Disclaimer: I was just borrowing it… Honest… I really was about to put them back…
A/N: Wow, second to last chapter. Amazing. Okay, I just want to take a moment to make a few announcements that I don't feel like leaving until the next chapter. There is only going to be one more chapter, but there will be updates after that. This is because I had an epiphany that since the beginning of the story, my writing style has changed immensely. Because of this, the first half (at least!) will be going through a total makeover. There are only going to be two things that change that will be important to the plot. First of all, I am making Kit and Fie each a year older. Thus, she will be in 11th grade, and he in 12th. This is just for something I want to set up for in the sequel. The other major change is that I will be setting up Fie's change in character in the last few chapters a lot better. Otherwise, there will be major changes in the way it is written, but very few in actual content. Also, I am now in college, and I am not sure how much time I'll have for fanfic. I may fall behind, especially in reading. I'm sorry! Okay, that's it in the way of announcements. I'd just like to thank my amazing beta, Valgorúth, who has some awesome stuff written in the LoTR section. (Hint, hint…) Now, enough babbling. Please review!
Like The Color of My Skin or the Day That I Grow Old
The next day, Dalamar, Raistlin, and Fie rose early. Dalamar knew that getting Par-Salian to consent to their plot would take time. When they emerged into the dimly lit day, Fie was gratified to see that his powerful spell of the night before had actually done its job. The forces of Chaos seemed to be reduced, though not significantly. Most importantly, the troops had been heartened by the success of the young mage, and were fighting with new strength.
Once in the courtyard, Fie waved to a small white dragon that he had befriended the day before. The white, Snowfire, had agreed to convey the young man to Par-Salian's manor for the day. They took off quickly, not bothering to wait for their compatriots.
Stygia seemed to have been watching for the group to arrive, and swooped out of the air with a beautiful, but unnecessary, display of acrobatics. "Good morning, mage!" She sounded ecstatic in anticipation of the day's events.
As always, Dalamar bowed to her as befitted a mere mortal to a dragon. "Good day, my lady. Before we set off, I had a request to ask of you." At Stygia's pleased nod of acknowledgement, Dalamar continued. "Would it be possible for you to also carry my Shalafi, Raistlin Majere to Par-Salian's mansion this morning?"
"Of course." Stygia looked slightly offended at the implication that she might not have the strength to carry a second passenger after several days of hard fighting. Her attention quickly turned to Raistlin though. "You look … different than the others." She raised her claw, but quickly put it back down as she observed the glower on Raistlin's face. It seemed as though she were resisting the urge to poke the golden mage to see if he felt like a normal mortal.
"Oh!" A thought seemed to suddenly occur to Stygia. "You're that Raistlin Majere, aren't you!" She kneaded the ground, embarrassed at her wish to poke the feared archmagus.
If Raistlin noticed the dragon's discomfort, he gave no sign of it. "My lady, I am honored to be your passenger."
Stygia's eyes glowed with pleasure. "Now, get on, you two. We have Good mages to fry!"
"Wait for me!" A cry came from the doorway, and all three looked in that direction. An extremely odd sight greeted them. Evelynn was running towards the dragon, encumbered by what appeared to be the remains of some poor soldier's armor. She had put it on as best she could, and was attempting to carry a sword as well.
The ancient elf was panting as she reached Stygia. "Let me come with you. There must be something I can do to help!"
Dalamar was about to say something, but stopped as Raistlin put a quelling hand on his shoulder. "Lady Evelynn, we have already discussed the most important thing you can do to help. You must stay behind." Evelynn's face fell, but she nodded resignedly.
"I will do all that I can to help my people. You can depend upon it."
After only a few hours, the two dragons were able to find Wayreth. They landed quickly in front of Par-Salian's house.
"He fixed it!" Stygia sounded heartbroken at the thought that her 'improvement' on the large manor had been rectified. "Well, I don't like the design of the new door. Humans should get more air anyway. Maybe they'd live longer that way." So musing to herself, Stygia took a deep breath and merrily spat it out again in the form of fire. Once more, Par-Salian's door was no more.
