As Luck Would Have It -- Steve Lazarowitz

As Luck Would Have It by Steve Lazarowitz

My father was dying. I knew it before the healer made his summation. His once strapping body was frail and colorless, as if he were already well on his way to ghosthood. My mother sat by the bed, life suddenly defined by silent tears and unheard prayers. I felt helpless as I watched all that had been my life, slowly slip away to dust.

My family had lived in the village of Thindole for many generations and everyone knew us, which was not really all that surprising. There were no strangers in Thindole. My father was a smith, the kind that makes horseshoes not weapons, which worked out well, for there were no warriors in our village and several beasts of burden. The years of pounding iron gave my father his massive chest and arms, though now, watching him lay there, it was hard to remember how healthy he'd looked only days ago.

I stood silently to the side, wishing I could recall even one of the boring prayers the priests had tried to teach us, for it would take a miracle to save him. Not that I really believed in them.

At length, the healer drew back, his face a mask of professional gravity I assume he reserved for all such occasions. Slowly, as if in pain himself, he turned toward my mother. She looked at him blankly, as if she'd forgotten why he'd come. He paused for so long it seemed time itself slowed to listen to the announcement. When he spoke, his deep voice confirmed the worst of my fears. "I am sorry."

"What's wrong with him?" I asked.

My mother looked at me sharply as if, by speaking to the man, I had broken some holy law, but the healer turned and replied. "He has a rare disease called therphytis. He may remain stable for weeks, but at some point will stop breathing. Long ago, there had been a remedy, an herb that grew in the high passes of the Wild Mountains, but it has been a hundred years since it was last seen. It is certainly extinct."

Perhaps it was his emotionless recitation of the facts or it could have been the nature of the tidings that released the rage that I usually kept locked in my heart. "How do you know? Have you checked every inch of every slope, old man?"

My mother tried to silence me, embarrassed by my outburst, but I was too angry to listen. "Would you say the same if it were your father, lying there like he were already a week dead? Have you no compassion?"

"That's enough," screamed my mother. Both the physician and I turned to look at her. She continued in a calmer voice, edged with pain. "Your father is dying, but it is not Eralt's fault. He is here to help. If you can't behave like an adult, go to your room."

I was torn between answering her in turn or swallowing my pride and backing down. For a second, I did not believe I could calm myself, but a glance at my father, now awake and watching, stopped me cold. I dropped my head, so that they could not see the look in my eyes. "Forgive me," I said, forcing myself to speak loud enough for them to hear. "I spoke out of turn."

They were the hardest words ever to pass through my lips, but the slight nod of approval from my father made the effort worthwhile. My mother apologized to the healer, but he would have none of it. "Now Emma, there's no need for that. I understand why Daniel is upset. He has every right to be. We all need to raise our voice against fate sometimes." He looked at me and smiled sadly. I have to admit he was very nice about the incident.

The two then left the room and spoke in whispers, my transgression apparently forgotten. My father, once again, had lapsed into sleep or unconsciousness, though which it was I could not tell. I thought about him then, the man who was my father. How easy it was for me to imagine him back at the forge, the sound of his hammer splitting air, as it crashed down onto the anvil. His face would be covered in a sheen of sweat that plastered his long brown hair to the back of his neck, brown eyes completely focused on the task at hand.

I thought about what the healer had said. Once, there had been a remedy. I closed my eyes and fantasized about traveling to the Wild Mountains to search for the herb. The nasty reputation of the place would not dissuade me, nor its the relative distance from Thindole. I would smash whatever obstacles stood in the way to save his life. If only I were strong like him or even wise like Eralt. Alas, I was neither. I looked at him again. He seemed so fragile. I found myself fighting back tears.

And then I knew it was no idle thought. I would go to the mountains and find the cure or die in the attempt. If I didn't, the remainder of my life would be spent wondering if I could have saved him. Slowly, I walked to the door, turning to get a final glimpse of my father. I wondered if I'd ever see him again.

The physician was already packing up, preparing to leave. He looked at me. "Feel like giving me a hand home? I have a lot to carry."

I looked at my mother and she assented with a single nod. Her eyes were red from crying, her long blonde hair, usually meticulously arranged, was now scattered wildly about her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed with red. I was not used to seeing her that way. "I'll be back soon."

I walked to the door, stopping only to pick up one of the healer's leather bags. It was heavier than it looked. He said his farewells and turned, leaving the house only a step behind me. For a time, we walked in silence. The cool evening breeze refreshed me, after the stale air of a sick room. The moon, partially hidden behind purple clouds, provided the bulk of the illumination. I suppose in cities they light candles or even oil lamps to drive back the night, but here in the country, we like our darkness.

