Flaming Summer!
A Most Atrocious Parody by Chetwynd
Chapter 6: Catty Truths.
Given the wicked nature of the sense of humour of the gods, one should not delve too much in the reasons they had to keep stressing that their mortal creations were their favourite children even as they tortured them to no end: Now drought, then floods; every once in a while a nice earthquake, plague or blight; and occasionally a world-shattering Cataclysm. How gentle they were with their faithful! Maybe the deities also were followers of the Inverted Logic. Anyway, as it was usual, those poor devils of the barbarian tribes bore the brunt of the gods' kindnesses. Perhaps the deities did not like feather pluckers. That would have been understandable in Sargonnas, the Condor of Spite, or Habbakuk, the Gay Phoenix, maybe in Chislev, the Barbaric Ecologist too, but in Shinare, the Moneymaker, or Paladine, the Scaly Bugger? Be that as it may, one or several of them had sent the terrible heat wave to desolate the plains of Abanasinia.
Raistlin, drowsy with heat and tiredness, thought along these lines. Had the gods nothing better to do than plague Krynn with stifling hot spells? Perhaps that was it; they were just dead bored. That would explain why Takhisis, even if she knew she had not a chance of winning, kept trying to enter and conquer the world. Boredom. How pathetic.
Without any specific goal in mind, the archmage rode aimlessly through the plains. Now that he was free, he did not know what to do with his liberty. He wanted to reach a little peace of spirit, and he was certain he would not achieve it as himself. Raistlin Majere was too powerful, too notorious, too a dangerous threat to too many. It was better to be Palin for some further time. Nice, unassuming, innoxious Palin.
He felt very sorry for his late nephew. If living as him had been a veritable torment, he could not even grasp how awful it had been for the boy. Never loved for what he was, always expected to be anyone else, arbitrarily tortured for no reason, and horribly misunderstood. The experience of walking on his boots had been dreadful; one that had opened wounds that Raistlin had never even known to exist and infected others that he had thought closed; one painfully enlightening, humbling, and maddening experience at the same time. The knowledge of two cruelly mutilated lives demanded retribution; for him, and for poor, unhappy Palin. Nevertheless, the black book lay on a dark corner, not forgotten, not discarded, but momentarily neglected. There were other matters of more importance to be dealt with at the moment.
Like escaping from the damned heat.
After giving it much thought, Raistlin decided to curse himself. Not in the way he had done with Dalamar, oh no, nothing so twisted and gratuitous. He cursed himself to bear a little storm cloud that poured rain on him and darkened the fiery beating of the sunlight. This little curse usually drove mad the unfortunate victim, never allowing her to feel warm and dry, barring her from places where her arcane wetness was not allowed. The wizard, however, held no fear; he knew he could dispel it the moment he wished. Sighing in relief, the archmage in white felt soothed by the crackling sound of the diminutive lightning that flashed in and out the cloud. Ah, that was much better! So nicely damp and cool.
A sudden movement among his saddlebags attracted his attention: One of them was shaking weirdly. Opening the strap, he discovered within a trembling ball of fur.
"Salvador, what are you doing here? How did you manage to get inside?" he asked, and immediately felt like an idiot since he knew the cat would not reply. The poor beast tried to keep himself away from the magical rain, hissing and spitting at the dark cloud. "Don't be silly, you were safe from it inside the bag. I enchanted them to be waterproof. It wouldn't do to ruin my supplies, or at least what you have left of them," he sighed as he noticed the crumbs on the animal's snout. Salvador licked its chops without remorse, cleaning away any sign of its roguery.
During the last weeks since the dark elf's visit to the Inn, Tika had been watching her 'son' like a hawk. Therefore, Salvador had gone without his tasty morsels for many, many days. As a result, he was not a fat cat anymore, but a slimmer shadow of his mighty former self. Just as well, that had allowed him to jump unnoticed into the bags of his pet human.
"You won't get wet if you remain inside, pussycat," the wizard explained patiently. "What's the matter with you? Why are you so up…? Woa!"
Unexpectedly, the world lurched and he found himself falling alongside his mortally wounded mount. Raistlin landed painfully on his left shoulder with a dull thud. Before he could regain his senses, an ugly giant of a man loomed over him wielding a two-handed sword.
"Not so mighty now, eh, you little bastard? Ha!" laughed the brute brandishing his weapon. He drew a lethal arc directed to Raistlin's body… and then jumped crying in distress and pain as a furry, hissing mass of claws and fangs attacked his face. "Argh! Take it off! Take it off!"
Not willing to waste that brief advantage surprise afforded him, the archmage sent awkwardly one of the most pernicious spells on his repertoire the way of the troubled leader's men. He had dreamed for long to use it on his brother, but it was not to be. Not yet. Squashing a sponge from one of his pockets, Raistlin made the brigands shriek in shock and agony, their skin, fat, and very bones drying before their eyes. When the sponge ─now reduce to a dirty powder─ stuck to his fingers, where the bandits had stood, now creased, wasted corpses lay.
The half-ogre managed at last to take off the beast that was savaging his face, throwing it away. Even so, it was too late. His new men were his no more, and the mage stood before him at a safe distance, staff in hand and evil glint in his eyes. The kid seemed injured, but not enough to be caught unawares by an attack, and most likely not enough to be reached by a strike. He had even made that weird cloud that had hovered over his head disappear.
