.”
“I do not understand, Majesty,” said Rhys.
“You’re not alone,” the goddess said grimly. “Where did you find her?”
“She was in the sea during the storm. She nearly drowned-”
“In the sea?” Zeboim repeated, and she added in a murmur. “Of course! She jumped from the wall into the sea. And she came to you, the monk who knew her…”
“Majesty,” said Rhys, “you need to tell me what is going on.”
Zeboim eyed him. “My poor monk. It would be immense fun to walk out and leave you floundering in ignorance, but not even I am that cruel. I don’t have time to go into details, but I will tell you this much. This girl, this child, this Mina is a god. She is a god who does not know she is a god, a god who was tricked by Takhisis into thinking she was human. What’s more, she is a god of light who was duped into serving darkness. Are you keeping up with me so far?”
Rhys stared at her, dumbstruck.
“I can see you’re not.” Zeboim shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t much matter. You’re stuck with her. To continue my story, poor Mina had the misfortune to fall in love with Chemosh and-just like a man-he broke her heart. Mina tried to win him back by giving him a gift. She dragged the Tower of High Sorcery up out of my sea and stuck it on that island out there. We were all very impressed. That was the first hint most of us had that she was a god. Majere, of course, already knew.”
“I don’t believe… I can’t believe…” Rhys paused, recalling the name of the place she had referred to as home. “If what you say is true, Majesty, how did she come to be like this? A child?”
“The gods only know,” said Zeboim. “No, wait. I take that back. We gods haven’t a clue. You think I’m lying, don’t you?”
Rhys was embarrassed. “Majesty-”
She grasped hold of his arm, digging her nails through the fabric of his robes into his flesh. Staring into his eyes, past his eyes, into his very soul, she hissed at him.
“Believe me or not, as you choose. As I said, it doesn’t matter. Mina came to you. What I want to know is… why? Did Majere send her to you? We took an oath, all of us. We’re not supposed to interfere. Did Majere break that oath?”
Rhys realized in that instant that Zeboim was telling the truth, and a shudder ran through him. He looked past the goddess at the forlorn little girl, wrapped in a frayed altar cloth, asleep on the cold, damp floor of a cave, and he remembered her floundering in the waves of the god-driven storm. He did not understand the workings of heaven, but he did know something of the suffering of mortals.
“Perhaps she came because she is alone and afraid,” said Rhys, “and she needed a friend.”
Zeboim tore Rhys apart with her gaze, studied the pieces, then hurled him away from her, sent him staggering back against the stone wall.
“Good luck with your new little friend, then, Monk.”
The Sea Goddess vanished in a blast of wind and rain.
Shaken, Rhys gazed down at the child.
“Majere,” he prayed, troubled, “is it your will that I undertake this task?”
“Rhys!” yelled a voice, and Rhys was momentarily startled. Then he realized the voice belonged to Nightshade.
“Rhys! Is it safe to come in?” the kender yelled from outside the grotto. “Is Zeboim gone?”
“She is gone.” For the time being, Rhys added mentally, certain this was not the last they would see of her.
Nightshade entered cautiously, staring hard into the shadows as though certain she would jump out at him. Then he saw the fire and he snapped his fingers.
“Oops, I knew I forgot something. I was supposed to go fetch tinder-”
“No need now,” said Rhys, smiling.
“Yeah, I can see that. I guess I forgot about the tinder because I was so excited about finding something else. I didn’t want to bring it in if you-know-who was still here. But since she’s gone, I’ll go get it.”
He darted out of the grotto and returned carrying a long, slender piece of driftwood. He held it out proudly.
“I found it washed up on shore. Doesn’t it remind you of your old staff? The emetic or whatever it was you called it? Anyway, Atta and I thought you might be able to use it.”
“Emmide,” said Rhys softly. He took hold of the staff, clasped his fingers around it. A pleasant warmth stole into his arm and spread throughout his body. And it was in this warmth that he heard the god’s voice, knew Majere’s answer.
Rhys rested the staff against the wall and spread the girl’s wet smock near the fire to dry. She slept deeply, her breathing even and quiet. He sank down onto the floor and leaned back against the wall. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept.
“I heard Zeboim yelling at you. What did she want?” Nightshade asked.
“You and Atta were right. This little girl is Mina,” said Rhys. He closed his eyes.
“Whoo boy!” breathed Nightshade.
He removed his pouches, then took off his boots and emptied out the water and arranged them close to the blaze to dry off.
“My boots still smell of salt pork,” he said. “Which reminds me. It’s been a long time since dinner. I wonder if there’s any of that pork left.”
He went over to the barrel of salt pork the minotaur had left them for food and peered inside. Atta watched him hopefully. He shook his head, and the dog’s ears drooped.
“Oh, well. I guess we can wait until lunch, can’t we, girl?” Nightshade said, giving her a pat. “Say, Rhys, did Zeboim tell you how Mina turned into a little kid? I’ve heard of people aging ten years overnight, but never the other way around. Did the goddess have something to do with that? Did she? Rhys?”
The kender poked him. “Rhys, are you asleep?”
“What?” Rhys woke with a start.