We reached the healer's cottage a short time later. He opened the door and we entered. I had never been inside his house before and quite liked it. My own house was functionally and sparsely populated with good quality wooden furniture. I had grown up surrounded by the practical trappings of a blacksmith. Eralt's home was so cluttered that I'd have been hard put to find enough room for even the smallest addition.

I had never been exposed to such an eclectic collection of items. The skeletons of animals, all manner of books, tools that I'd never seen before and various oddities that did not seem to belong anywhere, let alone together in one place.

While he moved to the next room to put water on for tea, I browsed through his library. Many of the books were in languages I couldn't read. I was about to move on, when a large leather bound volume entitled Curative Herbs for Diseases Both Common and Otherwise, caught my attention. I pulled it from the shelf, carried it to the table and began to leaf through it.

I didn't hear him come up behind me, thus I was startled when he reached passed me to point to the picture of a seven pointed leaf. It was reddish brown, oblong and looked almost serrated. I had never seen one like it. I studied the picture carefully, though I could not make out the words under it. The healer spoke, his voice only barely audible above the crackling of the fire. "This is the plant that, if it still existed, could save your father."

I looked at him strangely. Of all the books I could have opened, it had to be this one. He smiled, placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and then walked away to prepare tea. I waited until he reached into the cabinet for cups, before I tore the page from the book, hoping that the clinking of china would cover the sound. Quickly, I folded the page and hid it in my trousers. I closed the book and placed it back on the shelf, while he set the tray down on the table.

For a time, consumed by thoughts of my impending journey, I was unable to concentrate on Eralt's words. He must have sensed it, for, after a bit he stopped talking. I sat with him in silence, slowly sipping the hot beverage. My mind kept returning to the days ahead. I must admit that the idea of being off on my own excited me.

On my way home that night, I tried to think of a way to tell my mother. I eventually decided on the coward's out. I would leave her a note and be gone before she arose the next morning.

When I arrived home, she was already asleep. I wanted to see her before I left, but that couldn't be helped. If I roused her now, she would become suspicious. I went to my room, threw a few possessions together and placed them carefully into the worn should pack I'd found many years earlier. I also fetched the small pouch of coins I had earned doing odd jobs around town. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

I didn't sleep well that night. I woke well before dawn, but decided to start out anyway. I paused only to write a short good-bye note. I read it over, as I waited for the ink to dry. Mom, I have to go away for a bit, I can't say where. Don't worry about me. I'll be back before you know it. Daniel.

Just before I left my room, my eyes fell upon a statue of a soldier that my father had given me a year earlier. He told me it was supposed to bring me luck. Though it was heavy, I packed it anyway. If there was one thing I would need on this trip, it would be luck. The thought placed into my head the seed of an idea.

I made my way south out of town. The weather held that day, though, as the morning progressed, it shed its chill altogether. By noon, I was sweating heavily. As I was still in a reasonably populous area, I expected no trouble, nor did I find any. I had only the vaguest notions of where the Wild Mountains were, but I knew they were east and that, if I continued on the main road, I would sooner or later reach the city Emin karn. I would certainly be able to get my bearings there.

By the third day, when I still hadn't reached Emin karn, I was beginning to have second thoughts. My pack was weighing me down and the food I'd brought from home was almost gone, even though I had supplemented it with berries and nuts I had found along the way. Gone were the illusions of glory, that had run through my head not a day earlier. If I didn't find the city soon, I would starve out here in the woods.

My fears, however, were for naught. By the middle of the afternoon, in the distance rose a hill, crowned by a city that looked more beautiful than it had in my dreams.

To me, Emin karn seemed like the largest city in the world. Though I spent some time gawking, I forced myself back to business. I had several things that needed to get done, but first and foremost was to find a temple of Abrasius, the god of luck. I would need more than a little fortune to find the object of my search and if I were able to convince a priest of Abrasius to come with me, so much the better.

As in most cities, the temples were located near the center. I suppose if it wasn't easy for people to come and pray, they simply wouldn't bother. The streets were wider here and the buildings more impressive, though I had been plenty impressed with what I'd seen thus far. .

The temple of Abrasius was a large, palatial building that might have once been the home of a lesser noble. Seven high steps lead to the entranceway. I climbed them slowly, wondering how wise I was to have come. When I reached the top, I walked across the landing to the large iron doors. There was no knocker, so I banged with my hand. When I received no answer, I tried several more times. Each attempt was met with silence. At last, looking around guiltily, I pulled at the door and slipped inside. It closed slowly behind me.

After the brightness of the afternoon, it seemed almost gloomy. As my eyes adjusted, I could see the obvious opulence of the entrance hall. I looked over the marble floors and high vaulted ceilings with awe. I had never been inside such a structure and felt completely out of place. My eyes were everywhere at once, though the task of taking it all in was beyond me. I wandered, cautiously at first, then more openly, when I realized that there was no one else present. I searched for a time, but I seemed to be the only living being in the building.