A flabbergasted Valgorúth came to the door. "Why did you do that? Master Par-Salian was already expecting you, and told me to allow you in!" Dalamar smirked. Apparently, he was not the only apprentice who had to clean up messes that were not of his making.
"My apologies, Valgorúth. Stygia decided that she did not approve of the style. If Par-Salian is ready?"
The young elf bowed stiffly. He obviously still had problems coming to terms with the fact that his Shalafi would willingly speak to a dark elf and his companions.
After only a moment, Par-Salian appeared in the space that used to be occupied by his door. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"
"It was ugly…" Stygia shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably.
"I had informed you that I would be returning for the body of my daughter." Dalamar decided that, much as he respected the young dragon, harping on the subject of the door would not be conducive to their plan. "And I had informed you that you were to aid me with a spell. I have come to exact both of those conditions." Gracefully, Dalamar leapt from Stygia's back onto the ground. Raistlin used power of the Staff of Magius to dismount. Fie was left to clamber off of Snowfire's back as best he could.
"Why are there others with you?" Par-Salian demanded. Then, he recognized the Staff. The old man visibly reeled with the shock. "It can't be…" he said softly. It seemed as though his own staff, a functional creation of rough-hewn wood, was the only thing keeping him upright.
Raistlin allowed the cowl of his robe to fall back. "Oh, but it can." He smiled cynically as Par-Salian seemed to crumple with surprise and fear. "Don't die for my sake though, old man. The gods did not see fit to allow my magic to join me again in the world of the living. I am here for the simple reason that I volunteered to oversee my apprentice's … experiment." His cruel smirk dared Par-Salian to question his words, a dare that was left unanswered.
"Bring me to my daughter." Dalamar wished to waste no more time. He hoped to have finished cowing the former leader of the White Robes into obedience before he went to work on the current.
Par-Salian, still too shocked to speak, mutely led the way into his manor. The three black-robed mages followed behind. After a few minutes of slowly traversing the manor's winding hallways, Par-Salian stopped at a doorway and took a simple key out of one of his pouches.
"She rests here. I spelled the room so that no outside influences would hurry the decay." If the aged human had been hoping for some form of thanks from any of the assembled mages, he was disappointed as they looked on apathetically. Without further ado, Par-Salian opened the doorway.
Fie and Raistlin respectfully stayed behind as Dalamar entered the room containing the corpse of his daughter. He approached the bed upon which she had been placed slowly, and was glad to see that no sign of time had reached her body, aside from the natural lengthening of hair and nails that always occurred when the body did not yet realize that the soul was departing. The dark elf nodded, as satisfied as any man could be when examining the cold body of his child.
Expressionlessly, he picked up the frail, youthful body and turned back to the mages in the doorway. "We will need a large room. The largest that you have, and cleared of all obstructions." Valgorúth ran off to see that his dark brother's wishes were carried out, not wanting to know what the other elf was planning.
Par-Salian, however, had no such scruples. "What is the meaning of this? What sort of experiment is it that you're planning that needs the assistance of two other mages, a corpse, and a lot of space?" The old man had apparently gotten over the shock of seeing Raistlin alive once more.
"Actually," A small smirk played upon Dalamar's lips. "I will need five other mages to assist me. The others will be arriving later. As to the sort of experiment, it will hopefully be the sort that can rectify nearly twenty years of disaster that were set in motion by none other than the venerated head of the Conclave, Master Par-Salian." Dalamar's voice was calm, as though he were discussing the weather.
Par-Salian stared at Dalamar, attempting to divine the meaning behind the words of the dark elf. "Valgorúth has prepared a room. This way." The elderly man began to walk briskly away from the other mages.
Raistlin traded a cynical look with his two so different, yet similar, apprentices, and followed the former head of the Conclave. Dalamar and Fie were quick to pursue their fellows, the body of Catherine draped over her father's arms.