"Well, well, well, what have we here?" hissed the young man nastily. "Aren't you the same brute that attacked me and my elven companion in the woods of Solace?"
"The very same," growled the big bandit. "I'm Groogh, and I'm gonna kill you, little shit."
The human in white could not hold back a barking laugh of incredulity.
"But I've killed you men, what, two times?"
"Three. You killed my brother and the boys on the Hanged Path."
"Oh, now I know why you seemed familiar last time. Anyway, I just don't understand why you keep attacking me. Don't you see it's futile? I can kill you and your minions with a mere word, but you pigheadedly try again and again," he sighed, exasperated. "Do you know what? I'm fed with your clumsy murdering attempts…"
"But I would've managed to finish you off if your monster hadn't attacked me!"
"I wouldn't have been distracted if my monster hadn't drawn my attention away in first instance, so it's moot point," the kid replied haughtily. "I've had several extremely trying weeks, and you come now just crying to be put to death. I don't want to waste my magic on you, you're not worth it. So, let's see… Um, yes I know what I'm going to do with you, moron." The human's grin sent shivers along Groogh's spine. He saw as the young man searched the insides of his sleeves, never looking away from him. "There it is!"
The mage showed him a thin and sharp stick. With a somewhat pained grimace, he waved it in the air with his left had. "Let's see what this wand of wonder does to you! Don't look so distraught, my dear would-be murderer, its effects might benefit you. Although it's not likely."
Groogh thought about a last desperate lunge against the evil wizard. The world did not agree with that, however, becoming a bigger place just to spite him. The kid enlarged too, looking down at him with a frown on his scratched face.
Raistlin cursed under his breath when he saw the results of his toying. Fickle wand! Now a short, podgy white dragon regarded him with big, blue eyes full of dread.
Kill the little bugger! shouted a shrill voice, invading his mind with the raging desire of bludgeoning the beast to death. In his hand, the Staff of Magius vibrated eagerly.
"No! I won't allow you…" However, he was too upset to regain the control necessary to oppose the will of the not-subtle-anymore artefact, and the desire to exterminate the lizardy beast was lodged in his spirit.
Like a possessed man ─which he was─ not in control of his acts anymore, Raistlin ran after the retreating figure of the little dragon in a frenzied chase, dealing clumsy strokes with the Staff at the beast's back. The latter seemed to prefer risking his life jumping into a deep ravine. He might have been successful if his little wings were not as useless as it were. The miserable dragon plummeted.
With the beast out of his sight, Raistlin regained some of his senses, stopping himself at the edge of the steep gorge. The wretch had bounced several times on ledges, to end a boneless heap at the rocky bottom. The Staff prodded at the battered mage to finish him off.
"I'm not going to throw myself over a ravine to reach a faux-dragon that most likely has broken his neck. And if you dare to do that again, I'll personally go looking for a red dragon to melt you under her fiery breath, understooooooooaaargh?"
Salvador reached the bottom of the ravine some hours latter, worried and distraught. How could his pet human be so clumsy! That edge had been loose, even a dog could see that! Stepping on it had been nothing but trouble! Among the rocks, he found the ugly, fat white dragon and, just on top of it, the human cub, badly wounded. The cat came close and licked softly his lacerated and bloody cheek, eliciting a pitiful moan. His poor pet! Salvador would not let him die here in the middle of nowhere! He refused to lose another dear pet.
No one knew it, but Salvador had been the familiar of a powerful Red Robe. The old woman had died when the cat had been still young, but he had never forgotten her gentleness. He had wandered the lands of Krynn for years, the magic of his former she-pet sustaining his long life, although he had learnt nothing but that most two-legs were cruel and unworthy of his kindness. Until he had met the cub with removable fake white fur. The unhappy young human had fed him, stroked him, and scratched him, not once being cruel to him or minding his fleas. Therefore, he had adopted the cub as his new pet. He knew him to be troubled by his family of two-legs, and Salvador helped him the best he was able, eating all the food the cub could not and making a fuss of him.
Salvador was a loyal friend, and staunch protector of his pets, so he flatly refused to abandon his gentle friend to his dreadful fate. Thus, sniffing the dry air of the plains, the valiant cat set off in search of help.
When Raistlin awakened to something akin to true awareness, he found himself in a strange hut with thatched roof and full of furs, being intently watched by his elder nephew, Tanin.
"Welcome to the land of consciousness," said the young man, his tone tired and strained.
The mage would have replied ─or at least tried to─, but a dirty-black ball of fur hurled itself upon him, raining wet licks on his face. That was when he realised that something avoided the raspy tongue of the little beast to slobber his skin. He stroked the cat's head with a dressed hand, gently moving the animal away from him, although that gesture pained him. Achingly, he raised the furs that covered his prone body, only to discover that he had been bandaged completely.
He now looked like an elf king's corpse that his subjects had spitefully but fastidiously prepared to withstand the ravages of time so that it remained as a curio for nosy tomb raiders to find.
"What happened?" he managed to croak to the warrior, who studied the scene cautiously. "Where am I?"
"In Que-Shu," Tanin replied. "It seems that you were ambushed by highwaymen and a dragon. You managed to defeat them all, but the beast hurt you badly even as you brought it down. The battle must have been epic," he whispered in awe.
Epic indeed, Raistlin sneered inwardly. How heroic could be beating a podgy, midget dragon, one newly draconised, on top of that?