As I moved from room to room, apprehension grew with each step. Where were the priests of Abrasius? What would I do, if I couldn't find one? I was about to give up, when I heard a voice singing or at least attempting to do so. The sound was not pleasant. I followed it to the main entrance hall. In the middle of the chamber was a small, middle aged man, pushing a broom around. I crossed the open area, waiting for him to take notice of me. When he didn't, I cleared my throat. For a few moments, he continued to sing, as if the momentum of his voice was not to be deterred. At last, he stopped and turned to regard me through narrowing eyes. "Well?"

He was such an odd sight to find there, so different from what I'd expected, that I didn't quite know what to say. He continued to look at me, until I found my voice. "I was looking for a priest of Abrasius."

He shook his head. "Sorry. They're not here."

I looked at him. "What do you mean, they're not here. This is their temple, isn't it?"

He returned to sweeping and for a few moments said nothing. I was going to repeat the question when, without looking up, he replied. "You probably want one of them to travel with you, right?"

"That's right," I replied, curious as to how he had divined my purpose.

He continued without lifting his head. "Well, don't you get it. They're priests of the god of luck. They're lucky. Now how lucky would they be, if they were available to join you in whatever hazardous journey you've decided to undertake. The only way that you'd find them here was if they were unlucky. Fortunately for them, there is a convention in Joren, which they all attended. Won't be back for a week."

"A week," I exclaimed, the echoes of my shout bouncing off the walls. I continued in a lower voice. "I don't have a week."The man shrugged. "Ain't nothing I can do about it." His sweeping took him away from me and I was about to follow, when I heard a voice call out.

"What is all the noise about? How is one to sleep with all that yelling going on?" I turned in the direction of the newcomer. He was of middle height, with brown curly hair and a week of stubble on his chin. He wore a torn dressing gown and carried a bottle of spirits in his right hand. He made his way unsteadily toward me, stopping several times to get his balance. Finally, after almost falling twice, he stood before me. "Who the hell are you?"

I was quite taken aback. "My name is Daniel and I'm looking for a priest of Abrasius."

For a moment, he continued to look at me, through the fog of inebriation. Then he smiled, stuck out a hand and spoke. "Well, why didn't ya say so? A priest of Abrasius, at your service." And with those words, he pitched forward, collapsing in a heap at my feet.

Not certain of what to do, I looked back at the man with the broom. His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Well son, that there's your priest."

I looked at him long and hard, but apparently, he wasn't joking.

A short time later, after helping the priest to one of the benches, I stood off to the side wondering if it were a mistake to have come here. I examined the man lying before me. Of what possible use could he be? Even as I stared, he opened his eyes. For a moment, he looked puzzled, as if he didn't know where he was. I almost left then. To this day, I'm not even certain why I didn't. Perhaps it was just luck.

He sat up unsteadily and stared at me. "Why aren't you with the others?" I asked, not certain I wanted an answer.

The priest smiled. "Maybe I was supposed to meet you. I'm lucky like that, you know. I'm the luckiest man alive." I didn't want to believe him, not sitting there like that, but he said it with such conviction.

"I am embarking on a very dangerous quest and was hoping a priest of Abrasius would join me, to give the blessing of luck to my expedition."

He grew serious then, fighting off the grasp of alcohol. "You're supposed to make a donation," he said, staring into my eyes. I almost cursed, but remembered where I was. I certainly didn't have enough with me to contribute to a cause, no matter how worthy. "I don't have much money," I said lamely.

His mouth grew tight in a frown. "Hmm. Not to worry. Doesn't have to be money. It can be anything of value."

"I don't have much of anything," I said. I removed my pack and began rummaging through it. The priest rose unsteadily and looked over my shoulder.

"Art," he said.

"What?" I had no idea what he was talking about. He reached passed me and plucked the wooden statue from my bag.

"What about this?"

I shook my head. "That was a gift from my father. It's supposed to bring me luck," I explained, not really wanting to give it to him.

"Perfect." He turned from me and walked away, cradling the statue as if it were an infant. I followed behind, still not certain I had any business being there. After a short time, he entered a corridor and signaled for me to stop. "Sorry, initiates only beyond this point. You'll have to wait here." Without another word, he turned away and scurried down the corridor.

I waited for a while, growing more annoyed as time passed. Suppose he didn't return, I thought. Then an even scarier thought hit me. Suppose he did.

I must confess, I didn't have much confidence in the priest at that point. I wasn't sure what I'd expected, but I did know he wasn't it. I even considered leaving before his return, but I really couldn't. I didn't even know how to get to the mountains. With a sigh of resignation, I sat on the floor and dropped my head. I don't know how long I sat there, before I slept and dreamed of mountains, monsters and drunken priests.

