Tymora's Luck Page 7

  Finder rose from a chair by the window and crossed the room in long strides. “Welcome, my Rebel Bard,” he greeted Joel as he embraced his priest.

  “It’s good to be see you again,” Joel said. He had been friends with Finder long before he’d known the older man was a god. He was comfortable in his god’s presence and happy to be reunited with him.

  Finder turned to Jas and Emilo. “Jasmine,” he said with a nod. “I’m glad you’ve decided to come. And Mr. Haversack, welcome to my realm.”

  Emilo bowed low, sweeping the marble floor with his top knot. “Pleased to meet you, sir,” he said, his brown eyes as wide as saucers.

  Finder nodded. “Thank you, Rina. You may go about your work now,” he said.

  Rina bowed quickly and left.

  Finder sat down at the table and said, “Please be seated and help yourselves to breakfast. I’m a little short of all kinds of staff at the moment, let alone waiters. Don’t much care for the magical kind.”

  “Who’s Rina?” Joel asked curiously as he took the seat to Finder’s right and stabbed a slice of ham and a slab of bread. Jas and Emilo followed suit.

  “She’s a petitioner,” Finder replied.

  “A what?” Emilo asked.

  “A petitioner. Someone who worshiped me in her life, so she ended up here after she died.”

  “You mean she’s a ghost?” Emilo squeaked.

  Finder shook his head. “No. Ghosts are people who, for one reason or another, never come to the Outer Planes when they die. They remain undead. Rina is one of the only two petitioners who have come to Fermata so far. She was a potter in Tilverton, working on uncovering the secrets of how the Kara-Tur make porcelain. Her skill went beyond mere craft, however. She created works of art from porcelain, encouraged by a speech Joel gave to some artists in a tavern once.”

  “She looks familiar, but I don’t remember her,” the bard said.

  “She was a shy thing. Sat in the back, listening quietly but intently.”

  “How did she die?” Jas asked.

  “She worked late at her master’s shop every night to do her designs,” Finder explained. “An enemy of her master’s, intent on his murder, poured smoke powder into a chunk of coal that fired the shop’s kiln. Rina was the only one in the shop when it exploded.”

  “That’s horrible,” Jas said.

  Finder nodded. “Fortunately she doesn’t remember it. Petitioners don’t remember anything about their previous lives, but she’s still an artist. When I don’t need her to greet visitors, she’s working with the kiln she’s built.”

  “Did Rina make these?” Emilo asked, holding up one of the white dishes. “It’s so light, and look, the sun shines right through it.” The kender tapped the dish with his spoon and it rang like a bell. “Did you hear that? That’s real pretty.”

  Finder nodded. “Rina made all the dishes, pottery, jewelry, statuary, anything porcelain you find here. The other petitioner was a painter named Springer who died of old age. He painted the front hall. He’s around here somewhere, painting one of the other rooms.”

  Joel remembered Springer. The old man had gotten into an argument with an Iriaeban merchant over what should be painted in the merchant’s hall. Springer had walked off the job and promptly offered his services at a cut rate to paint the hall of one of the merchant’s rivals. The painted hall, and thus the rival, had become renowned throughout the region.

  “So if you only have two petitioners, who cooked breakfast?” Jas asked.

  “I’ve hired some local help for a while,” Finder explained. “I’m not expecting many petitioners in the near future. With any luck, my worshipers will remain healthy and alive for years to come.” The god snagged a strawberry and stood up. “I have something I’m working on at the moment, so I’m going to leave you to your meal. When you finish, climb the staircase beyond that door.” He pointed to a smaller door than the one by which they’d entered. “I’ll be in the room at the top of the tower,” he explained. Then he vanished.

  “He just disappeared, like a wizard,” Emilo noted. “I guess gods can do all sorts of tricks, can’t they? Your Finder seems like a splendid fellow.”

  “He is,” Joel assured the kender.

  “One of the nicest reckless fools you’ll ever meet,” Jas added, serving herself a helping of raspberries. “God or no god.”

