A Collection of Majere Memoirs
Disclaimer: Raistlin and Caramon are not original characters. Credit to Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman.
343 A.C.
By the age of sixteen, it was common knowledge that Caramon was not only the stronger of the twins; he was also the more charming. So it didn't come as a surprise when rumours of his sexual exploits raged through Solace. According to the boys of the town, he'd taken three girls at once one time. The girls of the town wrinkled their noses and denied this steadfastly; according to them, he had won each of their hearts with his sensitivity and romance.
Caramon bathed in these rumours. He loved the popularity, and he loved the reputation, albeit different from each gender. In truth, he had taken only two girls to bed, but more than twenty had claimed to be his lover at some point, which left the remaining girls wanting to see if his abilities matched the rumours.
Caramon reached the door at a full sprint and barged through without stopping, banging his hip on the way. He slammed the door and bolted it shut—just in time to hear the thudding and screaming of the horde that had been chasing him. He slid down the door into a sitting position and caught his breath.
Gradually, the screams thinned out and Caramon could hear his pursuers straggling off. He drew one more deep breath and stood up, heading to the bedroom he had shared with his twin since birth.
Raistlin was sitting on his bed, his blanketed legs drawn up to his chest, reading a book propped up on them. He did not look up as Caramon entered, nor did he acknowledge his presence. Caramon collapsed face first onto his bed with a groan, limbs splayed in all directions, causing the floor to creak. Raistlin still did not acknowledge him.
After five minutes of being ignored, Caramon sighed dramatically and rolled over onto his back. He sighed again for good measure. Raistlin rolled his eyes; Caramon played this game often, seeking attention from his brother and seeing how long it would take.
When this ploy didn't work, Caramon dragged his hands down his face, groaning in exasperation as he did so. After finishing the paragraph he was reading, Raistlin made an irritated noise and closed his book, finally turning to Caramon.
"What is it, brother?" he asked through clenched teeth.
Caramon sat up, his exasperation replaced by agitation. "They won't leave me alone, Raist," he complained.
Raistlin raised an eyebrow. "Your admirers again?" he asked disdainfully. His brother nodded morosely. "What a pity," he said sarcastically, "that every girl in Solace wants your affection." He reopened his book and began looking for his page.
Caramon stood up and began pacing. "It's not that I don't enjoy the attention," he explained thoughtfully. "I just don't want Ambra to get the wrong idea."
Ambra Staraya, the daughter of a cabinetmaker, had been the object of Caramon's affections for a little over three months now, and she was definitely the jealous type. She had gotten cross with him once for talking to Kitiara because she hadn't known they were siblings. Having two dozen girls chasing him would not have made her happy.
Raistlin grunted noncommittally, having finally found his page. He didn't like Ambra very much, and the feeling was mutual. She often goaded Caramon's friends into teasing him, and then joined in herself. On the occasions when Caramon was invited to the Staraya house for dinner (the invitation was extended to Raistlin obligatorily), he said nothing, preferring to finish early and read in the family's common room. Sometimes he would be joined by Ambra's younger sister, Kristalla, but the two never exchanged words.
"I just hate that she gets so upset," Caramon went on, still pacing. "She knows I'd never wrong her like that…" he shook his head sadly.
"Your reputation precedes you," Raistlin stated, only half listening. He turned the page.
"It can't be my reputation!" Caramon cried in anguish. "My reputation says I'm nice to all those girls."
Raistlin closed his eyes impatiently. He was tired of this conversation, which manifested itself at least four days a week. "Don't pace, Caramon; it wastes energy," he said in clipped tones.
Caramon sat on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands. "What do I do, Raist?" he asked. When his brother didn't answer, he looked up, but Raistlin was gone.
Raistlin didn't return until after dinner, when the sun had already started to set. Caramon was practicing sword manoeuvres on a straw dummy when he saw his brother coming up the stairway.
"Hey Raist, where've you been?" Caramon called.
"Out," Raistlin replied tonelessly, and entered the house.
Caramon shrugged and thrust with his sword again.
By the time Caramon finished practicing and returned to their bedroom, soaked with sweat, Raistlin was already asleep. Caramon undressed as quietly as possible and slipped into bed, but his brother was such a light sleeper that he woke up anyways.
Despite Raistlin's silence, Caramon knew by his breathing patterns that he had woken up.
"Sorry Raist," he mumbled, half asleep.
"Think nothing of it," his brother muttered back. Though he was a light sleeper, he was quick to fall asleep as well: one of the twins' few similarities. Within minutes, both of them had fallen asleep.
352 A.C.
Raistlin's eyes opened suddenly. It took him a moment to find his bearings, and then he remembered: he was on his way to Xak Tsaroth. Without sitting up, or even betraying the fact that he had awoken, he surveyed the camp. Riverwind stood on the other side of the fire, watching outwards for intruders. Raistlin saw no reason to stay awake. He closed his eyes, pondering his dream.
It was actually a memory, though he was seeing it through the eyes of another, as if it were a play or a vision. He didn't understand its significance, but he decided to let it play out. He smiled bitterly; before the Test, he had always fallen asleep swiftly. Now, not so much.
Eventually, Raistlin fell back to sleep, lulled by the crackling of the flames.
343 A.C.
Raistlin seemed to disappear an awful lot in the afternoons, Caramon thought uneasily. And whenever he asked where Raistlin had been, the answer was always the same: "out". Caramon was slightly concerned for his brother—the other young boys of the town always seemed to want to hurt him—but Raistlin could take care of himself.
So Caramon waited around for his brother to get back. He always set a place for him at dinner, even though by the second week, he knew his brother wouldn't be attending. For the twelfth time, he stayed at the table for an hour before sighing dejectedly at his brother's continued absence. He pulled Raistlin's plate towards him (there was no sense in wasting good food) and finished that too.
However, instead of going outside simply to practice swordplay, Caramon went looking for Raistlin. When his searches at the Inn of the Last Home and Crystalmir Lake failed, he went deeper into the trees that formed Solace. Before he could enter the woods, he ran into a girl coming out.
"Oof," she said, bumping into him. Her face reddened. "Oh…sorry."
"That's alright," Caramon looked at her curiously, trying to identify her. Oh, that's right, he thought: Kristalla, Ambra's sister. "Um, so what are you doing out here?"
Her face went even redder. "N-nothing," she stuttered. The sound of a branch cracking behind him spared Caramon the necessity of answering. He turned around to look and Kristalla gasped, but there was nothing there.