When I awoke, I found myself in darkness. My throat was parched. I realized that it had been a long time since I'd eaten or drank. My back and neck hurt from sleeping against the wall. I didn't know how long I'd been out or where the priest was. Clumsily, I regained my feet, stretching and yawning as I did so. Just as I'd finished, a voice pierced the darkness.

"Good. You're awake. I was beginning to think you would sleep forever." The voice was so crisp and strong, I had trouble identifying it as that of the priest from earlier. While I stood there, wondering what to say, a light flared before me, hurting my eyes. I turned my head, while he lit a lamp.

Perhaps it was a trick of the illumination, but when I again turned toward him he looked completely different. I still did not know his name. As if he picked the thought from my head, he spoke. "By the way, I'm Darion."

I stuck out my hand. "Daniel."

He took it warmly and leaned forward. "Are you hungry?" I nodded. "Follow me." At that point, if it meant eating, I'd have followed him into the jaws of hell. Fortunately, that was not necessary. After a short walk through the temple's empty dark corridors, we arrived at a small kitchen.

The priest moved with authority, preparing a meal for the both of us, while I struggled with the concept that this competent man was the same one I had spoken to earlier. I was about to ask him if he had a twin brother, when he placed a tray in front of me and suddenly it didn't matter. I found myself unable to think of anything but food, until much later, after I'd eaten my fill.

I leaned back in the wooden chair, barely able to move and smiled contentedly. He looked at me. "Now, to business."

I shook myself, attempting to dispel the fatigue that had suddenly descended. "I need to go to the Wild Mountains." I searched his face for a reaction. "There is an herb that grows there that I need to find."

He nodded. "You know how it looks?"

I held up a finger and started rummaging through my pack, until I came across the page I'd torn from Eralt's book. He took it from me and examined it carefully. After a few moments, he looked up.

"The article says it's extinct."

I stared at him defiantly. "It's not extinct, it can't be." He stared back at me expressionless. "I need to find it, do you hear me. I must." I knew I was raising my voice, but I didn't care. "It's the only thing that can save my father's life."

For a moment, I thought he was going to frown, but he smiled instead. "Well then, we'd better get right to it. You're certainly are fortunate you ran into me. I'm the luckiest man alive." I hoped he was being candid, rather than conceited.

We started our journey early the next morning, marching east through dense forest. Darion had provided all manner of supplies, including rations. At least we wouldn't go hungry.

The change in the priest was remarkable. The morning sun found Darion cheerful and alert. Apparently, his good fortune extended him protection from hangovers. He chatted idly about everything from weather to politics. Without the alcohol, he was an intelligent, amusing, extremely likable man. I was suddenly glad to have him with me.

We continued on the road for a time, until, late in the day, the trees fell away, replaced by grassy knolls. To the north the hills eventually flattened out into a great grassland, while to the south the hills seems to continue indefinitely. And ahead of us, jutting from the ground and filling the horizon, were the Wild Mountains.

I had never seen mountains before and stopped spellbound to stare at them. Darion had continued forward, unaware I was not behind him. After a few moments, he stopped, turned and called out. "Let's go," he shouted. "You're acting like a tourist. I thought this was a business trip."

I forced myself to look away from the view and continue onward. The priest was right. I was here for one reason only and the longer it took, the greater the chance I would be too late. I chastised myself for succumbing to the lure of adventure.

The path continued through the foothills, which surrounded the Wild Mountains like children shyly clinging to their mother's skirt. And yet, as small as they were, they still seemed plenty high to me, as we made our way between them.

The sun, now far behind us, illuminated the tableau, giving the illusion that each hill had its own golden halo. It was hot and dusty. I was tired. I did not think that we would continue much longer, nor was I incorrect. Within the hour, Darion had located a semi-sheltered place, which would serve as our camp for the night.

Just off the path was an opening leading to an area that curved gently inward, forming an almost half closed oval. With walls on three sides, we were well sheltered from the wind, which while refreshing during the day, could become quite a problem during the much colder nights.

We broke out rations and began to eat. Darion closed his eyes to pray first. I watched him, almost envious. I never considered myself a religious man and yet, watching him, a new idea began to play through my mind. It must be nice to have all the answers. To know why things happen as they do. How much pressure would be relieved, if only I knew that there was a plan behind all of this? For no matter how hard I tried and I did try, I could divine no reason for what had happened to my father. I watched him closely while he ate, wondering how he could be so calm. Perhaps it was a priest thing.

After a time, Darion went off to relieve himself. He moved behind a projection, some ten feet away. I watched him, until he disappeared from sight. It was, of course, at that moment that the attack came.