"You were severely injured, but your familiar went looking for help," continued Tanin, pointing to Salvador, which had coiled itself on a ball and now purred leaning on his pet's leg. With his single yellow eye wide open. The young man had witnessed first-hand the overprotectiveness of the animal; Riverwind's badly scratched face was evidence of it. "It stole Riverwind's flute and made him follow it towards the place you lay. Clever beast, your cat."
No doubt, hunger sharpened Salvador's wits, thought the wizard, never ceasing in his soft caresses. The little glutton deserved them.
"Riverwind and his men brought you here. You weren't far off death, but a healer pulled off saving you. She treated your wounds and fed you some potent healing medicines, and you've been sleeping them off since then." Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. "A junior cleric tried her healing powers on you, but apparently her skill was not enough. That's what they all believe, although I think differently… Uncle Raistlin."
The archmage's eyes widened. At his side, Salvador hissed threatening to Tanin, who moved back a little, putting some distance between him and the spitting cat.
"How…?" It was now Raistlin's turn of narrowing his eyes. After a brief moment, he gave up; even that gesture pained him. "Did you infer my identity due the inability of the cleric to heal me?"
"Um… No, not really. I discovered it when, in your delirium, you turned gold and set the hut on fire," explained the bulky Majere sheepishly. "You were lucky I was the only one present at that moment."
And I that had hoped for him to get cleverer, sighed Raistlin inwardly. Maybe a radical diet would work on him too.
"I don't see the hut damaged in any way. And how could you see me turn golden, if there isn't an inch of my body not bandaged?"
"Your eyes, they were open. You seemed… terrified. And of course the hut doesn't seem damaged, it's a new one. The other was completely destroyed."
"Oh," was all what he said, and remained silent for a long moment. Then, "I'm not in the habit of setting fire to huts, particularly those I'm resting on."
Tanin snickered. "I suppose you don't."
"Why aren't you asking me about your brother?"
The warrior averted his eyes from his uncle's face, embarrassment brightly red on his.
"Well, you see, after you burned the hut to ashes and I discovered that you weren't Palin… I had to know, so I… took advantage of your drugged state and questioned you. You were delirious, but I got enough to know what had happened… Sorry."
Had it not hurt so much, Raistlin would have regarded his nephew in open-mouthed wonder. As things went, though, he had to settle merely with wonder. So, Tanin did not need the diet after all, there was a sharp brain under that mop of auburn hair. The mage would have been extremely proud if the target of this sudden shrewdness had not been him.
"I didn't manage to take in what you spluttered about avenging Palin and yourself though… Do you want to take down Takhisis?"
"Not exactly. It's a too long story, and a very depressive one."
"Well, it sounded as if Palin was very unhappy."
"And he was, I guess. At least I was, living as him."
"I suppose it's because you both felt pressured by society. But things have changed since your youth, Uncle, now being what you are is fashionable in some parts of Ansalon. Take Palanthas for example, despite the Knights. And our family is very open-minded; how could not we be, having you as our first?
Now being a mage was fashionable? Wonders never ceased.
"I never cared what society or its individual thought of me," Raistlin said haughtily.
"Then, why did you lock yourself in that dreary magical tower, isolating yourself?" countered Tanin. "You say you didn't care, but you hid from society. What do you fear more, Uncle, the others or yourself? You were a coward, not facing up your fears."
"I did not need anyone! I wanted to be alone, to grow by myself!" thundered the wizard. He regretted it at once as his chest ached awfully. Suppressing a groan, he sunk again among the furs. Weariness and drowsiness made him feel light-headed, and the image of his nephew blurred in his half-closed eyes.
"Well, sorry, maybe 'coward' was a too strong word for that," replied Tanin, conciliatory. The young man noticed his elder was almost asleep.
"But I still think that you'd been happier if you'd come out of the closet."
Raistlin's misadventures would have been cut short by Goldmoon's return from a clerical conference were not for Salvador's mischievous cleverness. As the Chosen of Mishakal was about to enter the sick mage's hut, the cat darted between her legs, unbalancing her and making her to fall onto her own head. Therefore, she had to stay in bed, head almost cracked, and very upset.
And thus our hero escaped from death by staffing. Goldmoon would have not denounced him to the Conclave, oh no, she would have not even said a word about his identity to the tribe or her husband, at least not until she had finished with him. The cleric remembered acutely the day Raistlin had provided her with dye for her hair that left it pink and lushless! The insolence! And only because she had commented to Laurana and Tika that he was an effeminate weed. How could one be so petty? Therefore, Goldmoon would have extracted her vengeance on the defenceless wizard. Her marvellous hair was sacred!
The archmage's troubles were far from finished though. Just a week after his return to consciousness, Sturm arrived to the village of Que-Shu with a wagon to carry his little brother back to Solace… and with his father on tow.
The elder Majere, mad with joy, nearly crushed his twin's newly healed bones, as well as the few ones he had managed to keep intact, with his too effusive hug. Then, got ready to give his brother a spanking for being such a naughty boy.
That day Caramon learned to fear cats. Very much.
It turned out that Salvador set itself as Raistlin's ferocious protector once again. He would not allow the two-legs to hurt his pet anymore. He had a responsibility towards the poor cub, and he was ready and willing to keep it. Upon their return to Solace, the cat never wavered from his duty, frightening off Caramon, eating Tika's culinary tortures, and chasing away the shrieking sisters.
