Time of the Twins

“Isn’t he,” said Raistlin dryly. He placed the tips of the five fingers of each hand together and rested them upon the table. “What marvelous hands you have,” Crysania said, without thinking. “How slender and supple the fingers are, and so delicate.” Suddenly realizing what she had been saying, she flushed and stammered. “B-but I-I suppose that is requisite to your Art—”

“Yes,” Raistlin said, smiling, and this time Crysania thought she saw actual pleasure in his smile. He held his hands to the light cast by the flames. “When I was just a child, I could amaze and delight my brother with the tricks these hands could—even then—perform.” Taking a golden coin from one of the secret pockets of his robes, Raistlin placed the coin upon the knuckles of his hand. Effortlessly, he made it dance and spin and whirl across his hand. It glistened in and out of his fingers. Flipping into the air, it vanished, only to reappear in his other hand. Crysania gasped in delight. Raistlin glanced up at her, and she saw the smile of pleasure twist into one of bitter pain. “Yes,” he said, “it was my one skill, my one talent. It kept the other children amused. Sometimes it kept them from hurting me.”

“Hurting you?” Crysania asked hesitantly, stung by the pain in his voice.

He did not answer at once, his eyes on the golden coin he still held in his hand. Then he drew a deep breath. “I can picture your childhood,” he murmured. “You come from a wealthy family, so they tell me. You must have been beloved, sheltered, protected, given anything you wanted. You were admired, sought after, liked.”

Crysania could not reply. She felt suddenly overwhelmed with guilt.

“How different was my childhood.” Again, that smile of bitter pain. “My nickname was the Sly One. I was sickly and weak. And too smart. They were such fools! Their ambitions so petty—like my brother, who never thought deeper than his food dish! Or my sister, who saw the only way to attain her goals was with her sword. Yes, I was weak. Yes, they protected me. But some day, I vowed I wouldn’t need their protection! I would rise to greatness on my own, using my gift—my magic!”

His hand clenched, his golden-tinted skin turned pale. Suddenly he began to cough, the wrenching, wracking cough that twisted his frail body. Crysania rose to her feet, her heart aching with pain. But he motioned her to sit down. Drawing a cloth from a pocket, he wiped the blood from his lips.

“And this was the price I paid for my magic,” he said when he could speak again. His voice was little more than a whisper. “They shattered my body and gave me this accursed vision, so that all I look upon I see dying before my eyes. But it was worth it, worth it all! For I have what I sought—power. I don’t need them—any of them—anymore.”

“But this power is evil!” Crysania said, leaning forward in her chair and regarding Raistlin earnestly.

“Is it?” asked Raistlin suddenly. His voice was mild. “Is ambition evil? Is the quest for power, for control over others evil? If so, then I fear, Lady Crysania, that you may as well exchange those white robes for black.”

“How dare you?” Crysania cried, shocked. “I don’t—”

“Ah, but you do,” Raistlin said with a shrug. “You would not have worked so hard to rise to the position you have in the church without having your share of ambition, of the desire for power.” Now it was his turn to lean forward. “Haven’t you always said to yourself—there is something great I am destined to do? My life will be different from the lives of others. I am not content to sit and watch the world pass by. I want to shape it, control it, mold it!”

Held fast by Raistlin’s burning gaze, Crysania could not move or utter a word. How could he know? she asked herself, terrified. Can he read the secrets of my heart?

“Is that evil, Lady Crysania?” Raistlin repeated gently, insistently.

Slowly, Crysania shook her head. Slowly, she raised her hand to her throbbing temples. No, it wasn’t evil. Not the way he spoke of it, but something wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t think. She was too confused. All that kept running through her mind was: How alike we are, he and I!

He was silent, waiting for her to speak. She had to say something. Hurriedly, she took a gulp of wine to give herself time to collect her scattered thoughts.

“Perhaps I do have those desires,” she said, struggling to find the words, “but, if so, my ambition is not for myself. I use my skills and talents for others, to help others. I use it for the church—”

“The church!” Raistlin sneered.

Crysania’s confusion vanished, replaced by cold anger. “Yes,” she replied, feeling herself on safe and secure ground, surrounded by the bastion of her faith. “It was the power of good, the power of Paladine, that drove away the evil in the world. It is that power I seek. That power that—”

“Drove away the evil?” Raistlin interrupted.

Crysania blinked. Her thoughts had carried her forward. She hadn’t even been totally aware of what she was saying. “Why, yes—”