Revelation

". . . Istar, kingdom of light and truth, arose in the east,
where minarets of white and gold
spired to the sun and to the sun's glory,
. . . in the white skies of the just.
Yet in . . . sunlight the Kingpriest of Istar saw shadows:
At night he saw the trees as things with daggers, the streams
blackened and thickened under the silent moon."

-Michael Williams, "Canticle of the Dragon,"
Dragonlance Chronicles

It was early evening, and Xarian, Revered Son of Paladine, walked the great halls of the Temple of Paladine, God of Good. The middle-aged, wise cleric was in a state of great contentment. He had just come from the chambers of the Kingpriest of Istar, the most revered and holy cleric on the face of Krynn. Being in the presence of a man so holy always served to remind Xarian of just how humble he was. There had been nothing of importance at the meeting, but Xarian was filled with a certain pride when he remembered how the Kingpriest's musical voice had praised him for his services and actions of good. As always, Xarian could never quite remember the face of the Kingpriest after leaving the chambers, recalling a radiant light surrounding the throne, and a circle in the center of the heartwarming light where the faceless face of infinite wisdom smiled upon all that was good.
The clean-shaven, raven-haired priest arrived at his office. He held a respectable position in the order, usually doing clerical work and occasionally dealing with delinquent citizens brought before the clergy. The higher-ranking clerics saw to the daily affairs of the city - after all, the ignorant populace was too prone to evil acts and allowing evil races to enter Istar to be able to govern themselves. Xarian snorted. He had only pity for those who were not human, such as ogres and goblins, who were unbelievingly ignorant and ugly, prone to acts of murder, and thus not fit to live upon Krynn. As for elves, who considered human lives frantic in comparison to their own elven lifespans which lasted for more than a thousand years; and were unable to recognize the accomplishments of humans, they were disgusted by the word of Paladine and had withdrawn into their own lands in far-off Silvanesti. Xarian viewed them as uncooperative and arrogant.
He settled into his work. The first document he picked up was an application for a marriage license. Reading the description submitted by the couple, he recognized the young woman as the daughter of a prominent Istarian businessman. The man, however, had listed his occupation as "cleric of Gilean."
Gilean was a neutral god, and thus viewed negatively by the clerics as being indecisive. Neutrality did not favor good or evil, and Xarian did not understand how any person could not be filled with the desire to rid the world of evil. Although the man's credentials were impeccable, Xarian bit his lip and shook his head at the thought of this apathetic cleric tarnishing the name of the girl's family. He dipped his pen in the ink bottle and began writing a diplomatic denial of the license.
Suddenly, Xarian was interrupted by two younger clerics who burst into his office. One began speaking before the elder could even look up. "Brother Xarian, I know you do not like to be interrupted, but you are the only authority we could find."
The other added, "You must come quickly. A wounded traveller has been delivered to the Temple!"
Istar was a relatively peaceful city, due to the watchful eyes of the clerics, and the news of an injured person in the city - citizen or not - certainly indicated an act of evil. Xarian stood up and strode into the hallway, the young acolytes following. "Is there anything I can do, Revered Son?" the first asked hopefully. Xarian thought and replied hurriedly, "Locate Brother Clarence and inform him of this." To the second he said, "Show me this traveller."
They arrived at the steps of the front entrance, lit by the orange twilight, to find a young girl holding a body shrouded in red robes. Xarian raised an eyebrow. Red robes indicated magic-users, which were not allowed in the city. He asked the girl, "Are you related to this person?"
"No," she said through tears. "He saved me from goblins in the forest with his magic! But he is hurt, so weak. ."
Xarian picked up the unconscious man, and said to the girl, "He is in Paladine's hands now, child. Go, and leave him here. And next time I would not be so foolish as to wander into the forest where I might encounter goblins. May Paladine be with you," he added, turning to hurry up the stairs.
Xarian laid the man upon a bed in an empty chamber. He ordered the young cleric to fetch water and towels. Kneeling beside the bed, he examined the wounds. The robes were slashed in several places, and were stained with blood. The wounds looked serious, and the priest began to utter a clerical prayer of healing, gently folding back the man's hood.
The prayer frozen on his lips, the cleric gasped.
The red-robed mage would have been enough of a threat. Mages were persecuted in Istar, their art considered unholy by the Kingpriest. And those who wore the Red Robes indicated neutrality. Apathy! A white-robed mage at least strived for the forces of good, while the evil Black Robes practiced dark arts for their selfish, hideous purposes. But the Red Robes. . .they cared little about anything! Xarian felt a compelling pity that was nearly intolerance for those who were able to, but did not, dedicate their life to serving good.
And not only was this Red Robe an unholy magic-user, he was a half-elf.