Raistlin loved him dearly for it.
One morning, a familiar face leant in to look at him through the open window as its owner knocked on the wooden frame. "How are you?"
"Mirinda," the archmage marvelled from his bed. "I thought I'd never see you again after… you know. I'm as fine as I might be under the circumstances; aching, but I prefer that to the numbing stupor of the drugs."
The young woman shrugged, smiling warmly, and lifted a basket. "May I come in? I've brought you some lemonade and sweets, if you want them."
The wizard felt his face burn with shame. "Oh, please, yes, come in. And yes, I want them. I'm sorry about when I nearly vomited on you, but it had nothing to do with you giving me sweets. I was already feeling ill and…" What was he doing apologizing to a girl that had fallen in love with a fake that wrote crappy love letters?
"Never mind," the lass cut him short. A doubtful expression crossed her features. "Um… It is safe?"
"Safe? Oh, yes, of course it is. You mean what old Albertus has been saying, don't you? Don't worry, the curse only affects my parents and my sisters; it's perfectly safe for anyone else." Not content with resting in quiet and peace –a peace won viciously by his dear cat–, Raistlin had decided to get some revenge, and amuse himself while he was at it, so he had cast a nasty curse on them. The archmage smirked as he remembered the distress of the Majere parents and daughters at discovering that everything they uttered was the truth and only the truth. It had been enormously entertaining to witness, for instance, as Caramon confessed he had bedded the wives of most of his clients in his younger days. Tika, for her part, was on the verge of hysteria since whatever she tried to say to her younger son ended in 'not like Raistlin'. Delicious really, to hear her choke on his name. As it had been Dezra admitting she had sold fake love letters by Palin to half the town's young women, or that she had visited the disreputable 'Trough' to fleece the simpletons that thought that a girl would be an easy prey. Most humorous. And Laura confessing she just wanted to be a mediocre barmaid and hated Palin because she reminded her she belonged to a family of heroes. How derisible!
Of course, the Majeres had tried to hush it up swiftly, but the rumour mill was already working overtime. Even though it was discovered they were affected by a curse ─too powerful for the injured "Palin" to lift─, the admissions had a nasty ring of truth that did not escape notice. The coup de grace was dealt when the distraught Heroes had turned to Revered Daughter Albertus, the quack cleric of Solace. The old priest had told they were under a divine curse and, before they could be free from it, they should atone for their sins. Raistlin thought the cleric was a fraud that had devised that drivel only to cover he was not able to remove it, but had laughed until his sides ached, and a little more when the towners had pointed to the Majeres and called them 'gods-cursed'.
Her fears allayed, Mirinda hoisted herself through the window and took the chair by his desk to sit down at his side. "Sorry about that, but I just don't want to pass your father."
"And why would that be?" he asked, accepting the cup of lemonade she offered him.
Her smile wavered and a shadow crossed her features. She was pretty, but not the beauty her mother had been, even if there were several similarities. However, Raistlin had tried so hard to erase Miranda from his memory that it was no wonder he had not spotted them before.
"Well, my mother and I talked about… what happened. She says you look like your uncle so much that she couldn't help but remember the past… and wonder about what had been and hadn't. And reconsider what she thought she knew."
"You've come to speak about it."
"If you wish. I now know that you don't… don't love me, but I need to… I need a closure. And my mother too, although she thinks it's too late for her; the one she should be talking to is no more. Has not been for a long time."
"Uncle Raistlin?" Mirinda nodded gravely. "The tomb… The dead baby bearing his name."
"The one that would have been my older half-brother," he young woman whispered. "And yours."
Since he had been expecting something along these lines, he did not splutter his lemonade. After all, it had been one of the possibilities, despite the surname of the deceased child. "Would you care to explain?"
"Um… yes. It seems that both my mother and I have fallen into the same trap –your Father's." The young woman looked directly to his eyes, her jaw set in defiance. When Raistlin's nod made clear that no outraged denial was forthcoming, she continued, "My mother told me that, many years ago, she fell in love with a young man. An apprentice of mage," she said.
"Uncle Raistlin?" What? In love with him? That was not true! What kind of idiot did they think Palin was? His features hardened. "I find that hard to believe," he hissed. "I know… My father told me your mother broke his heart!" Not that he would have allowed Caramon to learn that he had been enamoured of his prize conquest, he would have eaten his spellbook first, but he had to explain how Palin possessed his bitter knowledge.
"How dares he!" growled the girl, indignant and scandalized. "Your father is a… a… nasty man!" Nasty? No, Caramon was loutish, stupid, bothersome, smothering, idiotic… But nasty? "Please, allow me to tell my story and then you can protest all you want, right?"
The convalescent wizard nodded, his curiosity piqued.
"My mother was the youngest daughter of the clothier of Solace, one of the richer men in town, and many considered her very beautiful. At the time, everybody thought your father the most handsome, good-natured man of the region, hard working and honest, and many girls were in love with him. However, my mother didn't like him as much as most of them. He was good-looking and strong, that's right, but he also was an ignorant man. She liked his mysterious twin better. He was not robust or gregarious like his brother; nevertheless, he possessed a sharp intelligence and was probably the most knowledgeable man of Solace, more than even that would-be knight Brightblade."
Of course he had been the most knowledgeable man of Solace; that had not been a very hard feat considering that the town was a hole of ignorant louts. And Brightblade, he had been educated merely because that Solamnic-obsessed mother of his had drilled into his hard skull that a future Knight had not to be on a level with the yokels that did not know how to read or to count.