I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. If he was lucky, that meant that everything we encountered would come after me first. This time was no exception. I was still lost in thought, oblivious to my surroundings, when several rolling pebbles caught my attention. Startled out of my reverie, I turned quickly and it was upon me.

I still don't know what it was and I'm not certain I ever will. It was big, perhaps eight feet tall. Though it was covered with gray-white fur, its face and hands were almost human, except for the slightly extended snout full of sharp teeth and equally sharp claws at the end of each finger. I moved back as it rushed me, but not quickly enough. It slammed into me, raising me into the air and throwing me backwards. I felt the edge of the claw rip part of my cloak, but it did not reach flesh. As I slammed into the wall, I felt my breath leave me. I rebounded and fell forward, landing flat on my chest.

I was hurt and knew it, but couldn't afford to just lay there. I tried to coax my body into action, but the pain was too great. I hoped I hadn't broken anything. I rolled over, so I could see it approach.

The creature had me now and sensed it. Its movements were slow, almost hesitant. It took another few steps, reared and growled, the echoes of the sound bouncing off the surrounding hills. I was scared for myself, but even more for my father.

The creature dropped to all fours and resumed its approach, sniffing the air as it did so. I watched, forcing myself not to turn away. Whatever fate dealt me, I would meet it like a man.

Then, from above, a shape seemed to fall from the sky. Darion must have scaled the hill and leapt from it. He landed firmly on the creature's back. The beast, after a moment of surprise, grew angry and let out a horrible roar that must have been heard for quite a distance. The priest threw his arms around its neck, clasping his hands tightly, while it attempted to dislodge him. Somehow, I managed to stand and edge away from the spectacle.

The creature spun and howled, first on all fours then standing. Still Darion kept his grip. The creature tried to run, slamming into the wall as it did so. I looked around for anything that might be used as a weapon, but could find nothing. Then, just as I thought the priest's hold on the creature's neck might be slipping, the beast's clawed foot became lodged between two great boulders and it began to topple. Darion, finally, was thrown clear. He flew so high and so fast, that for a moment he could have been mistaken for a bird. Then he vanished over the wall.

I watched the creature writhe in pain, its leg almost certainly broken. Blood dripped from its head. It must have struck a sharp rock. Though it had attacked me, I pitied the thing. Nothing should have to die in fear. It had only been hungry.

Perhaps it was my dying father I saw, when I looked into its eyes, but suddenly I felt a love for the beast. I had never experienced anything like that before. Courage, a quality I normally lacked, filled me and I approached it slowly. It was still struggling, but more weakly now. I moved to where its head rested in a slowly forming pool of blood. It looked up at me, clearly unable to understand what had occurred. I reached out a tentative hand to stroke its snout. It watched me, uncertain of my intentions.

I stood there for a long time, soothing it in the last moments of its life. To this day, I don't know what had possessed me. Just as breath left its body, Darion reappeared, his robes covered with dirt and blood. He watched me for a second, before limping over. "Very nice. I save your life and you come to the aid of the killer." He shook his head, exasperated.

I shrugged, filled with a calm that was as strange to me as my reaction. "I knew you would be okay. You're the luckiest man alive, remember?"

He frowned at me, as if trying to find a hole in my logic. Finally, with a sigh, he turned and shaking his head, walked the short distance to our packs. I watched him, until he lowered himself to the ground and fell into a deep sleep. It was many long hours before I joined him.

The next morning dawned gray and cheerless, as if the gods had decided to let all color drain from the world. For all that, Darion was back to his usual cheerful self, seeming to have suffered little damage from the events of the day before.

After a brief meal, we resumed our journey. The trail became steep at times, winding ever upwards into the great mountains. As we walked, I thought about my behavior of the previous day. Why had I not gone to his aid? Why had I comforted a creature that had tried to kill me? After giving the matter much thought, with nothing to show for it, I forced myself to turn my mind to other topics. As usual, Darion was happy to do the talking, though I absorbed little of what he said.

As we progressed, I often scanned the sides of the path, looking for the plant that would save my father's life. By mid afternoon, the sun emerged, though it had little effect on the chill. Before long, as we ascended, it would grow colder.

By day's end, we were out of the hills and into the mountains proper. That night, Darion found a small deserted cave. As soon as we entered the skies opened up, showering the area with rain. I thought about it for a time. Was it fortune, that we found shelter just in time or something else entirely? I turned to watch him as he explored the area, looking for what, I couldn't say.

"Darion, if you know you are going to be lucky, if there's some skill involved in obtaining fortune, how is it still luck?"

Without turning toward me, he answered. "Luck is not what most people think it is. It's hard to explain. One of the biggest problems I face in teaching my belief to others is their preconceptions. If your father becomes sick, is your luck bad?"

I thought about it for a time, before replying. "Well, you couldn't consider it good."