"I'd better go," she stammered, and sped past him with her head down. Caramon stared after her, dumbfounded, then shook his head and continued his search.
He didn't find Raistlin, and it was getting dark out, so he returned home. Entering his room, he saw his brother sitting on his bed, reading.
"Oh," he said in surprise. "Hey Raist, where've you been?"
"Out," replied his brother.
Caramon sighed; he should have seen that coming.
Later that night, as the twins were preparing to go to sleep, Caramon whispered to his brother, "I went looking for you."
"Don't." Raistlin's tone was icy.
"I was worried," Caramon protested.
"Don't," Raistlin repeated harshly.
There was a long silence.
"Raist?"
"What?"
"I ran into Ambra's sister in the woods."
Raistlin shifted. "Why should that concern me?" Caramon though he detected a hint of something in his voice, but he couldn't place it.
Caramon yawned. "I dunno. Just thought that maybe…a thirteen year old wouldn't be safe in the woods like that…" He trailed off, almost asleep.
"Fifteen," Raistlin hissed. "She's fifteen."
"How do you…" Caramon fell asleep before finishing his question. Raistlin, glad that he didn't have to continue the conversation, fell asleep shortly thereafter.
352 A.C.
Raistlin came awake again suddenly, a grimace on his face. He didn't need to be reminded of this period in his life, but he couldn't very well stop his dream. A quick glance at the moons revealed that not even twenty minutes had passed since he had last awoken. The watch hadn't even changed; Riverwind still surveyed vigilantly.
Raistlin sighed and closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the dream once more.
334 A.C.
Caramon pounded the last tent post into the dirt and stepped back, admiring his handiwork. The tent was slightly crooked, slanting to the left, but Caramon was proud of it.
After all, he thought, what can you expect from a seven year old? He dusted off his hands and turned around, calling out, "What do you think of it, Raist?
Raistlin wasn't looking. He was crouched down in the dirt a few feet from the tent, drawing arcane symbols with a stick.
"Raist," Caramon whined, sitting down in the dirt and sending a puff over the symbols his brother was drawing. "Look."
Raistlin glanced at him in irritation, and then fixed his symbols. "I see, Caramon."
Caramon pouted. "I did good, right?" He was always looking for praise from his brother.
Raistlin finished scratching the symbols into the dirt. "No matter how well you do, Caramon, big bad guys could still come into the camp."
Caramon's eyes widened. "You mean, like Goblins?"
"Or even worse." Raistlin stood up. "That's why I'm putting a protection spell around the camp." He began drawing a line encircling the entire campsite. Finished, he sat back down. "There."
"What does it do, Raist?"
"If anyone besides you or I passes that line," he paused for effect, "they get blasted with magical energy and flung away so they can't hurt us!"
Caramon's eyes widened even further. "Wow!" Raistlin smiled satisfactorily.
Caramon jumped up, feeling very grown-up. "I'm gonna go get firewood," he said. "And if anything tries to attack me, I'll just lead it back here to get blasted!" He ran off.
Raistlin put down his stick and spent the next twenty minutes fixing the tent and setting up a fire pit made of rocks. As he finished the second layer, Caramon returned, hopping deftly over the 'magical ward' as he came in.
"Here you go, Raist," Caramon said, letting the wood in his arms fall to the ground. The twins set up their fire pit, making the 'double tipi' formation Kitiara had taught them: kindling and small sticks within bigger, sturdier branches.
It took them a while to get the fire going, but once they did, they enjoyed a dinner of roasted potatoes and rabbit, the latter having been prepared by Kit before they had left. Their bellies full, they lay down beside the fire and looked at the sky. Lunitari was full tonight, its red glow cutting out all of the waxing Solinari's silver one.
"See that constellation, Caramon?" Raistlin pointed upwards.
"You mean that big group of stars over there?" Caramon pointed the same general direction.
"That's what 'constellation' means," Raistlin explained impatiently.
"What about it?"
"That's the constellation of the god Majere."
Caramon sat up. "Hey, that's our name!"
"Yes, Caramon."
"We're named after a god!" Caramon stood up, ecstatic. "Hear that?" he yelled into the woods. "We're named after a god! So just try and attack us now! Raist's a wizard, and I'm a mighty warrior!" Caramon yelled into the woods for a good five minutes. Raistlin, meanwhile, got up and headed into the tent, setting up his bedroll on the right-hand side.
Caramon came in a little while after and set up his own bedroll.
"Did you put out the fire?"
"'Course I did, Raist," said Caramon, who hadn't, in fact, but he didn't want to get up again. He didn't see the problem anyways; they could just use the fire for breakfast the next morning. The twins said their goodnights and went to sleep.
The sound of snuffling and growling woke Raistlin out of his light sleep. He gasped and bolted upright. Through the canvas of the tent, he could see the lumpy shape of a bear sniffing around their camp. The smell of cooked rabbit must have attracted it. Raistlin held his breath, not daring to move. When he could hold it no longer, he breathed as quietly as he could. The bear's head swung in the direction of the tent and its nose poked through the opening. Raistlin whimpered ever so quietly. He saw the giant paw rise up, and suddenly their tent was gone, being swept aside by the beast. The bear's eyes glinted red in Lunitari's light, and the mouth opened wide in a roar. The bear lunged towards Raistlin, then—
Raistlin woke up for real this time, screaming, tears running down his face. His cries woke up Caramon, who crawled over to comfort his brother.
"What happened, Raist?" Caramon asked, putting his arms around his brother. Raistlin shook his head and cried into Caramon's shoulder. Carmon patted his back; Raistlin had nightmares often.
"Hey, don't worry," he soothed. "Nothing can get in, remember? You cast a spell."
Raistlin sniffed and straightened up. "I didn't really," he said miserably. "I can't cast any spells yet, and even if I could, that one's forbidden to apprentices." Tears were still streaming down his face, but he wasn't sobbing anymore.
Caramon patted his back again. "It's okay," he said awkwardly, "I'm sure you did fine." He racked his brain for something to cheer up his miserable twin, and then remembered a game they had played when they were smaller. He curled his small hand into a fist, leaving his index and middle fingers up. He put his hand between the moonlight and the wall of the tent.
"Look, Raist," he whispered. "Bunnies." He did the same with his right hand.
Raistlin smiled through his tears and made a bunny with his hand, joining Caramon's on the wall. "Bunnies," he repeated.
The twins played with their shadow bunnies until Raistlin was feeling better, then went back to sleep.
They both slept through until morning.