"According to my mother, your uncle was not unsightly, only physically frail and very reserved. However, under the big shadow of his twin, he usually seemed small and homely, at least to the majority."
It was a surprise, to confirm that someone else had realised that little fact. He had lived up to well into his young adulthood believing he was an afterthought, a mere counterpoint to extol his twin, and he had worked very hard to convince himself and others of the opposite. To hear such a different viewpoint of himself –used to derision and pity– was… refreshing. Boggling but refreshing.
If it were true.
With a sheepish smile, Mirinda carried on with her story, "I can understand why she felt that way. She liked serious, quiet young men, not boisterous tall boys, as I do as well. However, she told me she really noticed him when he saved her sister's baby son. She tried to talk to him, but he was elusive. One day she managed though; he was so sweet and shy, and he seemed to like her too."
The Palin look-alike remembered that episode. It had been extremely awkward, and he had felt very tongue-tied and embarrassed by his clumsiness, not sweet at all. He had never known how to act around women, and never had been the object of their attentions before.
"She fell in love with him. But then…" she hesitated.
"Then what?" Was it true that Miranda had had strong feelings of affection for him? He would not have known at the moment, since he had been blinded by his infatuation. What would she want to achieve lying to her daughter on such a long-past matter?
"Your father appeared."
"My father?" Oh, of course, the swine had won the prize with his charming stupidity and good looks. Nothing new under the sky, my friend.
The archmage felt anger and jealousy once again churn within with an intensity that astounded him. Why should he care now? Maybe because past and present were linked and what both had in common was his twin? But how?
"So your mother then fell in love with my father," he stated, coldly, just about to spat it.
"Never," Mirinda answered, a fierceness that astounded the wizard filling her voice. It had also grown cold as well. "Your father had noticed my mother's feelings towards his twin and he told her that Raistlin was acting coy with her to preserve his reputation–" What reputation, for Gods' sake? "–that he would never, ever, love her back because… because… he was, you know, attracted to members of his same gender."
So Caramon had been spreading those pernicious lies even then. No wonder any woman had looked kindly at him, no wonder their titters, their pointing, their muttering. And he had believed it had been due to his cantankerousness and wizardry!
"And he said the same about me to you," he whispered, quiet veiling the venom in the words.
Mirinda nodded. "You're not, are you? I'm sorry I believed him so readily, but you must understand, your father is Caramon Majere, Hero of the Lance, a role model in kindness and integrity. And why would he tell such a monstrous lie about his brother and his son?"
"Yes, why," he said absently. He had a nasty suspicion, but it could perfectly be born of his over-imaginative mind.
"My mother had tried to warn me against you; she had heard some rumours around town about you being gay, but after I explained her the one to actually tell me was your father, she became suspicious…"
"Well, history repeating itself so similarly is, indeed, suspicious," the mage snorted.
"Yes. So we did some inquiries and discovered that the origin of all the rumours was–"
"My father," he sighed.
"My mother is devastated. Not only did she drop the man she truly loved, but allowed herself to be tricked into believing that the closer she would get to your uncle was through your father. She intended to carry off her shame, but when we learnt the truth, she told me for me to never fall for such a liar."
The mage's mind reeled. Was Caramon they were truly talking about? His twin brother? The simpleton that had his heart written over his face? Maybe it was right, and the disturbing changes in behaviour –something similar to a brute shrewdness– he had detected in the time he had been suffering as Palin had not been changes at all. Maybe they had been there all the time, hidden from even his sharp eyes. Or not so hidden after all. Immersed in his own troubles, he had really never paid attention to Caramon; he had always tried to ignore him, to erase his annoying presence from his mind. He had never deigned himself to believe his twin possessed an ounce of intelligence; he always had underestimated him. Had he really looked at his brother instead of trying to boost his tattered ego belittling the lout, he might have detected that Caramon was cleverer than anyone thought.
Mirinda's –Miranda's– story had rendered the mage mute. Shaking in rage and outrage, he found his heart beating furiously, painfully in his chest, and that it was hard to breathe with ease. It was not the annihilation of his dreams of youth as much as the unbelievable, petty betrayal. He had been denied the chance of loving and being loved because of… what? Caramon had always had at his disposal legions of drooling women willing to bed and feed him. Why taking away the ones that showed any interest in him too? Why would he not be allowed to decide for himself if wanted to accept, or even to reject, that chance?
"The boy, your brother –our brother…" Raistlin whispered hoarsely when his voice came back to him. "Why did she not demand him to marry her?"
The girl's smile was as twisted as one of his best. "Someone had rumours going round that my mother had bedded half of Solace men –you can guess who now–, so no one would've believed her. Besides, she didn't think he would have been a good parent; he was obsessed with his brother and would've refused to part with him. My mother would've to live in the same house as Raistlin, knowing he only felt contempt for her. That attitude reinforced the falsehoods your father had told her, but now we suppose he deceived your uncle as well." Oh, how to explain that what he had suffered had been far worse than any deception? "She wouldn't have borne it. Moreover, she was already engaged to my father. I suspect he knew about the baby not being his, but, sweet man he is, he never said anything."