"Now, Dalamar, tell me rationally, what was all of that about twenty years of evil? You know what happened the last time someone tried to change the past." He glanced meaningfully at Raistlin, who glared back. Finally, it was Par-Salian who had to look away.
"I do not mean to change the past, simply give someone a second chance." The dark elf was smiling mysteriously.
"Second chance…" Par-Salian shooed Valgorúth out of the room as soon as he reached the door. The other mages followed him in, and Dalamar set his daughter's body down in the center of the floor. He took a small mortar and pestle from one of the pouches of his robe, and, kneeling on the floor, began to grind and mix various herbs.
"You don't mean to attempt a spell to give Raistlin back his powers, do you? If that is the case, I will have no part in it." The old man drew himself up, daring Raistlin to comment.
It was Fie who answered, however. "Why would he do that, old man? Dalamar doesn't want his old master back to order him around. He's happy being at the top of the food chain. Is everyone on this world so stupid?" His remarks were biting, and not even the twin glares from Raistlin and Par-Salian could prevent his snide comments.
Attempting to regain what ground Fie might have lost, Dalamar spoke soothingly. "While I would not have put it in quite those terms, Fie speaks truly. I have no intention of attempting to give my Shalafi back the powers that the gods saw fit to remove. If such a spell even exists, I have no knowledge of it."
Dalamar drew a knife out of one of the sleeves of his robes. "I have been given a command by the gods of magic. They instructed me to give a second chance at life to the one of us who is probably the only true innocent, possibly the most maligned."
Par-Salian's eyes grew wide in horror. "Your… daughter?" His voice had reached a frantic pitch. "But… but… necromancy is forbidden! You will be struck down by the gods should you even attempt it. I'm surprised that they have not punished you already for the arrogance of claiming that it was at their command." Having found his place in the righteous anger of the Good, Par-Salian regained his confidence.
Dalamar simply smiled. "Oh, but it was at their behest," the dark elf said wryly. "They all came to me, and told me that it was not their will that she die." Slight laughter entered the evil mage's voice. "In effect, I am actually going to do something for the benefit of mankind, because should she not be saved, the gods have foreseen only doom for all of Krynn. If you still choose to doubt me, know I speak the truth when I say that it is Nuitari's own spell that I shall be using to bring my daughter's soul back to her body."
Par-Salian could only stare in shock, and even Raistlin looked impressed at the thought that Dalamar had been given a spell by the God of the Unseen Moon. "If we are done arguing, perhaps we can start work on the preparations, so that there is some chance of completing the spell by the appointed hour."
It seemed as though Par-Salian wanted to continue arguing against the forbidden magic, but he could only watch in horror as Dalamar curled his wrist towards his forearm to expose the vein, and made a deep cut with his dagger. The dark elf made no sign of feeling pain as he allowed his blood to flow out, pooling brilliantly red among the crushed herbs in the small bowl. With only a couple of inches in the bowl left empty, Dalamar finally staunched the flow of the wound with a strip of bandage as his companions looked on in shock.
The dark elf wavered slightly, unsteady because of the blood loss. He shook his head slightly to clear it, and then lifted his daughter's body slightly so that she rested in a sitting position in his arms. Next, Dalamar made a cut in Catherine's wrist, identical to the one in his. He continued to hold her upright so that the blood would flow out of her still veins into the bowl on the ground where it would mingle with his own blood.
Slowly, slowly, the dark, coagulated blood began to drip from the limp wrist. Dalamar twisted the body of his daughter, attempting to get it into a better position. Finally, the mortar bowl was filled to the brim with the blood of the living and the dead. Suddenly exhausted, Dalamar allowed his daughter's corpse to fall gently to the floor, as he himself fell to the floor in a swoon.
Par-Salian stared in horror at the spread-eagle forms lying prone on his floor. For a moment, he could do nothing save stare in mute shock. Finally, he turned in incredulity to Raistlin. "Is he actually serious?" In his agitation, the old man's voice was unsteady.