352 A.C
Raistlin awoke slowly this time, as if floating gently to the top of a lake. He didn't open his eyes; he just lay there, reflecting. Of course, the first thing he thought was, "A dream within a dream. Fascinating." But then he began to wonder why this particular memory had come to light in the midst of his dreaming another one. He had almost forgotten about that event, perpetually trying to shut out the time when he was that weak and helpless. He meant, of course, in power.
Nevertheless, he felt the intrigue of this chain of dreams grab hold of him and he went back to sleep again, seeing where it would take him next.
343 A.C.
Raistlin snuck out for the fourteenth time. Well, maybe 'snuck' wasn't the right word. He just disappeared without Caramon noticing, which wasn't hard. His brother wasn't the most observant fellow. He went out the back door and made a wide circle around the house, descending to ground level and making himself harder to see. He hadn't learned long-term invisibility yet, but no matter; he didn't need it.
Raistlin darted across town. He took three shortcuts that he prided himself on discovering and made it to the forest's edge in fifteen minutes, slightly out of breath. He had never been an athlete; that was Carmon's area.
Watching the ground for markers placed on his previous visits, Raistlin picked his way carefully through the trees until he came to a clearing—an empty clearing. He shrugged and sat at the base of a large vallenwood, reaching into a crack in the trunk and pulling out one of the books he always kept there. Raistlin had been reading for approximately twenty minutes when he heard footsteps approaching. Then he saw her.
She was wearing a blue dress today, which really set off her eyes. She appeared radiant with the sun setting behind her. A small smile played on her lips: she always smiled when she saw him. She knelt down in the grass beside him.
Raistlin looked back at his book, committing the page number to memory. "You're late, Kristalla," he said, but there was no malice in his voice.
Kristalla grinned. "Good thing, too. I've already read all those books waiting for you all the times you've been late."
Raistlin closed the book, replacing it in the tree. "My apologies," he said simply.
The two had met here by chance two weeks ago. As it turned out, this was where they both did their reading. They had exchanged words for the first time and found out they shared common interests. Though her interests lay primarily in lore and his in magic, some topics overlapped. They had been meeting here every day since, and Raistlin had acquired two things he'd never had before: a friend…and an attraction.
"No worries; don't concern yourself." Kristalla leaned back against the tree. They sat like that often, both against the tree, either reading or enjoying each other's company. Occasionally they would glance at each other, but the other person was never looking.
For some reason, the two of them were intent on keeping their meetings secret, perhaps to avoid any rumours that might ensue. He wasn't sure about Kristalla, but Raistlin knew that if said rumours did start, he would back out. He would panic and lose her, and he didn't wasn't that to happen.
Eventually, they both pulled a book out of the tree and read, periodically discussing their respective topics, until the light disappeared. The first time this had happened, Raistlin had proposed lighting a fire, but Kristalla was too concerned about the flammability of the vegetation around them. This time though, Raistlin leaned towards her.
"Wait," he whispered as she was about to close her book. He reached into the small pouch he always kept at his side and withdrew a small object. He whispered a single word in the arcane language and touched the book with his index finger. It began to glow with its own light, a soft white light that illuminated Kristalla's face. She gasped softly.
"Oh," she breathed, "amazing." Her eyes shone with wonder, and Raistlin knew for the first time what it felt like to be lighthearted. He settled back against the tree and repeated the procedure on his own book. He was conscious of her proximity to him (he hadn't moved back to his original spot, so their shoulders were almost touching) and could feel her body heat radiating towards him.
The second spell hadn't really been necessary—the light from the first one reached out 20 feet—but he enjoyed awing her with his magic. He allowed himself to get sucked back into his book, a small smile that no one would ever see spreading across his face.
The next time he looked up, Kristalla was gone. She had propped her book up in the spot she had been sitting. There was a note sticking out of it; she knew he hated being interrupted while he was reading. Still, he thought, closing his book and reaching for hers, he would have made an exception for her. He carefully unfolded the note.
Raistlin,
I had to go, but I didn't want to bother you. You looked so peaceful. Anyways,
my parents were probably getting worried, so I left. See you tomorrow.
-Kristalla
Raistlin sighed and tucked the note into the grey apprentice robes he always wore. He didn't understand why she had written it; he could have surmised the reason for her absence. Maybe he felt disappointed that she hadn't disturbed him. He'd wanted to say goodbye, but he'd never admit that. Sighing again, he got to his feet, replaced the books in the tree, and headed home.
Caramon was asleep when he got there, and combining the fact that Caramon was a heavy sleeper and Raistlin had always been quiet, there was no chance of Caramon waking up. Raistlin fell asleep almost immediately.
352 A.C.
He woke up gently again, the dream fresh in his mind. He had been so young then, so naïve…
He had definitely enjoyed that time in his life, but he was all too swiftly reminded of the end, the bitter end. There was a reason, besides his vision, that he was no longer interested in the pleasures of the flesh.
Raistlin surveyed the campsite, watching everything wither and die as he looked at it—his price for passing the dreaded Test in the Tower of High Sorcery. He noticed his brother in the same spot Riverwind had been, guarding them. Even from the back, he could see Caramon's form decaying with age: his hair greying, falling out; his skin shrivelling; his form stooping.
Raistlin closed his eyes to shut it all out, and was soon asleep again.
343 A.C.
They had been staying out later lately, since Raistlin had revealed his Light spell. The first couple times were the same as always, just reading or watching the sky, but the visits had changed lately. One of them would still read while waiting for the other, but once they were there, they would talk in depth. At first it was academic, each of them asking questions or discussing various topics. They got into a debate about the Gods once.
"They can't exist; there's no evidence," Kristalla pointed out.
"Not anymore," Raistlin replied. "We know of evidence before the Cataclysm. And the Cataclysm itself is evidence." Kristalla found it odd that, despite his stalwart scientific personality, Raistlin had faith in the Gods.
"The Cataclysm could have been a natural disaster. People just like to make up stories."
"Why would they make up stories that blame their own races?" He shot her a withering look. "And even if the Cataclysm was a natural disaster—which it wasn't—why are all the stories the same?"
"It happened 343 years ago," she explained. "That's plenty of time for the races of Krynn to adopt and circulate a legend."
"There were clerics," he said.
"People who thought they were clerics," she corrected.
"All of the same Gods?" He raised an eyebrow. "Think about it, Kristalla. The humans and elves haven't communicated in centuries, yet there are clerics of Mishakal among both."