A half-breed, the priest thought sadly. Humans were the only pure race upon Krynn, and to see a fellow human tainted with elven blood was a pathetic sight. Must be a bastard child like all half-elves are, Xarian mused.
Just then, the two young acolytes and three elders hurried into the room. One of the acolytes said, "I have brought Brother Clarence as you asked."
A balding and slightly plump cleric nodded. The three elders gathered around the bed, and Clarence asked Xarian, "A magic-user. Who delivered him?"
"A young girl who said this magic-user - a half-elf - saved her from goblins with his art."
The plump cleric shook his head. "She needn't have high expectations for this half-elf's life. This mage," he said, wrinkling his nose with distaste, "should not have been wandering so close to Istar, where he knows his kind are not welcome. But he is in the hands of Paladine now. Brother Zaedok, stay here with our 'guest.' You others, come, we will go. Let him rest."
One of the elders nodded, and sat down in a chair opposite the bed. The others left the room, murmuring oaths to their god. One of the younger clerics asked, "Aren't you going to perform a rite of healing on him? He is comatose, nearly dead!"
Xarian glanced sharply at the young man. "Come, my boy," he said sternly. "We only practice the art of healing on humans - those like ourselves. If Paladine wishes for this half-elf to live, then he shall live. We must not interfere with the ways of the gods."
The acolyte looked a bit dubious, but the sorrowful smiles of the elders comforted him as they left.
Xarian returned to his office. He was having a difficult time getting the picture of the dying half-elf's face out of his head. He began working on the denial of the marriage license again, but soon found his thoughts returning to the red-robed mage. Setting down his pen, the priest rested his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth to clear it.
A shadow fell across his desk, and Xarian looked up to see a black-robed figure standing in the doorway. Xarian recognized him as the only magic-user the Kingpriest allowed in Istar, all the other magic-users having been banned long ago. An edict of the revered Holy One had declared magic unholy, and any practicing the evil art were to be put to death. But the one in front of Xarian was the most powerful archmage on Krynn, called the Dark One by the clerics. He lived in the only dark corner of the Temple and was free to roam as he pleased. The Dark One was rarely seen, usually keeping to his private studies. Rumor had it that there was some secret agreement between the evil mage and the wise Kingpriest, although Xarian had no idea what that agreement might be.
"M-may I help you, my lord?" Xarian asked politely.
The Black Robe bowed. "I am Fistandantilus, the Dark One."
"I have heard of you -"
"I might think again before allowing the mage to die."
The voice was cold and grating, its deep pitch resonating in the priest's ears. The velvety black robes rustled in the quiet office. Xarian's mouth opened in surprise, and he was about to say something, when the voice added, "I am magi. Remember that."
Xarian nodded, realizing the archmage must have cast a spell of mind-reading on him. He knew the Dark One must sense his contempt for magic-users, and he did not try to hide his feelings, but in his heart, he was afraid of the mage. Folding his hands atop the desk, the priest stammered, "Why do you concern yourself with the affairs of the Temple?"
"Because one of my people might die."
"You wish to see a half-elf live?"
"I could care less if he were a goblin. But he practices the Art, as I do, and that gives me enough cause to inquire why you do not heal him, but prefer to let him die."
"It was not my decision -"
"Bah!" The Dark One swung his left arm in an arc, causing a small flash of light to come from his hand. Xarian recoiled at this unholy magic, afraid he would die. The Dark One strode around to the side of the cleric's desk, his robes swirling around him, the light dissolving into wisps of smoke. "That is what's wrong with you clerics, you lazy arrogant fools. Because you are not in authority, you assume that your elders' words are law. You are following your Kingpriest, not your god Paladine!"
Xarian shuddered at this blasphemy. "The Kingpriest gives the word of Paladine -"
"Fool! Your Kingpriest does not realize that there is a balance to be maintained in this world, one between the forces of good, evil, and neutrality. He is trying to rid the world of evil, and he does not realize that not only is such a task impossible, it will surely disrupt the balance! The Law of Gilean, God of Neutrality, states that both Good and Evil must exist in contrast. The consequences of the Kingpriest's folly will ultimately result in a cataclysmic disaster that will shatter the world, and none of you are wise enough to see it!"
"But it will be for the benefit of the world that evil is abolished."
The Dark One shook his head and motioned to the window behind Xarian's desk. "Stand, priest. You see the silver moon, Solinari, representative of Paladine and all that is good. You see the red moon, Lunitari, representative of Gilean and all that is neutral. All on Krynn see those moons. But there is also the black moon, Nuitari, representative of the Dark Queen Takhisis and all that is evil, only visible to those like myself, those who walk in the light of the silent moon."