"You doubt still?" Raistlin's voice was biting as he took in the gruesome scene before him, emotionless.
"He can't actually mean to go through with it. He can't!" It seemed to Raistlin as thought Par-Salian were attempting to reassure himself.
"Oh, he is quite serious," Raistlin said, a slight mocking tone in his voice. "And were I you, I would not get in his way. People who are in pain can be quite rash."
As his elders were talking, Fie had gone in search of water. While he was not able to find something with which to revive Dalamar, he was able to find Valgorúth. The elven mage reluctantly found a bowl of water, and they walked together to the room in which the spell was to be constructed. When they reached the doorway, Valgorúth gasped.
"What is going on?" The elf sounded vaguely panicked.
"Dalamar is attempting to resurrect Kit." Fie was completely calm, and took the bowl of water out of the frightened White Robe's hands. Fie strode quickly towards the center of the room, and upon reaching the prone body of the Black Robe, he overturned the bowl.
After a couple of hours, the other mages began to arrive. Dalamar was once again stable, having had something to eat and drink, as well as time to dry off. Valgorúth was barred from the proceedings after he ushered in Jenna, her Red-Robed companion, and Dunbar Mastermate. He looked rather relieved to be ordered away, as though he was worried that necromancy was catching.
When Dunbar saw the large room, he stopped short in his tracks. "What is the meaning of this?" He numbly indicated the scene before him. Since the morning, Dalamar, Fie, and Raistlin had been busy. The blood that had sat in the small bowl was now spread over the floor in precise, intricate geometric patterns. Lying at the center of the design was the body of Catherine, resting on a short, sturdy wooden table several feet longer than the prone form of the half-elf. Several candles of different sizes, shapes, and colors burned around the perimeter of the blood.
Par-Salian merely looked at the young head of the White Robes, a slight ray of hope returning to his eyes.
"We do the will of the gods." Dalamar spoke simply, hoping not to exhaust himself even more with an argument. "It is their command that we give life back to my daughter, from whom it was taken prematurely."
Dunbar was flabbergasted, and appeared to be at a loss for words. Jenna put a gentle hand on his shoulder, showing that the Red Robes approved of the plan. Dunbar looked around at the room; at Par-Salian's resigned look, Jenna's determined expression, her compatriot's eyes widened in slight fear, Dalamar's gaunt, haunted countenance, Fie's expressionless mien, and Raistlin, in shadow as always. Seeing that he would get support from no corner, the dark-skinned man finally nodded.
"I will do as the gods command."
The six were seated around the corpse, enclosed within the bloody design. Slowly, Dalamar began to murmur the words of a spell. It would connect the mages in rapport, allowing Dalamar to tap into the power of all as he called upon forces never meant for mortals to have access to. As he chanted, he felt the other mages' power connecting to his, one by one.
The last to connect was Fie. When his magic joined Dalamar's, it seemed as though a raging torrent of power had flooded the comparatively tiny river that belonged to Dalamar. For a second, the dark elf reeled in shock. While he had known that the human boy had power beyond anything seen before on Krynn, he had never conceived of the immense scope.
Dalamar's blood ran cold. So this is why the gods demanded that my daughter be brought back to life, he thought to himself. She is the only one who could have a hope of containing this monster. Perhaps it would be better for Krynn if he died in the casting of this spell. The black mage was glad that he had such strong mental boundaries to prevent such terrible thoughts from reaching the rest of the assembled group.
Pushing all thoughts of Fie, power, and destruction from his mind, Dalamar called up the words of Nuitari's spell. They shone in his mind, with a brilliance unsurpassed by any spell he had ever encountered previously.
It felt to Dalamar as though he had been chanting forever, and yet for no time, as he allowed the combined power of the six to flow through his soul into the words of the spell. Finally, suddenly, the spell words ground to a halt. Dalamar, along with the other mages of the coven, gasped as what little magic they had remaining disconnected itself from the collective and became theirs alone once more.