"But the middle name…"
The young woman shrugged. "Despite what she had been told, and Raistlin's attitude, she was still in love with him. Everyone in Solace, my father and my mother included, thought that he was gay, so he couldn't be the father, and a little whim such as that could do not harm. Probably, no one would've ever known."
"Oh."
Smiling brightly, she stood up. "Well, now I'm finished with what I came here to do. Thank you, I feel much better and I'm sure my mother will too when I tell her. When you eat the buns and are in better health, please bring us the basket or have it sent to the mill if you don't want to."
"But you said you wanted a closure…"
"And I have it." The smile wavered a bit, but remained. "Even though you aren't gay, you don't love me. The shock your father dealt lifted the blindness that had settled over me. I may be a bit silly, but I'm not stupid. You love your magic, your books, and that staff that you keep at your side. I should've seen this before, but you know…" She shrugged. "I wish you find someone that truly loves you back, no matter whether male or female," she laughed, kissing him on the cheek.
The stunned mage watched as the girl clambered to the windowsill. Before disappearing into the midday of Solace, she turned a final time to him.
"By the way, I'd do something to held in check those rumours that have that you're the lover of a dark elf!"
Since he had taken the trouble of cursing his relatives, in addition to amuse himself, Raistlin thought he could make the most of it to obtain several answers. Once he had calmed down and pondered about it, he realized that, opposite to the lout's usual habit, Caramon had been avoiding his younger son lately. Specifically, since everything he said was the truth. Therefore, after considering the best course of action, he resolved to be, for once, the one to lie in ambush.
That very night, under the unseen concealment of his magical ring, he shuffled quietly from his bedroom to settle in a dark corner waiting for the common room of the inn to empty. He knew that Caramon was always the last to leave, so he resolved to be patient and dozed off a bit while the late customers left for their homes or their rooms. As soon as the last of these left, he approached –shuffling a bit more, as he was in not condition of prowling– silently the unsuspecting innkeeper, coming to stand behind the big man. After a last malicious state, the wizard schooled his features into the bland expression that had become like a second nature to him since he had been brought to this godsdamned town, and took off the ring from his finger, hiding it immediately afterwards.
"Goodnight, Father," he said softly. Inside, he cackled with malevolent glee at seeing the former warrior nearly jump out of his skin.
Caramon did not seem pleased to see him; in fact, he paled a bit under that tan he sported. "Um, Palin. You've startled me. What are you doing here, stalking me like a thief at this late hour? You should be in bed."
The archmage smiled his best gentle smile, one that made his twin frown. "Maybe, but I wanted to talk to you in private. Don't you want us to talk, Father? I know for sure you've wanted for some time, so let's now."
"No, I don't want to speak with you now, son." Well, well, well, mighty Caramon, Hero of the Lance, seemed afraid. Was that sweat on his brow? Yes, it was.
"But we must, Father, because today I had a visitor that told me very interesting things."
The lout's eyes darted through the common room in search of a saviour, although none was at hand. "Couldn't we leave it for another day, you must be fatigued…"
"It doesn't matter, Father. Why don't you want to speak to me now?" he asked sweetly.
The big man seemed to struggle with words that wanted to be pronounced against his will.
"Because I don't want you to know," he muttered between clenched teeth. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I want to know, isn't it obvious? You've been doing bad things behind my back, Father, and it hurts me. As I said…"
"It's because of those girls, isn't it?" Caramon growled. "I did it for your own sake, scaring them off you."
"What girls?" Had Mirinda had any rival?
"Miranda and that daughter of hers, whatever her name is. They aren't good for you; they'd try to hook you, to snare you into marrying them, as your mother did with me."
The archmage in white regarded blankly at his twin, too baffled to assimilate the information with his usual speed. He blinked. Twice. "What? Did you say Miranda? What in the Abyss has she got to do with this? Isn't she Mirinda's mother?"
"Don't you see they both are alike?" Caramon cried. "She wanted to take you from me, and the girl's intentions were just the same! I wouldn't allow it!"
This was insane. Was the idiot mixing up past and present? A sudden feeling of dread assailed him, although he managed to stave it off. He would not allow his twin's idiocy to unsettle him.
"What are you talking about, Father? I didn't meet mistress Threal until several weeks ago, and she is a married woman, not a girl. And she hasn't any ill intention towards me." At least not that he suspected of.
"I mean before, you daft boy!" said the big man nearly screeching, his hands on his hair. "As brilliant as you are, how can you remain so blind to your true self? I've seen you fight against it, hide it, but I know what you really are. Who you are." He calmed down to stare into Raistlin's eyes. "I knew you'll come to me again, to your place next to me. I won't allow you to leave me again to get yourself killed on a silly quest for something not for you. I'll keep you safe here with your family, cared for, loved, and free from your own foolishness."
For a brief instant, Raistlin thought he had been discovered, but then the truth –much uglier than any masquerade of his– hit him.
Caramon Majere was completely off his rocker! Barking mad! Bonkers! The crazed innkeeper thought that, somehow, his son and twin brother were the same person. He had not wanted Palin to be like him, he wanted the unhappy youth to be him! So obsessed was the man with him? Was it possible that his twin was even weaker of mind then he had thought previously, that the severing of their brotherly –and unwanted– bonds had broken a mirage of sanity? But no, the lies had been before that, before Raistlin –sick of being smothered to death, resentful of being burdened by his brother in his quest for power– cast adrift his twin and bothersome friends.