  They proceeded to dine in earnest, speaking now and then only to comment on how good the meal was. Joel, anxious to speak with Finder, hurried through his meal. Then he excused himself from the table, insisting the other two not rush on his account. He received no argument from either of his companions. Jas was busy playing with the custard, and Emilo was creating a very artistic sandwich far too large to fit into his mouth. Joel hurried up the tower stairs.

  The room at the top of the tower was nearly empty. Several books were spread out on a table on one side of the room. There was a single wooden chair in which Finder sat. The god was pondering a yellow crystal that hung suspended in midair in the middle of the room.

  The crystal, an artifact known as the finder’s stone, could locate just about anything or anyone even slightly known to the bearer. Once upon a time it had also contained spells, like a wand. The spells could be cast by any member of Finder’s family. Included in the spells were illusions of Finder singing any of the many songs he had composed in his life as a mortal man. Finder had cleaved the stone in two, however, to get at the shard of para-elemental ice within. He’d used the ice to destroy the evil god Moander, after which he claimed Moander’s power and godhood for his own. Each half of the finder’s stone still worked as a magical locator, but the stone no longer held any spells.

  Finder gestured with one hand, and blue fire engulfed the gem. Joel could feel heat radiating from the stone.

  “Have you put it back together?” the bard asked excitedly.

  Finder lowered his hand and the blue fire faded. The god shook his head. “I haven’t quite figured out how to do it,” he explained. “Any power great enough to reintegrate the crystal’s structure is equally likely to destroy the magical properties the stone already has.” He lifted the top half of the crystal from the bottom and tossed it to Joel.

  Joel caught it. It felt warm, but not hot. “What will you do if you do get it back together?” he asked, admiring the stone’s sparkle.

  “Try to do what I did before. Put another shard of para-elemental ice in the tiny flaw in the heart of the stone, and then see if I can store magical spells in it, and music—mine and the songs of others.”

  Joel set the top of the stone back down on the bottom half. The two halves fit together perfectly. “Do you know why we’ve come here?” he asked.

  “Jas’s condition is getting worse,” Finder said.

  Joel nodded. “I don’t think it will ever improve in a place like Sigil, but the way she looks, she doesn’t want to go home.”

  “Sigil’s restless atmosphere is only part of the problem,” the god explained. “Iyachtu Xvim’s power and influence is growing stronger throughout the Realms. Jas’s condition is a reflection of that.”

  “You said you might be able to help her,” Joel said.

  “I’ll try,” Finder said, though he didn’t sound hopeful.

  Joel could read his god’s mood. “You’re not sure if you can, are you?” Joel asked.

  “I suppose I’m just feeling less certain because I haven’t yet succeeded in gluing this rock back together,” Finder said. He took up both halves of the stone. “And, of course, Xvim is more powerful than I am. It’s entirely possible the priests of Xvim just shape-shifted Jas’s form and relied on Jas’s own hatred and anger to transform her into a creature of darkness.”

  “But how can that be?” Joel asked. “Jas isn’t evil and her will is strong.”

  “She was forced to watch as Walinda systematically tortured her friend Arandes and the rest of her crew to death. She was a victim herself of the priestess’s sick practices. That changes a person
, even one with a will as strong as Jas’s. That doesn’t mean there isn’t some way to help her,” the god added, mustering a little more enthusiasm. He juggled the two halves of the stone in one hand and gave Joel a wink.

  “I also told Emilo Haversack you might be able to find his home and help return there,” Joel said. “But then, you know that, too, don’t you?”

  Finder nodded. The god had the power to sense whatever occurred in Joel’s presence. He didn’t need Joel to explain how he’d met the kender. “Yes, I know of his world. Krynn, it’s called. I can show him a magical gate that goes there,” he said, “though I suspect he’s not in any big hurry to get back. Kender spend a good portion of their lives in wanderlust.”