As each person recovered, they stared expectantly, fearfully, into the center of the room. For a few moments, nothing seemed to happen. Par-Salian took a breath, about to rant about the waste of magic on an illegal and ineffective spell, when the air caught in the back of his throat.
At the old man's choking breath, the others turned their dejected stares away from the floor. As the six mages looked on in astonishment, a stain appeared on the dark robes of the body on the low table. It began to spread slowly, and then clarify from dark to the bright red of fresh-spilt blood.
Not a breath was drawn in the room as the black velvet of Catherine's borrowed robes turned the brilliant red color of one dedicated to the service of Lunitari. As the red tide reached the edges of the robe, the garment itself began to change, transmuting from the simple robes of a novice to the ornately decorated ones of a mage Tested.
Finally, the corpse was fully clothed in the robes of a Master, robes which seemed to have grown nearly a foot when no one was looking. As soon as the robes had finished their magical transformation, the body on the bier began to shake. At first, it was a slight tremor in her hand, barely visible. The tremor grew quickly, until Catherine's entire, tiny body was wracked with intense convulsions. As her body rocked and shook, it seemed to grow longer, filling the new space created by the robes. Finally, with a last spasm, the body lay still.
Now that the horrific shaking had passed, the mages observing could see that Catherine had aged, to the point where she looked like an older teenager. She had grown in height, and her body filled out in a more adult way. Fie could not help allowing a small gasp to escape his lips at the half-elf's beauty.
After what must have been only moments, though it felt like hours, Catherine opened her mouth. She drew in a huge breath of air, sitting bolt upright simultaneously. Her eyes wide with new life, the half-elf wavered unsteadily. She looked around, attempting to take in all of her surroundings.
"I'm…" She fainted before her weak voice could finish its exclamation. With that, the uncast spell holding the mages in their places was broken. As one entity, they rushed for the bier.
Catherine strained through the fog surrounding her. Why were people calling her name? Couldn't they just leave her alone? It was bad enough that they took her away from that nice conversation she'd been having with three… people? Well, whatever they were, it was a nice conversation, and she was annoyed that she had been pulled away. And now, they wouldn't even let her rest! Dizzily, she climbed through the fog, eager to tell them all to leave her be.
The mages crowded around Catherine's prone body. Fie, Dalamar, and Jenna were calling her name. Finally, the young woman's eyes opened slowly, and she seemed to shrink back from the seven faces that surrounded her.
"What… What's going on? Where did all of those lovely people go?" The half-elf's voice was sluggish and disoriented.
Fie helped his friend sit up. She leaned heavily on him, her muscles unused to the strain of holding her body erect. "When Arash attacked you…" the young man's voice was slightly hoarse. He swallowed hard. "When he attacked you, you threw a bolt of power at the same time. You killed him. But, you were… killed in the process. The rest of what happened to you, I don't know."
"I was dead?" Kit's face was blank. "But there were all those people. Such kind people. They were all so beautiful. Now, I can't remember them well anymore." Her voice was misty and confused. She shifted slightly in Fie's grasp, indicating her wish to stand up.
As she swung to the side of the table, she gripped it tightly so that she would not fall over. Unfortunately, she was not prepared for the new feeling of her body. As Catherine stood, she felt legs too long and a chest too heavy pulling her off of her center of equilibrium. Even with her firm hold on the table with a hand longer than it used to be, she would have fallen over had not Dalamar and Fie each grabbed an arm to keep her upright.
After she regained her balance, Kit seemed to notice the changes that her body had undergone for the first time. Her breathing increased as she stared down at a floor that was much farther down then it had been, past robes of a completely different color than the ones she'd become accustomed to.
"What have you done to me?" She looked around with despairing eyes.
"I am sorry." Dalamar's voice was soothing. "I did not know the side effects of the spell."
