She thought this over. “You are right,” she said at last, thoughtful. “Perhaps that is why I am able to wield such power over mortals.”

“Is that what you want? To wield power over them?”

“Of course! Isn’t it what all we all want?” Mina frowned. “I saw the gods at work that day in Solace. I saw the blood spilled and the bodies stacked up in front of the altars. If mortals will fight and die for their faith, why should they not go to their deaths singing my name as well as another?”

She slipped her shoe back on her foot and stood up and started walking. She seemed bound to try to convince herself that she felt nothing and tried to walk normally, but she could not stand it. Wincing in pain, she came to a halt.

“You were a god,” she said. “Do you remember anything of what you were? Do you remember the moment before creation? Does your mind yet encompass the vastness of eternity? Do you see to the limits of heaven?”

“No,” Valthonis answered. “My mind is that of a mortal. I see the horizon and sometimes not that, if the clouds obscure it. I am glad for this. I think it would be too terrible to bear otherwise.”

“It is,” said Mina softly.

She yanked off both her shoes and threw them off the side of the cliff. She started walking barefoot, stepping gingerly on the path, and almost immediately cut her foot on a sharp pebble. She gasped and came up short. She clenched her fists in frustration.

“I am a god!” she cried. “I have no feet!”

She stared at her bare toes, as if willing them to disappear.

Her toes remained, wriggling and digging into the dust.

Mina moaned and sank down, crouched down, huddled into herself.

“How can I be a god if I will always be a mortal? How can I walk among the stars when I have blisters on my feet? I don’t know how to be a god, Father! I know only how to be human…”

Valthonis put his arms around her and lifted her up. “You need walk no farther, daughter. We are here,” he said.

Mina stared at him, bewildered. “Where?”

“Home,” he replied.

In the center of a smooth-sided, bowl-shaped valley, nineteen pillars stood silent watch around a circular pool of shining black, fire-blasted obsidian. Sixteen pillars stood together. Three pillars stood apart. One of these was black jet, one red granite, the other white jade. Five of the remaining pillars were of white marble. Five were of black marble.

Six were made of marble of an indeterminate color.

Once twenty-one pillars had guarded the pool. Two of them had toppled to the ground. One, a black pillar, had shattered in the fall. Nothing remained of it but a heap of broken rubble. The other fallen pillar was still intact, its surface shining in the sunlight, swept free of dust by loving hands.

Mina and Valthonis stood outside the stone pillars, looking in. The sky was cloudless, achingly blue. The sun teetered precariously on the peaks of the Lords of Doom, still casting its radiant light, though any moment it would slide down the mountain and fall into night. The valley was filled with the twilight; shadows cast by the mountains, sunlight gleaming on the obsidian pool.

Mina gazed with rapt fascination on the black pool. She walked toward it, prepared to squeeze her way through the narrow gap between two pillars, when she realized Valthonis was no longer at her side. She turned to see him standing near the small crack in the rock wall through which they had entered.

“The pain will never end, will it?” she asked.

His answer was his silence.

Mina unwrapped the artifacts of Paladine and Takhisis and held them, one in each hand. She lay the scrip that had belonged to the monk at the foot of a pillar of white marble streaked with orange, then walked between the pillars and stepped onto the pool of shining black obsidian. Lifting her amber eyes, she stared into the heavens and saw the constellations of the gods shining in the sky.

The gods of light, represented by Branchala’s harp, Habbakuk’s phoenix, the bison’s head of Kiri-Jolith, Majere’s rose, the infinity symbol of Mishakal. Opposing them were the gods of darkness, Chemosh with his goat’s skull, Hiddukel’s broken scales, Morgion’s black hood, Sargonnas’ condor, Zeboim’s dragon turtle. Separating darkness and light, yet keeping them together was Gilean’s Book, the creation-forging hammer of Reorx, the steadfast burning planets of Shinare, Chislev, Zivilyn, Sirrion. Nearer to mortals than the stars were the three moons: the black moon of Nuitari, the red moon of Lunitari, the silver moon of Solinari.

Mina saw them.

And they saw her, all of them.

They watched and waited for her to decide.

Standing in the center of the pool, Mina raised up the artifacts, one in each hand.

“I am equal parts of darkness and of light,” she cried to the heavens. “Neither holds sway over me. I may side sometimes with one and sometimes with the other. And thus the balance is restored.”

Mina held up the Necklace of Sedition of Takhisis; the necklace that could persuade good people to give way to their worst passions, and then she cast it onto the obsidian pool. The necklace struck the dark surface and melted into it and vanished. Mina held the crystal pyramid of Paladine in her hand a moment longer, the crystal that could bring light to a benighted heart. Then she cast it down as well. The crystal sparkled like another star in an obsidian night, but only briefly. The light went out, the crystal shattered.

Turning her back, Mina walked out of the obsidian pool. She walked away from the circle of stone guardians. She walked across the floor of the empty, barren valley, walked barefoot, her cut and blistered feet leaving tracks of blood.

She walked until she came to a place in the valley known as Godshome where the shadows vied with the sun and here she stopped. Her back to the gods, she looked down at her feet, and she wept and left the world.

In the valley known as Godshome, a pillar of amber stood alone and apart in a still pool of night-blue water.

No stars were reflected in the water. No moons or sun. No planet. No valley. No mountains.

Valthonis, looking into the pool, saw his own face there. Saw the faces of all the living.

Rhys Mason sat beneath an ancient oak tree near the top of a green, grass-covered hill. He could see in the distance the smoke rising from the chimneys of his monastery, the home to which he had returned after his long, long journey. Some of the brothers were in the field, turning over the ground, awakening the earth after its winter slumber, making it ready for planting. Other of the brethren were busy around the monastery, sweeping and cleaning, repairing the stonework that had been gnawed and worried by the bitter winter winds.

The sheep were scattered about the hillside, grazing contently, glad to be eating the tender green grass after the stale hay on which they’d subsisted during the cold months. Spring meant shearing time and lambing and then Rhys would be busy. But, for the moment, all was peaceful.

Atta lay by his side. She had a scar on her flank where her fur would not grow, but otherwise she had recovered from her injuries, as Rhys had recovered from his. Atta’s gaze was now divided between the sheep (always a worry) and her new litter of pups. Only a few months old, the pups were already showing a strong interest in herding, and Rhys had started training them. He and the pups had worked all morning, and the exhausted pups were now sleeping in a furry black and white heap, pink noses twitching, Rhys had marked one already-the boldest and most adventuresome-to give to Mistress Jenna.

Rhys sat at his ease, his emmide resting in the crook of his arms. He was wrapped in a thick cloak, for though the sun shone, the wind still nipped with winter’s teeth. His mind floated free among the high, feathery clouds, touching lightly on many things and passing on to others; in all things honoring Majere.