  “He did seem pretty curious about Jas’s spelljammer stories,” Joel recalled.

  “I’m more curious about the circumstances that brought him to Sigil,” Finder said. “Magical vortexes don’t lead from Krynn to Sigil.”

  “So you don’t trust him?” Joel asked.

  “Let’s just say I’m uncomfortable because I can’t predict the outcome of his actions. The vestiges of a superstition from my mortal days remains in me. Halfling luck, they called it when I was a boy.”

  “But Emilo’s a kender,” Joel said.

  “He’s a short person with clever hands and a quick wit who’s been thrust under mysterious circumstances into my priest’s life. I can’t help but wonder what will come of it.”

  “So should we just send him home?” Joel asked.

  Finder shook his head. “Not unless he wants to go. Whatever or whoever brought him here isn’t a force I want to trifle with.”

  From the stairway came the sound of Emilo’s chatter and Jas’s laughter. Finder stood as the winged woman and kender entered the room.

  Jas looked over at Finder. She shifted her weight to one foot nervously. She was uncomfortable asking anyone for favors, and Finder was no exception.

  Finder didn’t make her ask, however. “Jasmine, there you are. Joel says you’ve agreed to let me take a stab at reversing your condition.”

  “If you’re not too busy,” Jas said without enthusiasm.

  “My appointment calendar is empty. Have a seat,” Finder said, pulling forward the chair from which he’d just risen.

  Jas sat down with her ankles crossed and her hands in her lap, looking like a prim schoolgirl.

  “I’m going to do a little metaphysical examination first,” the god said. “Shouldn’t hurt, but I’m going to have to touch you.”

  Jas shrugged.

  Finder reached out with his right hand and touched Jas on the forehead lightly with his fingertips, then stepped back. He studied her for several moments.

  “I’m going to attempt a transformation now,” the god said to the winged woman. “Relax. Don’t resist the magic.”

  “I’m as relaxed as I get,” Jas said through clenched teeth.

  Finder reached out and laid his hands on Jas’s head.

  Immediately the winged woman’s form started to shimmer like the air over hot desert sand.

  “It’s working,” Emilo whispered.

  The feathers covering Jas, from the green crest on her forehead to the small black down on her face and hands, began to sparkle. Jas brushed at them irritably, and they fell from her flesh as if she were a molting bird. Her skin glowed softly, and the scaly pores that held the quills sealed over. She was left with the same rosy complexion she had when Joel had first met her.

  “Why does she still have the wings?” Emilo asked Joel in a whisper.

  “They weren’t part of the curse,” Joel explained. “She had them before that.”

  Jas’s eyes were fixed on the floor.

  Finder placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Jas looked up into the god’s eyes and shook her head. “The dark stalker is still in me. I can feel it,” she whispered. There was a trace of fear in her voice.

  Finder looked surprised for just an instant. “Hmm,” he said. “Well, let’s try something else, shall we?” He reached out with both hands and laid them on Jas’s head. His hands began to glow with blue light, which seemed to seep into the winged woman’s body. Very gently Finder’s hands touched Jas’s forehead, her eyelids, her lips, her ears, and finally her shoulders. The blue light seemed to shine out of Jas’s flesh, then faded. Finder stepped back with a smile.

  Jas sighed. “That didn’t do it either,” she said. “It’s still inside me.”

  Finder stroked his beard thoughtfully. Then he said, “It’s possible, since Iyachtu Xvim had a hand in your curse, that you will need help from a god more powerful than Iyachtu Xvim.”

  Jas sighed. “It’s never easy, is it?” she muttered.

  “We can pop on down to Brightwater,” Finder suggested, “and have Tymora take a look at you.”

  Jas glared up at Finder.

  “Or not,” Finder said.

  “I need to think,” the winged woman said. She stood up and strode over to the door. As she hurried up the stairs to the top of the tower, she called out over her shoulder, “I’ll be back later.”

  “Should I follow her?” Emilo asked in a whisper.

