corridor toward the light. Soon it grew bright enough that
they could see all about them. Looking for the source of the
illumination, Goldmoon saw movement on the smooth cut
rock. Looking closer, she realized that the light came from
brightly glowing red spots on the insects’ backs.
“I think they’re fire beetles,” Riverwind said.
“Those are only in children’s stories.”
“I think we are in a children’s story,” Riverwind said,
able to chuckle a little in relief. “Let me have your crystal
globe. These little light legends may not live in other
passages, so we will need to take them with us.”
Goldmoon unfastened the crystal globe from her belt
and surrendered it. The other two globes still lay on the
grass outside. Riverwind gently scraped several of the
beetles into the sphere.
“Here’s the lid,” she offered.
“I’m afraid they might suffocate.”
“Air will get in. There are tiny holes in the lid,” the
priestess explained. “I’ve often wondered why. Do you
suppose these globes were originally made for this
purpose?” she asked.
“This one functions well as a lamp. That is all that is
important.” Riverwind held the globe up by its straps, and
they made their way safely into the crypts of the Que-shu
royalty.
The crypt cavern was so huge that their little light did
not illuminate the ceiling or the walls beyond. At the edge
of the darkness they could make out the shape of the tombs.
The very first they came to bore the inscription, “Tearsong –
beloved of Arrowthorn.” Goldmoon slid her hand along the
words and then snatched it back. The rock was cold. “Cold
as death,” she thought, shuddering slightly. She moved
hurriedly past the memorial to her mother.
The floor sloped down as they passed the remains of
three centuries of the princess’s ancestors. At the bottom of
the slope, Goldmoon could make out a stone altar, carved
with the forever sign of her amulet. Realizing that she
shouldn’t be able to see the carving in the darkness, she
became aware that the light around the altar was blue, not
red, and that it came from the altar.
The priestess knew that the moment she had awaited
had come. She knelt in front of the altar and sang:
“THE RED SUN HAS RISEN.
THE BLUE DOORS HAVE OPENED.
I KNEEL HERE BEFORE YOU,
TO SING YOU MY SONG.
YOU WHO HAVE LEFT US,
WE ASK FOR YOUR BLESSING.”
Goldmoon waited patiently in prayerful silence for
several minutes, but nothing happened, no one answered.
Fear crept into her. Was there some part of this ceremony
that her father had not known about, something that
Tearsong had carried with her to the grave?
Then a voice spoke, “My beloved child! What
joy it is to see you!”
“Mother!” Goldmoon cried out. Her throat constricted
in emotion as all the years of loneliness and longing for
Tearsong, of quickly suppressed doubt that she would ever
actually speak to her again, overwhelmed the young
priestess.
Tearsong’s laughter rang through the hall like tinkling
glass and filled Goldmoon with a pleasure that was also
painful. The air shimmered with light as Tearsong’s form
coalesced in the air behind Goldmoon. Tears of grief and
joy welled in the princess’s eyes. A harvest of loving
memories, which had long lain dormant in sorrow, filled
her. Her mother’s sculpted features and jet-black hair were
even more lovely than she remembered.
“Mother. This is Riverwind,” Goldmoon started to say,
turning around to summon the warrior forward, but all was
darkness behind her.
“I cannot appear to Riverwind.”
“But you must! You see, he does not believe that – ”
” – that I am a goddess.” Tearsong nodded. “He is right.
I am a spirit only, and I have only a little time to speak with
you – so listen carefully. You are a woman now, Goldmoon,
and you must hear the truth and accept it. The gods of the
Que-shu, the gods I served all my life, are false. It makes no
difference whether or not Loreman has written your name in
the tribe’s Book of the Gods. Men cannot make gods of each
other.”
“But I am Chieftain’s Daughter!” Goldmoon protested