He sighed and turned to face me. "Suppose we do find this plant and you get back with it in time to save your father, but, in doing so, you gain something you might never have, had circumstances been different." He watched me waiting for a reaction.

"But that doesn't answer my question."

He smiled enigmatically. "Yes it does." Before I could think of a response, Darion, the priest of Abrasius, lay down on the hard rocky floor and fell asleep.

I did not rest well that night. I suppose I was still trying to make sense of a madman's ramblings. I still did not see how my father's illness could be considered a stroke of fortune, under any circumstance.

I had always considered chance a random element. No matter how I looked at it, I couldn't see his point. Misfortune was bad, no matter how vehemently a person tried to believe otherwise. In fact, when a person was unable to accept the hand fate had dealt him, it was a condition called denial. I shook my head as I prepared to lay down for the night. Perhaps Darion was not as intelligent as I had first thought or maybe religion was the resting place of a mind unable to deal with tragedy.

I closed my eyes and turned my attention to other thoughts. At last I slept fitfully, my sleep plagued by dreams that I could almost recall when I awoke the next morning.

The next day dawned cold and clear. Though it had rained for much of the previous night, there was little evidence left of the event. The sun was back full force, so brilliant at times, I had to shield my eyes against it. In spite of its brightness, it did little to warm me.

The trail was yet steeper here and harder to follow. I suppose few people traveled this far. Breathing was becoming more difficult as the air around us thinned. I found that I had to rest more often and each such occasion left me less refreshed. Still, we pressed on.

For once, thankfully, Darion was silent as we marched. Perhaps he also felt the effects of the altitude. The mountains themselves were beautiful and if I'd come as a tourist, I'd have been happy indeed. Unfortunately, I could not enjoy the vista, while my poor father lay dying back home. Nor did I wish to consider the fact that he might already have passed on and this trip might be for naught.

Whenever I found myself thinking that way, I became angry. I tried to pray to Abrasius, in hopes that somehow he would intervene. Please, if you exist, let this trip have some meaning. What an irony it would be were I successful, only to arrive home, cure in hand, a day too late.

That day we passed several streams, drank heartily and refilled our water skins. Though we saw evidence of various animals, such as tracks and droppings, we encountered none. I don't know what I expected to find, but the reputation of the place, at least thus far, seemed largely undeserved. With the exception of the single attack, nothing bothered us. Perhaps it was the presence of Darion and his deity that spared us further obstacles.

We camped that night, on a broad ledge that jutted out over a valley. While we ate, hawks circled above us, perhaps wondering at our intrusion into their domain. It was cold and our blankets and outerwear did little to shield us from the elements. I knew I could not take it much longer, if the temperature continued to drop.

That night, I was so uncomfortable, I barely slept at all. Somehow, the cold seemed to have little affect on my companion, who spent much of the night snoring noisily. Briefly, I wondered if Abrasius also protected him from the weather. If that were the case, then he was lucky indeed.

Finally, I did fall into a light sleep, only to be awakened an hour or so later, by the light of the sun.

The next day was much like the last, our journey taking us to even greater altitudes. My breathing, at least, seemed to have stabilized. Perhaps I was getting used to the thinner air. Darion walked ahead, talking again. He still had a spring to his step that I envied. There was much about him I admired.

Later that day, the priest pulled ahead of me, while I struggled to keep up. There was still no sign of the herb. I wondered what was happening back home. Darion had stopped on a shelf to wait for me. I tried to walk faster, but my tired limbs would simply not respond. He was calling to me, though I couldn't hear his words. Perhaps he was just shouting encouragement. I was looking right at him, when the ledge began to crumble. He reacted quickly, attempting to leap from the falling platform, but was a hair too slow. The ledge and the priest rapidly disappeared from sight. My fatigue vanished. I dropped my pack and raced up the trail. I did not want to think about how I would continue alone. I did not want to consider the possibility the priest had died. I was the one who'd brought him here and the responsibility was more than I could bare.

I reached the area where the priest had been standing just moments before and looked over the edge, scanning the debris below with better than average vision. For a few seconds, I searched in vain. At least it wasn't a drop, but an incline, though a steep one to be sure. Then I saw him, lying at the bottom, half buried in debris. All thoughts of my own safety vanished. I stepped upon the slope and half climbed, half slid down, until I was at the bottom. I ran to him and began to dig him out. He smiled and shook his head. "Don't bother."

I stopped and looked at him, searching his face for some clue as to what he meant. He craned his neck, so as to look behind him to his right. "I told you I was lucky."

I followed his line of vision, until I saw what had caught his attention. Not three feet from him, growing from the side of the rock wall, was my herb. Even without checking the picture, I could see it. I rose slowly and walked to it, knelt before it as if it were a holy relic. Gently, I lifted it and the dirt in which it grew into my cupped hands. I felt tears form in my eyes, as I turned back and carried the treasure to the priest. I was so overcome with emotion I could barely speak.