"But they communicated back then. They weren't all shut out." She knew the lore; that was her specialty, but Raistlin still had trouble seeing how she could not believe in the Gods. One cannot dispute scientific evidence. However, he said nothing. He knew they were both too stubborn to give in, and they were just wasting time. She fell silent for a while as well.
"It's probably because of my father," she said, "that I don't believe in them. He always says that he doesn't want to believe in the Gods, because then he would have to believe we were evil enough to drive them away."
Raistlin had never thought of that before, but he had to admit it was a valid reason. He was surprised; he had never thought much of the man's intelligence. His face betrayed none of his emotions though. He just gave a thoughtful nod and lapsed into silence again.
Sometimes, the conversations would take a more personal turn. They spoke of their siblings: how they were most certain that with their absences, Caramon and Ambra had no doubt found plenty of time for intimate activities. This inevitably led to Kristalla getting upset.
"It's not fair," she complained. "Ambra always tells me that men are no good and to stay away from them, but she's had more lovers than your brother!"
"I should think so," Raistlin replied in his perpetually calculating voice. "Ambra is only Caramon's third lover."
Kristalla's eyes widened. "But…I heard…but everyone says…" she trailed off.
"Don't believe everything you hear," said Raistlin in a tone of voice that clearly stated he had said it many times before, though not necessarily to her, "especially from those idiots."
She glared at him "My friends are not idiots."
He looked up in surprise. "I didn't know the girls had started the rumour too…I apologize."
She relaxed and nodded. "I thought you were friends with the boys."
"No," he said miserably, "Caramon is."
"What happened?" she asked with concern.
"Nothing," Raistlin said through gritted teeth.
"Raistlin," she prompted.
"It was nothing."
"Raistlin…" she wanted to know, but she realized she sounded whiny. He seemed like he was in pain, and she wanted to help him, but he obviously didn't want to tell her.
"Please?" she asked.
He ignored her.
She laid her hand lightly on his arm and felt him tense. He relaxed after a few seconds. "Raist?" she whispered.
He breathed in sharply and went rigid, snapping his head up to look at her. "No one calls me that," he said.
The people who love you call you that, she thought, but didn't say so. She knew he was too devoted to his studies to think of her in that way. Besides, he was always berating Caramon for his romance. So she simply said, "Caramon calls you that."
He stared at her for a while, his expression blank. Little did she know, his mind was whirling. He wondered if he should apologize; he seemed to have upset her. He had a brief, fleeting thought that he should tell her how he felt—no. She would see absolutely nothing in him. She would try to distance herself, and then he would lose what little time he had with her.
"Just Caramon," he said, standing up. He walked away briskly before he could turn back and humiliate himself.
Kristalla watched him go, walking into the setting sun. She didn't move: just sat there, chiding herself for upsetting him so much. She was beginning to realize that Raistlin had no one who truly understood him, and that she may have squandered that chance with what she had said.
She shook her head. The strangest things upset him sometimes. She would try to tread more carefully in the future. Finally, she got up and headed home.
352 A.C.
Raistlin didn't open his eyes this time, irritated at his constant waking. He thought, maybe, that if he had told her then, things might not have ended the way they had.
As he was falling asleep, he thought about the other boys of his childhood. There was a reason he was so bitter towards them: they were his tormentors.
He had never minded when people hated him, as long as they had the good sense to keep it to themselves. If they hated him, why bother associating with him? His question remained unanswered as he finally fell back to sleep.
336 A.C.
Raistlin brought his legs closer to his chest and tried to block out the sound of Caramon and his friends yelling, running, and fighting. He was sitting in front of the door to their house, trying to finish the book Kitiara had gotten for him. She had brought it back yesterday and already he had read 419 pages. She always brought each of her brothers something when she came back from her travels; Caramon had gotten a wooden shield to match the sword he had received last time. He was playing with them now, pretending to be a warrior with the other boys.
The group trampled past once again and Raistlin slammed his book shut in frustration. He glared at them, but they paid him no attention.
Caramon broke off from the group and approached Raistlin, his eyes bright and his smile wide. Though he was the youngest of the gang—only nine years old—he was one of the biggest. The others stayed behind, watching.
"Hey, Raist!" Caramon called excitedly. "We're going into the forest to fight Goblins and Bugbears! Wanna come?"
Raistlin made a face. "You aren't actually fighting anything. You're just pretending."
Caramon's smile faded. "Well yeah…" He paused. "But it's fun. Please? Come on."
Raistlin looked over at the other boys. "They hate me," he said quietly.
"No they don't!" Caramon looked horrified, as if the idea of his friends hating his twin was worse than calling down the Cataclysm. "They just don't know you."
Valin Herron, the group leader and Caramon's best friend, came over from the group. "You could come," he said, with all the dignity and sophistication his eleven years could muster, "but we'd have to change our game. See, our party's a party of warriors, but you could be the evil wizard we're facing."
Caramon frowned; he had wanted to play with his brother. But Valin was the leader. No one disagreed with him.
"What would I have to do?" Raistlin asked. He didn't think it would be so bad. He would be a full wizard, maybe even an arch mage, and he knew that wizards were more powerful than warriors, even a whole party of them.
Valin smiled, but it was a malicious smile. "Just go down into the woods and hide somewhere. That'll be your evil lair. We'll give you a count of two hundred, and then come after you."
Without a word, Raistlin got up, descended from the mighty vallenwoods the city was built around, and walked into the woods, holding his book to his chest. He found a spot with adequate space to sit and opened his book again.
Back at the house, Valin was counting. "Seventy-three…seventy-four…seventy-five…"
Caramon fidgeted. "Um, Valin," he said. "What did you mean, 'evil wizard we're facing'?"
Without ceasing to count, Valin drew his sword and made a stabbing motion.
Caramon gulped. "Just don't hurt him for real, alright?"
Valin shrugged. "Ninety-five…ninety-six…ninety-seven…"
"No, for real," Caramon insisted. "Don't hurt him."
Valin rolled his eyes. He obviously wanted to answer, but couldn't risk losing count. Irritated, he beckoned one of the other boys over and motioned for him to continue.
The boy nodded. "One hundred seventeen…one hundred eighteen…"
Valin turned to face Caramon. "Look. We won't hurt him if we don't have to. But if he fights, we need to defend ourselves. AND," he held up a finger to stop Caramon's retort, "we've gotta take his magic stuff so he can't cast spells on us."
"I don't think—" Caramon began.
"Two hundred!" the boy finished.
"No, you don't think," Valin said, grinning.
"But—wait! He counted by fives once he got to one twenty!" Caramon sputtered.
