Subject: [AcolytesOfRaistlin] (Fic) I am Raistlin Majere
Title: I am Raistlin Majere
Author: Heiwako Isha
Rating: G
Disclaimer:Raistlin Majere, etc, are property of TSR, Margaret Weis, and Tracy Hickman. I make no money off this story and intend no infringement.
Note: This take place after Dragon of Summer Flame. Since I have not read Dragons of a Fallen Sun yet, it has not happened. For those who have read my fics before, this has a distinctly different tone, so be prepared.
I am Raistlin Majere, Master of Past And Present.
Well, I used to be. Five years ago, during the Chaos Wars, the gods were driven from Krynn. With them went the power of magic. They invited me to go with them,but I declined.
Now I live at the Inn of the Last Home, finally able to rest. I sit by the fire, its embers growing low. It is a summer night, similar to the ones of the Chaos Wars. It is hot and muggy out and there are few customers.
I am lost in my thoughts when a shadow falls upon me. I look up and see that it is Tika, the once barmaid warrior who married my idiot brother.
Her green eyes are sad as they look at me. “Caramon,” she says in a low voice. “Time to come to bed.”
I ignore her. She knows better.
She sighs sadly. “I mean Raistlin.” I look at her, my mouth curling into sneer.
I stand at my leisure. She and I walk to the personal areas of the Inn. I stop by a door that is labeled, “Raistlin’s room”. Tika looks at me frustrated. “Caramon, please come to our room.”
“I am NOT Caramon!” I say.
Tika flinches back. She always has feared me. Tika places her hands on my broad shoulders with tears in her eyes. “You ARE Caramon, my dear husband! Raistlin is gone! Please, Caramon, I miss you.”
I step away from her, disgust plain on my face. Without a word, I enter my room, her sobs following me.
I stop in front of a mirror to take off my cloak. Looking in it, I see my reflection. In it I see a middle aged man with long white hair following to his shoulders. His blue eyes look back at me, and although the skin is pale, it is not golden. Faint scars run across my skin. I gently trace my finger across one.
For a brief second, I consider her words. A voice, a raspy whisper, says, “You know she is right, my brother.”
I shake my head. I am tired. I climb into my bed hoping that for tonight no dreams haunt me.
******
I am driving a cart being pulled by a dull brown horse. Next to me sits a skinny young man wearing white robes made apparently of an old bedsheet, festooned with black and red moons. He looks at me, his blue eyes judging me and finding me lacking.
“You are a fool, my brother,” he says in a quiet, but strong voice.
“What are you talking about?” I asked angrily. “How can you call me brother?”
He sighs as if he has had to answer this question many times. “Because you are Caramon and I am Raistlin.”
I snort, “I am Raistlin Majere, Master of Past and Present.”
My attention is taken away from him for a second when the horse hits a rock in the road. Gathering control of the wagon, I look back and find that I am in a tavern. I am sitting at a table near the fire. There is another man sitting with me.
At first, all I can see is that he is a red-robed mage for his hood covers his face. Then he throughs it back and I see a twenty-five year old man with golden eyes with hourglass pupils. Sitting next to him is a wooden staff with a dragon’s claw holding a crystal.
“Why do you continue this folly, Caramon?” he rasps,his voice harsh. He coughs violently for a minute. After his fit, he drags a white cloth across his mouth and I can see blood on it. “You never did understand me, how can you be me?”
“I am not Caramon,” I say, my anger mounting. “I am Raistlin Majere.” Why don’t people ever believe me? Then I realize that some how this is the same young man I met on the cart. I am puzzled. I open my mouth to ask, but the words die on my lips.
“Ah, perchance I will be able to get past your thick skull yet,” he murmurs pleased.
His hands flash in the light of the fire and suddenly a silver coin appears in his hands. It dances across his thin, long fingers, catching the light as if to blind me. It disappears and reappears in his other hand.
Little children have gathered at our table “oohing” and “ahing”. I sit back watching the show. Finally, he pulls the coin out of one of the children’s ear. Before shooing them away, he gives the smallest the coin.
He looks at me expectantly, not saying a word. I take my short, thick fingers and without thought make them form shadow animals on the wall. They dance as gracefully there as the coin did in his hand. The children cheer as I displace a story of a heroic bunny and cunning fox fighting against the odds.
The red mage smiles.
Suddenly one of the children screams in terror and they all run away. I look up, surprised, to find that once again I am some where else. Although I can see the sun high in the sky, it is cold here. I look behind me and see a black robed mage standing next to me. Nearby is a tower. The cold is some how radiating from that place.
His hood is down already and I see that his is a middle age man, my age if I were to guess. Instantly, I notice that it is the red robed mage from before.
“Where are we?” I ask.
He laughs, but it is a laughter devoid of joy. It seems fitting here in this dead place. “Do you not recognize your ‘home’?” he replies.
He walks to the tower, full of confidence. I follow, but it feels as if a cold hand has grasped my heart. Much like in the story I showed the children, I feel like a rabbit caught in a trap and a fox is nearby to devour me. Will the fox help me or hinder?
Ghostly hands rise from the ground tearing at my armor, leaving his robes alone. I fall to my knees, gasping for air.
The mage kneels beside me, and I see true sorrow in his face. “I am sorry,” he whispers. “Once you lost me at the Tower of High Sorcery when I took my test.”
Images of me watching myself being burned by flames flash in my mind.
“Then you lost me when I became Master of the Shoikan Grove.”
A cold wind blows up and I am flooding with the memory of being here with Tasslehoff.
“You lost me once more at the Abyss.”
He grasps my arm and pulls me up. I find that we are standing before the vallenwood tree that houses the Inn of the Last Home.
“I suppose your mind broke when I left Krynn with the gods,” he says as he begins walking down the road that leads to Haven. On the horizon of the dawning day, I can make out the figure of an old man with mouse brown robes waving in this direction.
“You had hoped that I would stay with you and Tika, but my place in this world is in legends, my brother. The gods have granted me this chance to tell you in your dreams. I reached you once before this way. It brought you peace. Listen to me this time, too.”
I can feel tears running down my face unchecked as the two mages greet on the road. I close my eyes. When I open them again, I find myself laying in my bed.
*****
The morning sun beams down on my face. I run my hand over it and bring away tears. I frown to myself. That stupid dream again. Why must it plague me?
I stand and dress for the day. As I leave the room I grab the Staff of Magius. Its heavy weight feels comforting in my huge hand.
I sit in my customary spot by the window to think my thoughts. Already customers are filling in for the day. Not a few look in my direction. Tika brings me a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast. I take a few bites of toast before pushing the food away from me.
I close my eyes and remind myself of who I am.
I am Raistlin Majere, Master of Past and Present.
The End