Dragonlance Tales II, Vol. 2 – The Cataclysm

later, when Mom was down at the stream washing and Dad

was chopping wood. I went to see Lutha.

“I didn’t knock at the door, because her parents were

probably just as mad at her as mine were at me. Instead, I

went around back and looked in the bedroom window.

Lutha was in there and she was shivering real bad. And her

face was real red. That was the first time I saw the sickness

on somebody. Lutha was the first. . . .”

Gylar tossed a twig into the fire. “I didn’t see Lutha

again.” He wiped his nose. “The day after that, it was the

talk of the village. Lutha had died of a strange sickness.

Then her parents died. No one knew how to stop the

sickness. Everybody went into their houses and didn’t come

out, but it didn’t matter. I’m not sure who died after that,

because Dad closed us up in our house, too. When Rahf

died, my little brother, Mom said it didn’t matter anymore

that we stayed in the house.”

Gylar sighed again. “It was awful. Hardly anyone was

alive in the village when we came out. We went from door

to door, looking for people. Everyone was in their beds,

shaking with the fever or already dead. I wanted to leave.

Since we hadn’t caught it yet, I told Mom we should run

away from it. She shook her head and didn’t answer me.

We helped those who had it. We took care of them, but it

didn’t matter, just like staying in the house didn’t matter

anymore. They were going to die, but Mom said we could

help them. I know now she didn’t mean help them live, but

help them to die better. I guess . . .

“Then Dad died.” Gylar’s voice was subdued. He shook

his head; his cheeks were wet. “He went just like everyone

else, shivering but so hot. I didn’t want. . .”

His eyes focused again on Marakion. “He was one of the

last ones to go, then it was my mother. When she died, I felt

so alone, so alone and numb. I could touch something, like

the blanket, or – or her hand, and I wouldn’t really feel it. I

had to go. I had to get out.”

Gylar looked intently at Marakion. “Why did the gods

do it, sir? I just don’t understand. Why did they have to kill

so many people? It doesn’t make sense. We didn’t do

anything! We just lived. We worshiped Paladine. But Krynn

was still cracked, and then the new marsh rose and Lutha

caught the sickness and now everyone . . . everyone I ever

knew is dead.” He bowed his head.

Then his mouth set defiantly and his brows came

together in anger. “And so I’m going to ask them. I want

them to answer just one question. Why? Why did they do it

to everyone? What did we do wrong?”

Marakion smiled. “Supposing the gods even respond,

they might drop another mountain on you.”

“I don’t care,” Gylar said petulantly, gathering his

blanket around him and resting his head on his pack. “I

don’t care if they do. If they do, they don’t care about us and

it won’t matter. But. . . but I will ask.” He yawned. “I will

ask HIM . . . Paladine.”

Gylar fell asleep. Marakion gazed at the young face.

The flame’s light played off the round, boyish features that

would not fade for several years yet. Marakion sighed aloud

this time. Watching the boy tell his story, the knight had

realized Gylar was indeed no marauder’s lackey. He actually

was what he claimed: a simple country boy in search of

divine answers.

Gylar’s story made Marakion think of all the things he’d

lost because of the Cataclysm. If the gods had not dropped

the fiery mountain, his home would not have been attacked.

“You’re right, Gylar,” he said to the sleeping boy.

“Paladine should be confronted, asked . . .” Marakion’s iron

doors creaked open. “So much like Tagor,” he said to

himself. “A victim, like Tagor. I wonder what will happen

to you?”

Flames and smoke danced in the fire inside his head.

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