Too late. The boys rushed off into the woods, brandishing their wooden swords. Caramon ran after them, hoping he could talk them into not hurting Raistlin.
Raistlin finished the second last page of his book when a chorus of shouting came closer. He was on his feet immediately, looking for someplace to hide. He wasn't afraid of them, but he wanted to finish his book before having to deal with them. The shouts quieted down, but he didn't want to risk getting sitting somewhere exposed again. He kept looking.
Caramon ran through the woods, pushing aside branches and following his friends' backs. Suddenly they stopped, forcing Caramon to veer right to avoid hitting them. Valin gathered everyone into a circle.
"Alright, so we're gonna split up. I'll take Rufio, Danson, Liamont, and Stylic and go left." Valin pointed at each of the boys in turn. "Caramon, I'm giving you the very important resp…respic…respon…" Valin frowned.
"Responsibility," Caramon said. "Raist taught me that word."
"Yeah that! Responsibility of leading Kalcin, Miko, and Tobium to the right."
Caramon, who had completely forgotten that he was supposed to be trying to stop Valin, was honoured by the amount of trust his friend was putting in him. He motioned to the boys and charged off to the right.
Little did Caramon know that Valin had already located their quarry. He wasn't very smart, but he was observant—he had seen Raistlin's grey apprentice robes through the trees—and had been helping his father hunt for seven years. He knew how to track prey. As he sent Caramon and the other soft-hearted boys away, he took his bloodthirsty killers to the place he knew Raistlin lurked.
The boys charged into the clearing and caught Raistlin in the act of trying to climb a tree one-handed: the other hand clutched his book. Valin surged ahead of the other boys and, grabbing Raistlin's ankle, yanked him to the ground. He landed on his right shoulder with a horrible popping noise, his left hand flinging out wide. Valin stepped on his wrist. The other boys made a ring around the two, ensuring Raistlin could not escape.
Raistlin tried to roll over to get the book from his left hand, but Valin pressed harder on his wrist, causing him to groan in pain. The older boy bent down and plucked the book from his hand, never removing his foot.
"Nice book, wizard. What's it about?" he sneered.
Raistlin tried once again to roll over and remove Valin's foot, but gave up, falling back limply. He could not, however, let Valin remain uneducated.
"It's about a party of wizards, one of each robe colour: an elf, a half-elf, and a human. They're trying to unite the Order under one robe colour—"
Valin kicked him in the shoulder with his other foot. "How's it end?"
"I don't know," said Raistlin through gritted teeth. "I haven't finished it."
Valin grinned evilly, grasping the corner of the page. He pulled down slowly, the paper making a dreadful rrrrrip sound. Raistlin winced and looked away.
"Guess you'll never know," said Valin, smirking. Raistlin heard several more ripping sounds and felt small pieces of paper rain down on his face, followed by the tears he couldn't conceal. He knew a simple Mending spell would fix it, but he couldn't actually cast any spells yet.
"So, can you stop us, wizard?" Valin asked in a cruel parody of the 'game' they were supposed to be playing.
Raistlin looked him in the eye with what he hoped was a dead-eyed, threatening expression. "Not yet," he growled. "But you will regret this."
Valin didn't know what 'regret' meant, but he wasn't afraid of the scrawny little nine year old at his mercy. He winked at Raistlin then shifted all his weight to his left foot, breaking the younger boy's wrist. Raistlin cried out in pain and tried to clutch the broken wrist in his other hand, but the pain from his supposedly dislocated shoulder caused him to cry out again. He dimly heard Valin and the other boys' feet scampering away, but his vision and hearing both swam together in a field of darkness, and he lost consciousness.
352 A.C.
Raistlin awoke in agony; he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. Apparently, he had rolled onto his right side in his sleep and had twisted his shoulder. Grimly ironic, he thought.
That had been the first of many times Valin and his cronies had tormented him. Other times had been more subtle, but they had all sprung from that first time. Caramon helped him every time—had even relocated his shoulder—but he could never stop the boys, nor did he ever leave them.
Raistlin grimaced. He supposed Kristalla would have liked to see that memory: it would answer her question. But he had never told her; he hadn't had the time.
343 A.C.
He didn't go to see Kristalla that night. He hadn't forgotten, but he had studies he needed to complete; he was supposed to go back to the Tower of High Sorcery the next day and he hadn't done anything. He cursed himself for getting distracted by romantic affiliation, then smirked bitterly. He didn't actually have any romantic affiliations, just desires.
He finished his reading and spell preparation just after midnight and went to bed, falling into the deepest sleep he had ever had. He was so deeply asleep, in fact, that he didn't hear the tap of a pebble against the shutters.
Several more pebbles clattered against the wooden slats, followed by an insistent whisper, "Raist!" Raistlin didn't move.
Kristalla paced outside the Majeres' window. She hoped Raistlin was alright. He hadn't mentioned anything to her yesterday, and he normally woke up if Caramon breathed too loudly. She supposed he could have gone to the Tower, but she had rather hoped that he would say goodbye first. She decided to try one last time. She hefted a palm-sized stone and threw it at the unwelcoming shutters.
The rock sailed through the air and crashed into the room, splintering the wood along the way. Kristalla winced and ducked down, chiding herself for damaging their property.
Inside, the rock struck the headboard on Caramon's bed and fell down onto the pillow beside him. The noise caused both brothers to stir, but where Caramon fell back to sleep immediately, Kristalla's next whisper of "Raist!" woke Raistlin up. He walked over to the window and opened the shutters, seeing Kristalla pressed against the wall.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed.
"I was coming to see if you were alright," she explained. She sounded nervous, even to her own ears.
"Of course I'm alright!" he snapped. Seeing her injured expression, he softened his tone. "I had studies to do."
"Are you finished them?" she asked softly.
"Yes. I was sleeping."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. When he didn't answer, she asked the question she knew might irritate him. "Could you come out for a little while?"
He looked conflicted. "In order to properly cast spells, wizards need eight hours of uninterrupted sleep—"
"I miss you."
Raistlin's heart thudded against his chest. His stomach tied itself in knots. But he showed no signs of this; he had gotten good at masking his emotions. He was, however, struck mute.
Kristalla, on the other hand, regretted saying it. She had meant to sound sweet, but the words had come out pleadingly. She had to remind herself that his studies (and his personal ethics) prevented her from having any hope with him.
Raistlin blinked a couple times to clear his mind, then nodded curtly and disappeared into the room to put his robe on over his sleepwear. He appeared a few minutes later and clambered out the window.