Even in their young days, Caramon had purposely deceived him and others, presumably to keep his brother at his side. The later part was not new, the archmage thought bitterly. In his need to feel useful, the former warrior had always believed that his physically weaker twin depended on him, had tried to make the younger brother feel he depended on him. But now that Raistlin knew that maybe the older Majere's kind nature was not as upright as everyone –including himself– believed. He was not sure whether that had been the only reason, or the true reason at all, for tying down the mage.
Now it was the chance of knowing.
"Fa-father, what are you insinuating? You seem to imply that I am… that I am…" His bewildered voice and expression hid the resentment he felt for the man. He would not please his brother "proving" that he was "right", that his son was indeed his twin, as brief as the pleasure would be, since Raistlin would kill him immediately in the most painful, gruesome way he managed to concoct. No, for Caramon Majere there would be only sweet, befuddled Palin.
"I know you're confused. Discovering that you're really another person that lived long ago must not be easy for you, but you're with your family, with me. We'll help you." The Majere patriarch smiled warmly, coming close to rest his hands on Raistlin's shoulders. However, he withdrew them when the younger man winced, apparently in pain, but in truth in revulsion. "Um. Maybe you should sit down. Here, take a seat."
"Are you implying I'm the reincarnation of uncle Raistlin?" he murmured, studying his brother's visage out of the corner of his eye.
"Reincarnation! Yes, that's the word! See? You know it!" The wizard decided not to play too obtuse remarking that of course he knew the word. "Now you're not only my twin, but my son too. How much closer we could become?" Oh, gods above, as if being his brother was not bad enough… The pensive frown on the big man's brow did not bode well. "What are you to me then? My twin son instead of my twin brother?" Your twin murderer, if it were down to me, Raistlin thought savagely.
The archmage struggled to keep all sarcasm off his voice. "Let's say that I momentarily accept that theory of yours." Then tried to sound firm instead of spiteful. "Would that mean that you also told girls that I was, um, gay then? Why? It's not true!"
"You can't understand, my brother… eh, son… uh, well…" According to his pained facial contortions, Caramon was not only fighting with his term of address, but with the compulsion born of the curse as well. "That girl that brought you sweets, she is a pretty one, but she is probably like her mother, a tart. She wanted to snatch you, that bitch, back when we were young, and you fell for her charms. I couldn't let her have you, so I showed you what she really was like, nothing more than an easy girl. She'd hurt you, my dear. Without any doubt, her daughter is the same. I had to protect you from them!"
"You showed…?" So everything had been a set-up for him to witness how Caramon took Miranda away from him, the bastard. He feigned shock. Better that than wrath. "Do you think that Mirinda and her mother are… what you've said? No, of course you do. Anyway, it should have been my mistake, if really so. I'm not a child anymore and you took my choice away…"
The big innkeeper closed tightly his eyes, struggling to remain silent. "Always blabbering about choices and freedom and all that foolishness. No, you were weak and childish, as much as you are currently, and because of it, I was, and am, forced to decide for you. You wouldn't have ever suspected those girls didn't really want you until it'd be too late. How would they want such a skinny, scrubby, and bad-tempered brat like you? They just wanted to use you, to reach me through you. It's me who they all want, you know. That would've wounded you badly, my poor, misguided brother and son. No one wanted you honestly, but me. That's the reason I had to keep them all from you. And now it's the same all over again."
Raistlin gripped the counter to stop himself from attacking bodily his insane brother, then to steady himself against the mad laughter that threatened to burst from within. He, the master manipulator, had been deceived all his life by that brutish ignoramus! Everything had been a lie orchestrated by a selfish, uncaring man regarded by most of the world as the model of the gentle hero. And he had never suspected that his brother, the same bumpkin that was so awkward with mere additions, had pulled his strings expertly until he had been able to escape from his cruel grasp.
"Do you think no one would have really wanted me?" he asked, his voice almost gone.
Caramon blinked. "Of course not. Why would they, having me?"
Then, a sudden spark of understanding, so bright, so obvious that left the wizard momentarily dazed. "Would they have had you, if not for me?"
The brute's confusion turned immediately to stark dread. "I… I… You've always needed me…"
Unrelenting, gloating over the painful, bitter victory, Raistlin pushed. "Would they have?"
"I… I don't…" the older twin looked the very picture of agony. "You always made me look better, seem better… I couldn't risk…"
The archmage reminded himself that he was now Palin; his viciousness had to be gentle. "You considered your brother to be your foil. You needed him to be it, to show the rest how bad he was and how good you were. Without him you would be like the rest, wouldn't you?" Then the coup de grace: "He would be so disappointed…"
Caramon's half-contained tears were a sweet balm for his miserable soul. At last the whole truth had been brought to light, and he could feel a little vindicated.
"I'm so sorry you're disappointed," the innkeeper moaned. "But I'll make up for…"
"Yes, I am so very disappointed, Father," he said softly, unsheathing a new dagger of cruelty to dig into his twin's heart with delight. "But I'm sure uncle Raistlin would have been even more. And very, very angry."
The former warrior looked up at him, confusion dulling his tearful eyes. "But you said… you accepted…"
"No, I said I considered your theory," the mage explained patiently, knowing that gentleness would be much more hurtful than any of his sarcasm. "I am Palin, Father, not Raistlin. We are two different persons."
The middle-aged man leaped from his chair to land close before his wizard brother with such force that the latter nearly fell off his own.