The cleric shuddered as he heard the name of the Goddess of Evil. He stared at the red and silver spheres, wondering where the horrid black orb burned a hole in the night sky. He glanced at Fistandantilus, who was staring intently out the window. The hooded mage continued.
"You cannot see the black moon, and so you try to deny its existence. Nevertheless, it is there. Now you and your Kingpriest do not want to see that which is evil, but you are able to see it, so you try to destroy it."
Xarian wanted to ask, "What is the point of your rhetoric?", but he dared not. As if reading his thoughts, the Dark One turned to face him. "You wonder what this has to do with the Red Robe that lies dying in your Temple. I tell you to heal the man. Maintain the Balance, Revered Son of Paladine. Do not fall victim to the false leadership of your Kingpriest. I am quite assured that Elthanaros will be immensely grateful if you save his life."
"You know the mage's name?"
The Dark One did not answer the question. "What gives you the right to say who can live and who cannot, anyway? Because he is half man and half elf, does that mean only half of him is allowed life?" He paused, regarding the cleric intently. "If you hurry, you can save his life. But it is entirely up to you."
The mage's right arm swept across his chest, and Xarian heard the spidery, arcane language of magic. He started to protest, but his words fell only on the stone walls of the office.
Fistandantilus was gone.
Xarian paced around, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. Balance, dark moon, save the mage, Elthanaros the half-elf. . .
The Black Robe was right. What right did he or anybody else have to end someone's life, just because they were different? And true, all the laws and edicts of Istar supposedly came from the Kingpriest, but the priest knew that many of the high elders often took matters of the Temple as well as the city into their own hands, giving the excuse of not wanting to disturb the Kingpriest. The mage's words echoed in Xarian's mind.
If you hurry, you can save his life. But it is entirely up to you.
Xarian rushed from his office, murmuring those words over and over again. He was not sure of what or who he believed in now, but he knew that the Dark One was right, that life is a right that should not be stripped from anybody, good or evil, man or goblin.
When he got to the mage's chamber, there were several clerics standing there, both young and old; and Xarian feared the half-elf had died. He pushed past the surprised priests and into the room, where Brother Clarence and two other elders were in the process of administering what Xarian recognized immediately as last rites.
"No! Stop!" he cried, kneeling beside the bed. The mage was deathly pale. Xarian bowed his head and began a rite of healing. Surprised gasps came from the priests, and the elders seized Xarian by the arms and dragged him away from the bed. Brother Clarence, infuriated, turned to Xarian and sputtered, "What in the name of the gods are you doing, Xarian? You are interfering with the gods' way! Leave us be! You found the mage, leave his care to us! We cannot choose if he lives or dies."
"He would live if we healed him!"
"Have you forgotten, Revered Son? We only practice healing on humans like ourselves, remember?"
Xarian's face turned white as he heard his own words. "You are denying him his right to life, something we can give him back! Isn't that the ultimate act of good?"
"The world will not miss one half-breed mage," Brother Clarence stated defiantly. Xarian's eyes welled up with tears of grief and frustration. "Please, Revered Son, help me save Elthanaros's life while we still can!"
"You even know his name," Clarence said, shaking his head in disbelief. "My brothers, it appears Brother Xarian indulges in the company of half-elven magic-users." He regarded the cleric with a look of contempt. "You could be executed for interfering with the ways of those superior to you. I suggest you give up your foolish notion of healing this man."
"So you would kill me, even though I am human and my actions, by your laws, must be good?"
Brother Clarence turned red. He said nothing, giving Xarian a poisonous look. To the two elders holding the cleric, he said, "He is no longer needed here. Let us continue with the rites."
Xarian tried as hard as he could to break free, but could not. As he was led down the hall away from the chamber, the other priests listened in confusion to the cleric's babble of a balance between good and evil, of a great folly, and of a silent moon, until the shouts grew too distant to understand.
The black-robed man strode down the corridor, the few passing priests hurriedly getting out of his way. He passed an empty office and paused, stepping back to peer into it. The desk was empty, the books and belongings put away on dusty shelves. The window behind the desk was cloaked. The Dark One stopped a passing acolyte and asked, "Who works here?"
The young man, taken aback, said, "Why, this was the office of Brother Xarian, but he's been. . .confined."
"Confined? Why?" The cold voice was calm, showing only the faintest signs of curiosity.
"Well, my lord, he couldn't be executed. . .he did a great deal of service for this church, after all."
"What happened to him?
"Didn't you know? He's. . .gone mad."
Historical Note: Seven years after the death of Elthanaros and the confinement of Xarian, the Kingpriest of Istar arrogantly demanded a place among the gods in order to rid the world of evil. This resulted in the Cataclysm, in which the angry gods hurled a fiery mountain onto Krynn that sunk Istar and plunged the world into darkness.



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