The cataclysm

Part II

Nikol's melancholia vanished, borne away by the Knight of the Rose. She began to believe, once again, in a future, to find hope in it, and threw herself into preparing for it with her usual energy. It was a future of promise she believed in, a future unscarred by the terrible calamity foreordained by the gods.

Michael, whose fears were growing, not receding, sought to gently temper this newfound hope.

"I have had dark dreams of late, Nikol. I see the Kingpriest confronting the gods. He does not approach them in humility, remembering that he is man and mortal. He makes demands of them. He has come to think of himself as equal to the gods. I feel their wrath. This strange wind…"

Nikol interrupted him, placed her hand upon his with a patronizing air, "Brother, be at peace. A Knight of Solamnia rides to Istar to stop this. HE goes with Paladine's blessing."

He knew she did not mean to hurt him by adding that unconscious emphasis on the word. Perhaps she wasn't even equating the two of them — the knight who rode with Paladine's blessing, the cleric who had given up the favor of his goddess by choosing to stay in this world — but the pain burned. He said nothing, however.

She might think he was jealous of the knight, but Michael wasn't, not really. Nikol was not in love with Lord Soth. She saw in him what she had been raised to see — the epitome of honor, godliness, nobility. The Oath and the Measure placed the knights above the faults and foibles of other, lesser men.

Michael left the castle for a few hours, until his hurt subsided. Catching fish, wading up to his shins in the stream, helped him rationalize, understand. Her faith was touching, childlike. Who was he to destroy it?

"Perhaps, if more had believed as she does, we would not be facing this dreadful fate," he said to the strange wind and the cloudless, lead-colored sky.

The night before the Cataclysm, Michael woke from dreams of fire and blood to find himself prostrate upon the floor, shivering and sweating. The gods' anger crackled in the air, rumbled in the empty sky. A timid knock at his door roused him.

"Are you all right, Brother?" called Nikol.

Michael flung open the door, startled her. She stared at him, backed up a step. He knew he must look wild, disheveled — thin from lack of food, bleary-eyed from sleepless nights. He caught hold of her.

"We must go somewhere, somewhere safe."

"It's a storm, that's all," said Nikol, uneasy, nervous. "Michael, you're hurting me."

He did not loosen his hold. "It is coming. The Day of Wrath."

"Lord Soth — " she began.

"He couldn't stop it, Nikol!" Michael had to shout to be heard over the low rumble of thunder that shook the manor walls. "I don't know why or how or what happened, but he failed! Men do fail, you know! Even Knights of Solamnia. They're human, damn it, like the rest of us"

"I have faith in him!" Nikol cried angrily.

"He is a man. We must have faith in the gods." Saying this, reminding himself of it, Michael was calm. "This house, these walls are strong. Blessed, the knight said. Yes, here, inside these walls, we will be safe."

"No! It cannot be! He will stop it."

She broke free of his grasp, ran inside the small family chapel. Michael followed her, to try to reason with her. Looking around, he realized at once that this room — built in the castle's interior, without windows — was the safest place. Nikol was kneeling before the altar.

"Paladine! Be with Lord Soth! Accept his sacrifice, as you once accepted Huma's!"

The strange wind, hot and dry, blew harder and harder, shrieked about the castle walls with inhuman voices. Lightning slashed, split trees. Thunder shook the ground, like the footsteps of an angry giant.

All that morning the storm raged, growing more and more intense. The sun vanished. Day became darker than night. Violent winds blew, lifted huge trees from the ground, hurled them about like newly planted saplings. Those trees that held fast against the wind fell victim to the savage lightning. Michael, daring to leave the chapel, ventured back into his room, stared out the window.

Fires lit the darkness, trees consumed by flames. Grass fires scorched the land. Nikol, shivering, came to stand by his side. "The gods have forsaken us," she whispered.

"No," said Michael, taking her in his arms. "It is we who have forsaken them."

They returned to the chapel. The wind blew harder. The voices in it were horrible, conjuring up visions of dragons, screaming over their kill. It buffeted the castle walls, trying to beat them down. The earth began to shudder, as if the very ground was appalled at the horrors it was witnessing. The first quakes hit. The castle rocked and shivered. The two crouched before the altar, unable to move, unable to speak or even pray. Beyond the chapel, they could hear crashes, shattering cracks.

Michael knew they were doomed. The walls must collapse, the ceiling cave in. He held fast to Nikol's hands and began to describe, in a feverish voice, the beautiful bridge of starlight he'd seen before, the wondrous worlds where they soon would find peace and freedom from this terror.

Then it was over.

The tremors ceased. The storm abated, clouds blown away as if by a mournful sigh. All was quiet. They were not dead.

"We're safe, beloved!" Michael cried, not thinking of what he was saying. He clasped Nikol in his arms.

She was stiff, rigid in his grasp. Then, suddenly, she threw her arms around him, held him fast. They sank to the floor, before the altar of Paladine. Huddled in each other's grasp, they were grateful for the comfort of being together.

"'The land will be sundered, seas will rise, and mountains topple. Countless numbers will die. Countless more, who will live in the dark and terrible days to follow, will come to wish they had died.' That's what he said, the black-robed wizard. Why? Why did this happen, Michael?" Nikol cried brokenly. "Certainly, some deserved the gods' wrath — that horrible, fat cleric who came here before Nicholas died — but this terror has surely destroyed the innocent as well as the guilty. How can the gods, if they are good, do this?"

"I don't know," Michael said helplessly. "I wish I had the answer, but I don't."

"At least I'm not alone," Nikol continued softly. "You're here. I'm glad you're here, Michael. It's selfish of me, I know, but if you had left with the goddess, I think I would be dead by now."

He didn't answer. He couldn't. The words wouldn't come past the ache of love and longing.

"Hold me closer," she said, burrowing into his arms. He did as she commanded, pressed her head against his breast, bent, and kissed the shining hair. To his amazement, Nikol returned his kiss. Her lips met his hungrily.

"Nikol," he said, when he could breathe, "I'cve no right to ask this. You're the daughter of a knight. Your family is noble. My father was a shopkeeper in Xak Tsaroth, my mother a nomad, who roamed the plains. I have nothing to give…"

"I will marry you, Michael," she said.

"Nikol, think about what I said — "

"Michael," she whispered, laying her hand upon his lips. "You think about it. Does any of that matter now?"

Perhaps Paladine heard their vows of marriage, spoken silently in their hearts. Perhaps the god turned aside his wrath one moment to bless their union, for the manor walls continued to stand strong and sheltering above them.

When the morning came, a heavy sadness, mingled with their joy, oppressed them both. Nikol stood before the altar of Paladine, which now had a crack in it, traced the crack with her finger. "We will find out why, won't we, Michael," she said firmly. "We will find out why this happened. We will search until we discover the answer. Then you and I will make it right."

In a world of the faithless, you are the

Only one who is faithful. and, because of

That, you will be reviled, ridiculed,

Persecuted. But I see one who loves you,

Who will risk all to defend you.

The words of the black-robed wizard, Raistlin.

"Yes," Michael answered, as he would have answered yes to anything she asked of him at that moment. "We will search for the answer."