"I can't stay long," Raistlin said.
Kristalla, who had begun walking towards the woods, stopped and turned around. "Oh," she sighed. "Not long enough to go to the clearing?"
Raistlin shook his head.
Kristalla's shoulders slumped, but then she brightened. "I know another place." She grabbed his hand and pulled him in the opposite direction. He tensed in excitement, but she took it as discomfort and let go immediately.
They walked for five minutes; Kristalla led Raistlin into a meadow and sat down on the grass, gesturing for him to do the same. He gathered his robes around him and sat down carefully. The grass was soft: the softest he had ever felt, and was slightly cool to the touch. The air was mild and the sky was clear, giving them a clear view of the stars and moons. Raistlin gazed at them a long time, his eyes resting on the empty place near the white and red moons where the black moon used by evil wizards to channel their magic would be.
"Raistlin?" Kristalla was laying down now, her arms folded over her stomach.
"Yes?"
"When do you have to leave?"
"Tomorrow morning."
She sighed. "How long will you be?"
"Anywhere from a week to a month." He didn't see why it mattered how long he would be.
Kristalla sighed again. She didn't want to be away from him for that long. She was afraid that the intensity of the Tower's training would bring all of Raistlin's calculating logic to the surface and abolish what little chance she had with him. She said nothing of this, letting the disappointment show on her face and keeping her gaze fixed on the stars.
Raistlin said nothing either, but eventually lay down beside her, studying the stars as well. He saw the constellation of the god Majere that Caramon had gotten so excited over seven years ago. He let his eyes close; he was exhausted.
"Raist…" Kristalla began carefully, not sure if he was asleep or how he would react to the nickname if he was awake.
Raistlin opened his eyes. "Yes?"
"Um…I know your brother has had…lovers, but do you…I mean, have you…?"
He frowned. "Why?"
Kristalla blushed. "No reason. Never mind."
They lapsed into silence again. A few minutes later, Raistlin said simply. "No."
Kristalla nodded, relieved. She hadn't had any lovers either, and she was glad she wouldn't be seen as incompetent. She shook her head. She was thinking as if the two of them had something, but neither of them had ever tried.
But even as she was thinking that, she took a deep breath and broke the silence again. "May I make a request?" Her heart was beating wildly. She couldn't seem to stop herself from continuing.
Raistlin grinned. "You request to make a request?"
Without answering his question, she rolled onto her side and tried to catch his eye. "Kiss me."
Raistlin eyes widened—only fractionally: his stoic demeanor triumphed even with the unprecedented turn of events. His lips parted slightly, and then he looked away from her in shame. "I don't know how," he mumbled.
Kristalla steadied her heartbeat. She took his statement to mean that he was willing to do as she asked. She touched her fingertips lightly to his cheek and turned his head so he was looking at her. "Don't worry," she whispered, "neither do I."
He studied her face intently, trying to gather enough courage to proceed. Finally, he nodded slightly and, rolling over so their bodies were parallel, he touched his lips to hers gently.
Certain instincts come naturally to humans: breathing, eating, sleeping. Others are only discovered when needed; kissing is one of these. The two young lovers let their instincts take over, and neither was left disappointed. When they finally pulled away, a moment of silence passed between them. It was neither awkward nor tense, and they both rolled onto their backs, their shoulders touching and their fingers entwined. They fell asleep hand in hand on the soft summer grass, under the watchful eyes of the heavens, each still feeling their heart flutter with joy.
352 A.C.
Raistlin actually sat up this time, his elation at the memory banishing his inhibitions. Caramon was at his side in a moment.
"What's wrong, Raist?" His eyes were full of concern.
Raistlin gave his brother one of his rarely seen smiles: a true smile, not his customary bitter grimace. "Nothing, my brother," he whispered. "Nothing is wrong."
Caramon nodded warily and started back to his post, still unsure of Raistlin's situation.
Raistlin lay back down and tried to grasp at the dream again. He knew he shouldn't walk this road. He knew how it ended, but he couldn't help but look back on that time with fondness. Slowly, the oblivion of sleep enveloped him again. But what he found was a completely different memory.
340 A.C.
Troves of people flooded down from the trees onto the much emptier, spacious ground of Solace. Colourful streamers and flags waved in the air, merging with the sounds of laughter and merriment. The World Festival had come to Solace.
Much unlike the Festival of the Eye, which celebrated the convergence of the three moons when it happened, the World Festival offered a look at the culture, cuisine, and customs of the many races of Krynn. Merchants from all over brought their goods along. It was the most profitable festival of all time.
Caramon and Raistlin walked among the stalls, taking in everything there was to be seen, heard, and smelled. Raistlin displayed none of the excitement that would be typical of a thirteen year old in this situation, but Caramon had more than enough for both of them. He darted from stall to stall, marvelling at things he had only heard about from legends. If it wasn't for his brother, he would have already spent all his money, and they weren't even halfway through the Festival yet.
Normally, the twins wouldn't have any money at all; their parents were gone and their older sister Kitiara sent just enough money for food from wherever she had adventured off to. But before they had left, Raistlin had gone poking around in Kitiara's bedroom and found a platinum piece stuffed under her mattress. The twins had gaped at the piece in wonder—it was more than most adults made in a year, at least the common folk who lived in Solace.
Now, walking through the fair, Caramon was fantasizing about everything he could buy.
"I want a real sword, not that stupid wooden one!" He was practically bursting.
"Caramon, a sword costs at least fifteen steel pieces, if not more," Raistlin explained impatiently.
"But isn't a platinum a hundred?"
Raistlin shook his head in disappointment. He had no idea how he was related to anyone that stupid. "No. A platinum is only ten steel."
Caramon looked disappointed, but soon perked up again. "How 'bout a shield?"
Raistlin exhaled irritably. "Those cost more."
Caramon sobered again, even stopping his uncontrollable bouncing among the stalls.
"Wait!" he exclaimed, looking up again. "What about a dagger?"
Raistlin considered. "You should be able to get more than one dagger with your half, actually."
Caramon's jaw dropped; he had been expecting Raistlin to come up with another reason why he couldn't get what he wanted. "Really? Wow! Let's go see!" He grabbed his brother's arm and dragged him through the crowd until they got to the crafting section.
Raistlin pulled away from his brother, gasping for breath. He recognized one of the merchants here: Theros Ironfeld, Solace's blacksmith. Caramon was heading towards his stall when Raistlin pulled him back.