"I did not know, and still don't, but it is simple enough to surmise." Raistlin's voice was dry, reminding all with a jolt that more than one person had returned from a presumed death. "Most likely, the price for your life was years from it. None can enter the realms of the gods without returning unchanged," Raistlin said bitterly. "Thus, when you were brought back to the realm of the living, your body changed to reflect the years lost."
"As to the robes, the inference is more abstract, but not impossible to make. My guess would be that in destroying Arash and dying, you were Tested by the gods of magic. Usually, the Test is performed by the members of the Conclave in a somewhat controlled environment, but it is not unheard of for novices to emerge from ordeals as Masters. Thus, you now wear the robes of a true mage, and the gods saw into your heart and placed you within the Order of the Red Robes."
"It's … it's … too much…" Catherine said, clutching her head as though trying to rip out the offending knowledge. "It can't be… But it must be…" All of a sudden, she seemed to remember something. "The battle! Have we won?"
She looked frantically about at the assembled mages. "Fighting continued for several days after you … your fight," Dalamar explained. "We would not have been able to bring you back had we not cast the spell today. For now, the battle continues, neither side gaining much ground. I do not know how much longer we can resist Chaos."
"Why are you wasting your time and energy on me then?" The resurrected woman sounded slightly hysterical. "We need to return to the battle!"
Catherine was glad that there was a long ride back to Palanthas. She needed time to think. So many things had happened to her in the past couple of hours. Life was not an easy thing to get used to after death was experienced!
Almost as soon as she'd mentioned returning to battle, the half-elf regretted it. The others seemed to take that as a sign that she was fully recovered, and hustled her out of Par-Salian's manor to where the dragons were. While they did help support her while she walked, she still felt dizzy and achy from using nerves and muscles that had been deserted for three days. She was glad that she was secured onto Fie's dragon, with the young man holding onto her from behind so that she wouldn't fall.
Fie holding onto her… That was another problem. Apparently, the gods had taken several years off of her life for having stayed in the Realm of the Dead. Now, she was plunked back on Krynn in the middle of a hormonal battle nearly as earth-shattering as the one occurring with Chaos.
First of all, there was this new body of hers. Besides being much too tall, it was much differently shaped then the one she'd vacated only three days prior. It was hard enough to get long-unused muscles to work in the first place, much less learn how to use them in a completely different way.
Then, of course, she was abruptly aware of people in a way she'd never been before. She had come to the sudden realization that she found Fie really handsome compared to many of the guys she'd known in her life. Embarrassingly, she also was aware of how intensely attractive her father was. She shoved that disturbing thought out of her head quickly.
Was this how the girls in school she'd always despised felt? Granted, they'd actually had time to adjust to the hormones coursing through their more mature bodies, but Catherine felt herself gaining a sort of empathy towards them. She shook her head. She did not want to think about this now.
Instead, her mind wandered to the fact of her resurrection. From all that Dalamar had taught her, necromancy was expressly forbidden by all of the gods of magic. How could Dalamar have performed the spell, much less gotten mages from the rest of the Conclave to help him? Did the gods make an exception? But why in the world would they do that for her, insignificant half-breed Catherine? It did not make any sense.
Could she be meant to die later in the Chaos war? Suddenly, she was afraid. If she had been brought back just to die again in another few weeks, she would rather have been left for dead in the first place. While death was not bad, as far as she could remember it, she found life all the more precious now. It was true, in Death, you could speak to scholars of the ages. But in Life, the people were tangible. All of the people that Catherine had come to love in the past few months were in the world of the living. Catherine had no wish to wait for all of them to die!
It was just too bad if they'd brought her back for that reason, Catherine decided. She would just not fight. Fie and her father would understand, and they could handle the rest of the Conclave. If nothing else, she could make the excuse of being too weak still, which in all probability, was currently true.
It did not take long for Catherine's thoughts to blur into a confused mess of concepts swirling through her mind. After only a few minutes in the air, she leaned back closer to Fie as she fell asleep in his arms.