I lay the plant on his chest, like an offering. He smiled at me, eyes twinkling. "You must go now. Get back as fast as you can."

I shook my head. "Not without you. It will not take long to dig you out." I stopped, when I saw he was shaking his head.

"I'm not coming back." He moved a bit and several rocks fell away from him, revealing the blood stains beneath. "Do not be sad. Believe me. It is better this way. Do not waste further time here. You can not help me."

I met his eyes and knew he was speaking the truth. "It's not fair," I said softly.

His green eyes held compassion and sympathy. "Don't worry. I am still the luckiest man alive." And with those words, he closed his eyes. It was several long moments before I realized he had died. I wanted to cry, but for some reason couldn't. Perhaps it was because I was so stunned. He'd come with me, helped me, even saved my life. And it was he that found the herb, though he paid for that discovery with his death. I stood slowly, lifting the plant from him, vision obscured by the tears that were suddenly there. I did not wish to buy my father's life with the blood of the priest.

I screamed then, cursed the name of Abrasius, challenged him to explain himself. My tirade went unanswered, except for the echoes of my voice returning to me. Recklessly, I climbed the embankment, stopped to retrieve my pack and set off down the path. I didn't even take the time to bury him.

I traveled until it was too dark to continue, but did not eat or sleep that night. I could not close my eyes, without the image of Darion's smiling face filling my thoughts. He should not have died. Suddenly, the universe had become a horrible place and there was no one about with which to share my grief. I cried on and off, so alone even the cold couldn't touch me. I continued moving, even before the sun was in the sky. I had to get away from there. Perhaps when I returned to the real world, it would all somehow make sense.

I do not remember much of the trip back. I spent long days walking, but encountered nothing more dangerous than a herd of goats and those at a distance. My nights were mostly sleepless and what rest I had was plagued with surreal dreams that faded from my memory with the day's first light. I didn't feel the cold as much. I didn't feel much of anything. I was beginning to realize that part of my soul had stayed behind in the mountains.

I don't know how many days passed. I was lost in a maze of emotions and fatigue, when the city Emin karn rose up before me. I passed through quickly, intentionally avoiding the temples. I had lost my taste for the gods.

I continued on, no longer resting at night. As my journey drew to a close, I quickened my pace, not daring to hope I was in time. The next night I finally grew too weary to continue. I fell asleep without eating and dreamt that I returned in time to save my father, but Eralt had wrongly divined his illness. The remedy was useless. I screamed at the healer, as I had at Abrasius, blaming him for my father's death. I woke many hours later covered in a film of sweat, but rose and started out almost immediately. Time had lost all meaning.

For how long I walked, pulled by hope ahead of me and driven by despair behind, I can't say. When I first heard someone calling my name, I thought that it was my imagination. Perhaps the events of the past week had caused my mind to snap. Then the shout was repeated and in the distance, I could see a man sitting on a large brown horse. It was Eralt. He rode to me and dismounted, concern clear on his wrinkled face. "Where have you been, boy?"

His voice was a mixture of anger and relief. "Your mother was so afraid for you." I knew that he was trying to be stern, but was too happy to see me to be effective at it. Without a word, I unslung my pack, opened it and removed the herb.

The healer looked at it, then me, a stunned expression on his face. "I can't believe it."

I shrugged. There was no way I could communicate to him the price that had been paid for it. I handed it to him and smiled sadly.

He clapped me on my back, either oblivious to my melancholy or mistaking it for fatigue. He lead me to his horse and helped me to mount. He spoke for a bit, but after he told me that my father was still alive, I didn't listen. This had to work or it was all for nothing.

Only when I saw Thindole did my depression begin to lift. Until now, I had been unaware of how much I missed it and my family. I leapt from the horse, running toward my house. I called out and my mother, not realizing who it was, came to the front door to investigate the commotion. Soon, she saw me and ran into my open arms. We stayed that way for a long time. She was laughing and crying and trying to speak, all at once. At last, I disengaged myself. I looked around for Eralt, but he was no where to be seen. My mother put her arm around me and guided me to the house. I listened to her talk for almost an hour, well aware that until she was done, I would be unable to squeeze in even a single word. Finally, her conversation ran down and it was my turn.

I told her of my adventures with as much detail as I could remember. She sat, watching me intently, while I described my first encounter with Darion. By the time I got to his death, I was crying. She moved closer to comfort me, but I waved her away. At that moment, the door opened and Eralt entered. He smiled at me, tousled my hair and placed his bag on the table. Without a word, he reached in and withdrew a beaker, filled with a reddish brown liquid. My mother's eyes glistened with tears as she realized what he'd brought.