"Listen," he hissed. "Theros lives here; you could buy weapons from him any time. Why not get something foreign, like a dwarven-made dagger? Dwarves are better blacksmiths anyways."
Caramon glanced between the two blacksmithing stalls. "Yeah, you're right, Raist," he said. "Let's go."
Caramon bout two daggers, a nicely matched set with gold inlay on the pommels, for four steel. Raistlin took his share of the change and set off for the Wizard's Quarter. He had a mind to get the last book in a set he had: The Races of Krynn, and figured a World Festival would be the best place to get them.
The bookseller's booth was three times the size of most of the other ones—a small library. Raistlin set to work trying to find the books he wanted, when he heard a commotion behind him.
"Hey!" the owner of the book booth, a rotund, red-robed wizard yelled. "Get away from there!"
Raistlin turned to see a spilled potion leaking from a booth across the improvised street. The white-robed owner of the booth was shrieking and clutching his hair. Standing near the potion, an obviously fake guilt-stricken expression, was Valin.
Raistlin clenched his fists in anger. It wasn't enough for Valin to attack him and his skills on a regular basis, now he had to openly vandalize a creation of the Order! This was too much! Raistlin turned to head towards Valin when he heard a voice at his shoulder.
"Hey," said the owner, "you going to buy those?"
In his anger, Raistlin had forgotten that he was holding the books he had found: The Dargonesti Elves and The Mountain Dwarves, both very rare volumes he was sure he couldn't find anywhere else.
"Oh…yes," he said, placing them on the counter. He kept his eyes on Valin.
"Ten steel," the wizard said.
"Ten?" Raistlin snapped his attention back to the vendor. "I've only got five…"
The man shrugged. "Pick one or the other."
Raistlin gave the two books a very long look and eventually decided on The Dargonesti Elves. He figured that a mountain a couple days away from where he lived, even if it had been closed for decades, was much easier to get to than an underwater Elven kingdom. Raistlin gave the man his coins and surveyed the crowd, looking for Valin.
He didn't have to. Valin had spotted him and was striding through the crowd, pushing people aside as he went. He came to rest before Raistlin, crossing his arms over his chest and leering like a Goblin.
"Fancy seeing you here," he greeted malignantly.
"Indeed, seeing as we inhabit the same city," remarked Raistlin dryly.
Valin's face contorted into an ugly sneer. He shoved Raistlin back against the books, rocking the stand. "Don't get smart with me, mage!" he bellowed.
Everyone turned to face them. The shop owners looked on with concern, but there was nothing they could do. To attack a child of the host city would be an unthinkable act.
Raistlin stood up, straightened his robes, and placed his book gently among the others. He stepped around Valin, not wanting any other wares to suffer damage.
"I can't be any other way," Raistlin explained with mock politeness. "You're just accustomed to dealing with imbeciles, that's all."
Valin was flushed with anger. He charged towards Raistlin and lifted him up by the front of his robes, drawing back the other hand to punch.
"By the time I'm done with you," he spat, "the ground will be stained red until the next Cataclysm!"
Raistlin calmly grasped Valin's forearm with one hand. With the other, he reached into his spell component pouch and withdrew a copper wire. He began whispering words in the eerie sounding arcane language.
"Final prayers, brickhead?" Valin taunted, then arced in pain as an electric jolt jumped from Raistlin's hand straight into older boy's body. Valin screamed and let him go, writhing on the ground in agony, and then went limp.
Raistlin had landed on his knees and quickly stood up, dusting himself off. All around, people were turning a blind eye to the encounter. Raistlin walked back to the book stall and picked up his purchase.
"Hey," said the owner in a much softer voice. "Congratulations."
Raistlin turned back and blinked up at the man. "I didn't kill him," he said.
The man frowned. "You shouldn't need to. People like that need to be taught a lesson, but never killed. That could lead down a very dark path, young man."
Raistlin nodded respectfully. "Of course. My apologies."
The wizard reached over the counter and grabbed the other book Raistlin had wanted to buy. "Here," he said, extending the book. "Take it."
Raistlin was incredulous—the man was giving away a five steel piece book, but he knew better than to question his luck. He took the book and tucked it under his arm with the other one. "Thank you."
He strode confidently through the crowd, not bothering to look for his brother, and headed home, proud of himself for his victory that day.
352 A.C.
Raistlin knew he would wake up this time. His dream seemed to have breaking points like chapters in a book, albeit a very scattered book.
He knew that this was his last chance to avoid the horrible memory he knew was coming. If he went back to sleep now, there would be no getting out of it. Part of him was eager to finish the dream, and not simply for the sake of finishing it. He hadn't thought about that time in his life for a while. Compared to the toils he was going through now: saving the world from approaching darkness and battling a broken, dying body, the bitter end of his childhood seemed like a peaceful stroll.
Raistlin sighed and closed his eyes, meaning simply to rest, but soon slumber consumed him.
343 A.C.
During his second trip to the Tower of High Sorcery, Raistlin had much to think about. After the night of the kiss, he had woken up before her and left before saying goodbye. He hadn't even had material to write her a note on. He was at the Tower for two and a half weeks and she never left his mind once, which was extremely detrimental to his studies.
They had resumed their regular schedule when he had returned, neither one speaking of the kiss. A month had passed in this way when Kristalla had decided she had had enough.
"Raistlin," she had asked, "are the two of us lovers?" They had both heard very different descriptions of lovers. Kristalla said that lovers should have trust and care for each other. Raistlin had pointed out that this wasn't always the case, as his sister sometimes had multiple lovers at once, and didn't seem to care for any of them.
After almost an hour of speculating and debating, they had come to the conclusion that lovers engaged in activities of physical affection, and that there were two kinds of lovers: those who cared for each other, and those who didn't.
"So does that make us lovers?" Kristalla had asked, coming back to the original point. Before Raistlin could answer, she had kissed him as she thought a lover should.
They had made love that night, the first and (unbeknownst to either) the only time either of them would do so. They had progressed slowly, each entering unfamiliar territory, but there was no doubt in either of their minds afterwards that they were lovers.
Now, on his way back to the Tower, Raistlin kept replaying the memory over and over in his head. If he couldn't get her out of his mind last time, he could not even begin to imagine the torture of focusing this time.
He passed his time at the Tower as he always did, head bent over a book or parchment, shutting out the world around him. He never spoke to any of the other apprentices and spoke only to his Master when asked.
The days seemed to crawl by, and when his studying was done, he was shocked to learn that only a week had passed. He rushed out of the Tower and began his long journey home, eager to see Kristalla and show her what he had learned.