  “Can you fly?” Finder asked.

  Emilo looked momentarily confused by the question. Then he understood. “You mean she’s going to fly off to do her thinking?”

  “That’s what she usually does,” Joel said. “Is there some reason she doesn’t want to see Tymora?” he asked.

  “She and Lady Luck have a history,” Finder said. “It would be better if she told you about it herself.”

  “Why?” Joel asked. “Don’t you know it?”

  “Better for her,” the god explained. “It will help her decide what to do in the end. In the meantime, why don’t you get some sleep? You kept watch last night while Jas and Emilo slept; you must be dead on your feet. I’ll entertain Emilo. We’ll call you when Jas gets back.”

  The moment Finder mentioned it, Joel became aware of his exhaustion. “There’s a bed calling my name somewhere in this manor. I can hear it,” he joked.

  Finder led him to a room furnished with a four-poster bed and heavy curtains covering the windows. Then the god and the kender left him to rest.

  Joel stripped off his boots and clothing and slid between the satin quilt and the featherbed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comfortable. Sleep did not come immediately, though. He spent a long while wondering about what kind of history Jas had with the goddess of good luck. Whatever happened, in the past or the future, the bard was determined to help the winged woman overcome the curse of Iyachtu Xvim.

  Operas, like the gods they so often portray, are a mystery to me. They are a mystery wrapped in an enigma swallowed by contradiction and covered by a silken shroud of dark chocolate and best served with hot milk before a nap.

  —Giogi Wyvernspur

  Intermezzo

  Holly Harrowslough watched anxiously as the petitioners and proxies of Lathander Morninglord bustled about the temple.

  She couldn’t believe she’d been brought here, but she hadn’t dared argue with the messenger. Lathander had sent a deva, a creature of pure goodness made corporeal, to summon her. The deva had resembled a young man with milky white skin and silver hair and, of course, wings of shining white feathers. As he had approached her in the streets of Sigil, several persons had scurried off in fear, while others had stood staring in openmouthed awe.

  The deva could have taken the last piece of the Hand of Bane back to Lathander, but the celestial creature had insisted that Holly was to bring it in person. Since then, the paladin had spent hours in fruitless speculation of what purpose her coming here might serve. Now that she had arrived and was possibly only moments from learning the answer, the suspense made her nervous. The honor was more than she’d ever imagined she’d be paid in her lifetime, and she was only sixteen. Morning Glory, Lathander’s realm, was a land of perpetual dawn, and Holly found its rosy hues b
reathtakingly lovely. Yet the realm’s beauty did not bring her a perfect peace. She was afraid that the thing she hoped for most would not come to pass.

  The paladin’s first vision from Lathander had awakened in her a desire to devote herself more fully to her god. Her arrival in Sigil and subsequent visits to other planes had opened her eyes to how much wider her world could be. Ever since Bors Sunseed had told her there were beings called proxies, mortals who understood their gods’ purposes and desires and worked directly to achieve them, Holly knew that was what she wanted to be. Such a decision was not hers to make, however. Lathander alone could decide her worthiness. Yet Holly wasn’t even sure if she’d been summoned to meet the Morninglord.

  A freckled redheaded woman surrounded by a radiant aura came out of a room in the back of the temple. She wore the red-hued robes of Lathander’s clergy. As she approached she smiled at the young paladin.

  “Bright dawning, Holly Harrowslough. Welcome to Morning Glory,” the priestess greeted her.

  “Bright dawning, Dawnbringer,” Holly replied. For some reason the paladin felt completely at ease in the priestess’s presence. Holly’s nervousness subsided. She found herself grinning uncontrollably.

  “I am Aurora Brightday,” the priestess introduced herself. “I’ve been asked to speak with you before the Morninglord is ready to see you. He’s busy with a task of some importance at the moment. Let’s walk, shall we?” the priestess suggested, leading Holly from the temple back outside into the dawn light. “How was your journey here?” she asked as they strolled through an orchard of peach trees.