We all moved to the next room, where my father lay. At first, I was happy to see him, but a second glance rekindled my tears. He could not be far from death. Eralt raised his frail body and helped him drink some of the elixir. My father coughed a little, but got some of it down. I watched until the healer drew back and placed the container on the table by the bed. "He will sleep now. He will require two swallows, twice a day, for a week. I believe we are just in time." He looked at me. "I don't know how you did it, young man, but you taught me a lesson. It is far too easy to believe what you read." He smiled at me, hugged my mother and left the room.

I spent much of that week by my father's side, hoping that he would make a full recovery. As the days past, the color came back into his cheeks and we'd talk for a time. I told him about my adventures, but always kept it light, never allowing him to know that the priest had died to save him. That was my burden to bear.

A week later, he was up and about and though he was still quite weak, Eralt assured us that, in no time at all, he'd be back behind the forge where he belonged.

Life was suddenly good again, at least for the most part. The only troubled area in my whole existence, was the smiling face of Darion, that continued to assault my dreams. At first I thought I could learn to cope with the priest's death, but as time passed, I began to realize it was not to be. At last, unable to deal with it anymore, I bid my parents farewell and left.

I knew I needed an answer to my grief and the only place I could think of to find it was the temple of Abrasius. I was better prepared for the trip this time, not having to sneak away. I carried enough food and water to last me. After several days, I reached the city, though it no longer seemed as vast as it had once. Like everything else in my life, the colors were less vibrant and the images less poignant. Darion's death had touched me much deeper than I'd originally thought.

Once inside, I wasted no time making my way to the temple. This time, it was alive with priests and worshippers alike. I approached the closest initiate and demanded an audience with the High Priest. He looked at me for a moment, smiled and motioned for me to follow. He lead me to a chamber behind the main hall, that looked more like an office than any room in a temple should have. Behind a handsome wooden desk sat a older man, with thinning gray hair and dark blue eyes. He looked up and waited for me to speak.

For a moment, I was tongue-tied. Now that I was here, I couldn't think of the words to say. Here I stood in the temple of Abrasius, ready to demand an explanation of a god's actions from his High Priest. Suddenly, it didn't seem sane.

"I came here weeks ago to enlist the help of Abrasius in a quest for an herb, necessary to cure my father's illness. Your priest Darion accompanied me on my quest. He saved my life and found the plant, but died in the process. For weeks, I have lived with the guilt of having brought him to the Wild Mountains. He seemed to be the ideal follower of Abrasius, never once losing hope, no matter the situation. Do you know how he died?"

The priest, a sad look on his face, shook his head.

"The ledge upon which he stood crumpled and he perished in the fall, while I stood and watched. What kind of monster would do that to one of his own? Does Abrasius have no loyalty?" I stopped as the last slipped out, thinking I'd gone too far.

The priest continued to stare at me. For a few moments, I thought I'd offended him, but then he spoke, his voice filled with compassion. "I grieve for you, I really do, but not for Darion."

Anger flared within me. "What do you mean not for Darion? Have you not heard what I've said?"

He held up a hand and I restrained myself, though with difficulty. I wondered what the penalty was for murdering a priest. He smiled sadly and spoke. "When Darion came to us, a year ago, he had been diagnosed with an incurable disease. It would first eat away at his brain, then his body. He would die in several years time, an insane cripple. We initiated him into the priesthood. Each day, he prayed for a death that was meaningful. Do you think you understand what luck is? Here was a man that knew he was going to die. Did he plead for his life? No, not Darion. He prayed for something good to come from his passing. How is it that I should mourn his death, when his most precious wish has been fulfilled? Many seemingly horrible things happen in this lifetime, that turn out to be the best of circumstances."

I stared at him speechless. At last, I understood the strange priest and his ways. It was what he'd been trying to tell me during the entire journey. Luck is not a thing that happens, but an attitude. A priest of Abrasius was lucky, because whatever happened to him was seen as good fortune. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and forced myself to meet the High Priest's gaze. It was one of the few times in my life that I was speechless. At least, I had my answer. For a time, neither of us spoke. Then, just to break the silence, I asked, "So what happens now? You've lost a priest."

He smiled at me and stood. "I'd taken the liberty of having your room prepared several days ago."

I stared at him, not really believing what I was hearing. Was he offering me the opportunity to replace Darion? "But, how did you know?"

The High Priest grinned broadly. "Just a lucky guess."

He summoned a priest to show me to my new room. I followed, stunned by the events of the day and more than a little overwhelmed by what I'd learned. I followed the young priest to the corridor that Darion had once told me I could not enter, unless I was an initiate. I only hesitated for a moment before crossing that threshold. And as I walked down the corridor, away from one life and into another, I realized something, which I suppose on a deeper level, I had known all along.

I was the luckiest man alive.