“Sorry,” said Nightshade remorsefully. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That’s all right. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What was your question?” Rhys asked patiently.
“I was asking if Zeboim did this. She seems fond of shrinking people.” The kender was still bitter over the time the goddess had reduced him to the size of a khas piece and stuffed him inside Rhys’ pouch, then sent them both off to fight a death knight.
Rhys shook his head. “The Sea Goddess was shocked to see Mina as a child.”
“So what did she say happened?”
“According to Zeboim, Mina is a god who doesn’t know she’s a god. A god who was tricked by Takhisis into thinking she was human. Mina is a god of light, duped into serving Darkness.”
Nightshade regarded Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Did you hit your head again?”
“I’m fine,” Rhys assured him.
“Mina a god.” Nightshade snorted. “If you ask me, it’s all a bunch of hooey. Zeboim did this. She turned Mina into a little kid and sent her to us just to annoy us.”
“I don’t think so,” Rhys said quietly. “Mina woke up while you were gone. She told me she had run away from home and she asked me to take her back.”
Nightshade found this news cheering. “See there? Where does the kid want to go? Flotsam? It’s not far, just up the coast. She probably got swept out to sea-”
“Godshome,” said Rhys.
Nightshade’s brow wrinkled. “Godshome? That’s not a place. No one lives in Godshome except the-”
He gulped, and his eyes got round, and he gave a low whistle that made Atta’s ear twitch.
“I don’t think Zeboim told her to say that,” Rhys added with a sigh.
Nightshade looked at Mina and chewed his lower lip. Suddenly, he brightened.
“I’ll bet you heard her wrong. I’ll bet she said ‘Goat’s Home’.”
“Goat’s Home?” Rhys repeated, smiling. “I have never heard of such a place, my friend.”
“You don’t know everything,” Nightshade stated, “even if you are a monk. There are lots and lots of places you’ve never heard of.”
“I have heard of Godshome,” Rhys said.
“Stop saying that!” Nightshade ordered. “You know we’re not going there. It’s not possible.”
“Why?” Rhys yawned again.
“Well, for one reason because nobody knows where Godshome is, or even if Godshome is. And for two reasons, if Godshome is anywhere, it’s close to Neraka, and that’s a bad place, a very bad place. And for three reasons, if Godshome is close to Neraka, that means it’s far from here-clear on the other side of the continent-and it would take us months, maybe years, to travel…”
Nightshade stopped. “Rhys? Rhys! Are you listening to my reasons?”
Rhys wasn’t. He sat with his back against the wall, his head slumped forward, his chin resting on his chest. He was asleep, fast asleep, so deeply asleep that the kender’s voice and even a couple of pokes on the arm could not wake him.
Nightshade sighed and then he stood up and walked over to the little girl and squatted down to stare at her closely. She certainly didn’t look like a god. She looked like a drowned rat. He felt again the overwhelming sadness that he had felt when he’d seen Mina, the grown-up Mina. He didn’t like that, and so he wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve and then glanced back surreptitiously at Rhys.
His friend was still asleep and would probably sleep for a good long time. Long enough for Nightshade to have a talk with this kid-whoever she was-and tell her that where she really wanted to go was the thriving metropolis of Goat’s Home and that she should travel there on her own, and she should leave now very quietly so as not to disturb Rhys.
“Hey, kid,” Nightshade whispered loudly, and he reached out his hand to shake her awake.
His hand hung, poised, in midair. His fingers started to tremble a little at the thought of actually touching her, and he snatched his hand back. He continued to squat there, gazing at Mina and chewing on his lip.
What did he see when he looked at her? What made her different in his sight from other mortals? What made her different from the dead he could see and talk to? What made her different from the undead? Nightshade looked intently at the child, and tears again flooded his eyes. He saw beauty, unimaginable beauty. Beauty that shamed the most radiant, glorious sunrise and made the glittering stars seem pale and plain in comparison. Her beauty made his very soul stand still in awe, for fear the slightest whisper might cause the wondrous sight to slip away from him. But it wasn’t her beauty that wrenched his heart and caused the tears to roll down his cheeks.
Her beauty was clothed in ugliness. She was smeared with blood, cloaked in the shroud of death and destruction. Evil, dread and horrible, was a pall over her.
“She is a god,” he said under his breath. “A god of light who’s done really horrible things. I’ve known it all along. I just didn’t know I knew it. That’s what made me feel all weepy inside.”
Nightshade didn’t think he could explain this to Rhys, because he wasn’t sure he could explain it to himself. He decided to talk it all over with Atta. He’d found that telling things to a dog was a lot easier than telling things to humans, mainly because Atta never asked questions.
But when he turned around to discuss Mina with Atta, he saw that the dog had rolled onto her side and was deep in slumber.
Nightshade slumped against the wall beside Rhys. The kender was sitting there, thinking mind-boggling thoughts, and listening to Rhys’ soft breathing, and the girl’s soft breathing, and Atta’s soft breathing, and the wind’s soft breathing, sighing over the sand dunes, and the waves coming to shore and leaving the shore and coming back to the shore and leaving the shore…