"No! I've seen it! You're Raistlin!" he shrieked, stretching out his hand to grab the smaller twin.
"Leave my baby alone, you mad moron!" cried a new, shrill voice. Tika stormed in to stand in the way of both men. "He is not… Raistlin! Aaaaargh! I don't want that name pronounced in my home!"
"He is!"
"He is not!"
The archmage slid off the chair and into a dark corner of the common room, just in case the former barmaid got into her head to "protect" her son with her own body.
"Yes, he is and you've know all along! You knew as well as I do that he'd come back sooner or later, that's why you stubbornly feed him to bloat him into making him unrecognizable and why you watch Raistlin's Room!"
"Don't say that name!"
"I'll do if I want" But he did not. "You've always hated my baby twin, but you agreed to take him when he'd come back. Remember that was my requirement to marry you?"
Even though he did not suffer being termed "baby" every now and then, he decided witnessing how the Majeres threw down the gutter their marriage at the top of their voices was worth it.
"I told you I accepted it because it was the only way to marry you," the woman spat. "Not that I thought that ungrateful wretch would come back, but if he had–" Here her pretty face twisted into a horrible mask of cunning spite. "–I'd have taken care of him. He'd never noticed the arsenic in that stinking tea of his."
My, my, my. And he had thought that Tika, in her younger years, always had looked as if butter would not melt in her mouth! Some heroes they were, this pair!
"You wouldn't have dared to poison my baby brother!"
"As if that piece of shit were worth the air he breathed! The world would've been a much better place if that horrible man had never been born!"
Raistlin tried to take offence at her words, but much worse things had been spat to his face, so he was somewhat immunised against them. That, however, did not prevent Tika's fast climb towards the top positions in the Black List.
"Why do you hate him so?" Caramon cried. As if he really ever cared that someone detested his brother; quite the opposite, spurring hate on would ensure he looked the saviour ready to rescue his 'poor brother.' Maybe it was Tika's new murderous facet what worried him. No Raistlin, no one to save, after all.
Anyway, the archmage also wondered about the source of the woman's fervent detestation. During the war, he had been nasty and annoying towards her, but no more than with the other Companions –as it had been his habit. At first, he had been mildly impressed by her bravery, yet he soon discovered it was not courage at all, but a desire to impress Caramon and to get him. That very moment, any scrap of admiration he had felt disappeared. He had supposed she hated him because of what he had "done" to Caramon when they had gone back into the past, but he thought her current vindictiveness went well beyond the limits of spite to tread on monomania. He was dead or suffering never-ending torments at Takhisis' claws –at least that was what everyone thought– so he was not a threat to his husband anymore. It was not as if Palin would become his uncle the instant he looked like him. But then, if the lout thought his son was his twin…
"Why you ask?" she hissed, fury and hate and also a spark of madness in her green eyes. "When he was present there was nothing else to you! Even when you were with me, you always thought of him, always watched him!"
"I had to be sure no one was to take him away from me! I didn't trust Laurana or Goldmoon…" The Qualinesti Princess or the Que-Shu Chieftain mooning after him? The world was coming to an end. Ridiculous was not enough to term the thought.
"But they despised him!" Tika countered, her tone conveying it was a feeling she shared with her female friends.
"But Tas didn't!" Stunned silence. "Oh, don't deny that Tas' continuous finding my baby brother's components was a way to have him to come to regain them back, so the kender could flirt with him. And I'm sure my poor twin was falling for him…"
Eeeeewww! Him falling for Tas? Because he did not kill him for being a kender? Or Tas having a thing for him? My, now "borrowing" was a kind of flirtation… Caramon had a very disturbed mind.
"Leave Tas out of this. Was that the reason you kept stepping on his feet? The kender didn't feel anything save perhaps curiosity towards that effeminate freak–" Raistlin did take offence this time. "–but what I truly think is that he… he… he charmed you into loving him!"
The mental image of him and Tas had been preposterous, but the one with him and Caramon was really, truly gruesome. The wizard shuddered, holding back the nauseating feeling of sickness.
Tika went on spewing insanities: "Since no one loved the wretch and he was useless at it, he wanted you to be as miserable as he was! He was so jealous that I loved you that he tried to keep us apart with his spells!"
Ah, the marvels of lunacy.
Raistlin would have loved for her to spirit Caramon away forevermore; that would have saved all of them many a problem. Maybe then Tas would have gathered courage enough to ask for his hand and they both would have been free to elope in the night towards Kendermore, where they would have lived happily, magically thieving their neighbours. But, oh, it was not to be… Luckily.
Some of the lodgers had come in to look at the screaming pair, watching them open-mouthed from the doorway but not brave enough to enter the common room or interrupt the argument. The wizard also supposed they were more interested in witnessing how the two of them washed their dirty linen in public than in sleeping. He felt sorry for the two Majere brothers, who seemed shocked at hearing such unpleasant things, but it was about time they learnt about their parents' nastiness.
With a jaw-splitting yawn, the mage shuffled towards the doorway, making way for himself through the small crowd. He shrugged sheepishly as he passed Tanin, patting softly his back, and then went to his room; he was tired and the raging dispute did not add anything to what he already knew, so he preferred to spend the rest of the night there, isolated from their yells by a nice silence spell. All in all, he thought, Caramon and Tika deserve each other.
Tomorrow would be a great day.
Next: A fateful reunion, a jealous feline and two misunderstanding knights!