It was the seventh night since Raistlin had left and Kristalla was feeling increasingly lonelier. She missed him and his cynicism. She longed for his arms around her.
Kristalla shook her head to snap herself back to reality. He would come back eventually; she would just have to wait.
The door opened and Ambra walked in. Her hair was a mess and her lips were chapped, but she looked jubilant. Her smile turned to a grimace when she saw her sister.
"Oh…you're here," she stated flatly.
"Of course; I live here," Kristalla replied. She didn't know why her sister was being so cold, but she was quite capable of reciprocating the feelings.
"I thought you had run off again," said Ambra, sitting at the table. "Where do you go, anyways?"
"To the forest. To read." Which was partly true: that's how it had started out.
Ambra grimaced. "Ugh. How are you supposed to get a man if you're always hunched over, reading? You'll end up looking like a crone."
Kristalla sighed and shook her head. "Goodnight, Ambra." She went upstairs and climbed into bed, opening a book she had borrowed from Raistlin.
Downstairs, Ambra was steaming. She had found Caramon surrounded by girls earlier and confronted him. Despite the content of his 'apology' and her eagerness to 'forgive' him, she was still furious. She had walked home, straightening her clothes and thinking that she wouldn't let herself get distracted by him next time. She had needed something to take her anger out on, and Kristalla had just happened to be there.
Still, her anger wasn't satisfied. She struck up a fire in the fireplace and sat in front of it, brooding. Kristalla liked to read by the fire, and she had left some of her books there. Ambra picked one up and leafed through it. On the inside front cover, a name jumped out at her: MAJERE.
Ambra nearly dropped the book in astonishment. So, not only was Caramon surrounded by girls, a book with his name it was in her sister's possession? She hurled the book into the fire and ran out of the house.
The book, The Mountain Dwarves, landed spine up, one end in the fire, the other hanging over the grate. The flames licked along the paper and travelled down the covers, spreading to the fireside rug.
Kristalla sat up and winced as her back cracked. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. It wasn't that The Dargonesti Elves wasn't a good book, but she was exhausted. She kicked the blankets off; it very was hot in her room. She got up to open the shutters and stiffened. A scent wafted through the air, a scent she recognized only from the time she had stayed out in the woods with her father.
Smoke.
Raistlin rounded the last bend in the path to Solace. He came out of the woods and veered right—the direction of his house, when an unnatural light caught the corner of his eye. He turned to face it fully and a screen of orange assailed his vision.
Fire.
He followed the flaming trail back to its source and felt his heart leap into his throat. He started running, his surroundings becoming a blur, the ground becoming seemingly insubstantial beneath his feet.
When he got to the house, he found a crowd of people gathered beneath the tree. Ambra was there, and was crying into her father's shoulder with her mother. A couple of the neighbourhood men were up near the hause, surveying the damage and trying to put the fire out. One of them beckoned, and Ambra's parents went up to talk to him.
Raistlin approached Ambra. "What happened here?" He tried to keep his voice from betraying any emotion, but it shook slightly.
She gave him a dead-eyed stare. "Go away."
Raistlin frowned. He had hoped that Ambra would have the maturity to put aside their differences in a time of crisis.
He tried again. "Where is Kristalla?"
A fresh burst of tears came over Ambra and she doubled over with sobs. Raistlin felt a horrible clenching in his gut. Her reaction could only mean one think. He grabbed her shoulders and whipped her around to face him.
"What happened?" he hissed through gritted teeth.
"I was angry," she cried, barely comprehensible through the tears. "I thought…that she had done things with Caramon. I-I threw one of her books on the fire. It had his name in it." She sniffed, and then whispered, "Majere."
Raistlin pushed her away angrily. She stumbled and fell, but didn't get up. She curled into a ball and continued sobbing.
"Then it was you," he said, tears streaming down his face. "It was you who killed her."
"She's not dead!" one of the men shouted from above. "She's still breathing!"
Raistlin took off, bolting up the stairs wrapped around the tree and pushing through the crowd to see Kristalla.
She was lying in front of the house, the flames already quelled by the other men. Her skin was grey with ash and she was coughing. Tears cut two paths through the soot on her face. Indifferent to the stares he received, Raistlin knelt down beside her and took her hand.
"Raist…" she croaked, voice hoarse from the smoke. He smoothed her hair back from her face and caressed her hand with his own. He opened his mouth to say something, but was violently knocked aside, skidding a couple feet away. He looked up to see Ambra cradling her sister and weeping.
"Kristalla, I'm so sorry. I never should have…I didn't mean…" she trailed off, holding Kristalla closer.
Raistlin sat up, but didn't approach. He saw Kristalla reach up to touch her sister's cheek.
"It's alright—" she coughed. "You couldn't have known…" she closed her eyes, gathering the strength required to continue speaking. Raistlin crept closer. One of the men emerged from the smoking wreckage of the house with a couple of the Starayas' things under his arm. One of them was a book. The man approached Raistlin and held it out to him.
"You're Majere, right?"
Raistlin nodded numbly and took the book. He ran his fingers over the engraved silver letters, The Dargonesti Elves, and flipped through the pages absently. Anything to distract him from the horror happening around him. His eyes strayed to the inside cover where his name was written in all of his books: MAJERE. Raistlin closed his eyes and threw the book to the ground, devastated. It wasn't Ambra's fault; it was his.
Kristalla turned her face away from her sister. She didn't want Ambra's comfort, didn't want Ambra's arms around her. She sought Raistlin out and saw him standing forlorn, a book at his feet. She wanted to see him just once more.
Raistlin heard Kristalla's faint whisper, "Raist…" and walked over to her, all but collapsing beside her.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, grazing her fingertips with his own.
She shook her head. "Wasn't you…" She paused, closing her eyes and sighing. Raistlin grabbed her hand in desperation.
"It doesn't hurt anymore…" she whispered, and her hand went limp in his.
352 A.C.
He knew he shouldn't have followed the dream. He had warned himself and hadn't listened. His consciousness came back to him gradually, and he rolled over to stifle his sobs into his pillow. The clenched feeling in his gut was back, Kristalla's death as fresh as it had been that night.
Raistlin choked on his own tears, the tears that no one would ever see, or even know existed. He was reminded once again of his contribution to her death. She had forgiven him, and it hadn't been directly his fault, but he couldn't help but feel solely responsible.
He had killed the only person he had ever loved.
END
Word Count: 10 497
Author's Note: A.C. stands for After Cataclysm. Some references may not coincide with the original works of Weis and Hickman.