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“Hurry up, Dad,” the lead boy turned to yell. “We're going to be late!”
Seizing the opportunity, his younger brother dashed around him, a painted sword dragging in the mud as he flew past. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”
“Wait!” the youngest lad cried and tried to catch up to his brothers, but for the fifth time since leaving the house, his feet caught on the hem of his 'robe', tripping him. Sprawling onto his knees, the small boy crunched the huge, red and orange vallenwood leaves beneath him. Undeterred, he hiked the extra fabric in one small hand while, in the other, clutched his burlap sac filled with goodies and hurried to catch up to his brothers.
“Wait for me!”
“Boys, slow down!” their mother called as she adjusted her newborn daughter in her sling to better secure her against her chest. She glanced up at her husband, looking for backup as three of her four children (the mobile ones, at least) ignored her and disappeared into the gathering crowds.
Caramon smiled at his wife and chuckled. “They're fine, Tika. I can still see them.”
Tika Waylan Majere flashed a disapproving frown before sighing and letting the issue drop. “You do realize that by the time we get home, they'll be covered from head to toe in mud and stuffed with so many treats that none of us will sleep for days,” she groused. But her voice held no true hint of irritation, only acceptance of the inevitable truth: the sugar-induced aftermath of yet another Festival of the Eye Celebration was a formidable foe indeed. They had spent the better part of the last two hours going door to door, asking for sweets in the form of candies and cookies, but all Tika saw was how much sugar was being ingested. She was pretty sure more had already gone into the boy's stomachs than into their burlap sacs.
The big man beside her chuckled and put his hands in his pockets as they walked, his posture completely at ease as he smiled and greeted the other families out and about tonight, likewise trying to herd unruly children towards the festival grounds on the edge of town.
But Tika knew better. This holiday had always been one of the hardest for her husband, especially now that their youngest boy asked to attend the Festival of the Eye celebration dressed in a certain costume...
They had tried to persuade Palin, but he would not budge on the matter, going so far as throwing the temper tantrum to end all tantrums—one that would be heard the length and breadth of Solace Vale for years to come. Palin Majere didn't want to dress up like a baker or a goblin; he didn't even want to be a knight like his brothers. No, only dressing as a wizard would do. And not just any wizard...
...Palin wanted to look just like his famous uncle.
Tika and Caramon both sensed that their youngest son’s near-borderline obsession with magic would continue well past the Night of the Eye.
So as all parents eventually do in the face of such sad, fat tears and pathetic, heart-wrenching hiccups, Tika had stayed up late for the last few nights sewing an old bed sheet into robes for him to wear. Though, unlike the deceased Raistlin Majere, the makeshift robes upon their son were white.
It was the only compromise they could reach with their five-year-old son.
Tika looped her arm through her husband's and squeezed. At the prompt, Caramon looked down into her upturned face. Their gazes met and they smiled at each other as they finally cleared the treeline and entered the festival grounds.
Like their children, the couple had gotten into a celebratory mood and also dressed up.
Caramon wore a ridiculous pink shirt with frills and billowing sleeves to contrast the black, skin-tight leather breeches (nice and tight in all the right places—at least in Tika's mind!). On his head, he had donned a bent tricorn hat, and across his chest, was slung a bandolier of daggers (which were, in fact, dull kitchen knives). Since leaving the house, he would often strike a pose in his best impersonation of the 'Pirate Prince' from one of Tika's spicy books he had once caught her reading.
Not one to let her husband have all the fun, Tika wore the fanciest silk dress she owned and had tucked her red curls beneath an over-the-top powdered wig (an impulse buy during their last trip to Palanthas a few years ago).
Little newborn Laura, asleep in her sling, was swaddled in remnants of an old flower and lace curtain they had replaced in their bedroom some time ago. A tiny headband of colorful, woven ribbon crowned her small head—Princess to the Pirate Prince and Palathian Lady.
To round out their ensemble, Tanin and Sturm were the royal couple's stalwart knight-in-arms with their wooden swords, padded armor, and old pots askew atop their heads. Palin played the part of their resident wizard as he threw handfuls of fine, powdered sand from a pouch on his rope belt while waving a stick he found in Weird Meggin's garden. Tika had sewn the old white curtains in such a way that the lad was practically swimming in fabric.
Caramon and Tika continued through the crowd, tailing their three rambunctious sons as they darted from booth to booth, their faces alight with awe and wonder. The residents of Solace and the surrounding towns had spared no expense this year in regards to the festivities, for gaily colored tents created makeshift neighborhoods in the field outside of town—now an empty stretch of land after Verminaard’s red dragons had destroyed so much all those years ago.
Artisans of all races hawked their wares ranging from rare spices to silks to jewelry and so much more, all eager to turn a final profit before winter set in. Performers from as far away as Flotsam and Tarsis had come to dazzle the crowd with feats of strength and agility while tumblers and fire-breathers entertained on stages scattered along the makeshift paths. Paper lanterns glowed from ropes strung between poles, filling the field with warmth.
While high overhead, the three moons, all full and in high tide, inched closer together.
Every year during this season the Night of the Eye was celebrated, but so very rarely did a perfect conjunction of all three of Krynn's moons coincide with the festivities. Everyone could feel it, even those without a drop of magic in their veins: the swell of magic and mystery floating through the air—as tangible on the tongue as the children's sweets or the wine and ale within the grownup's mugs.
Indeed, it was a beautiful night full of celebration and joy, of lighthearted pranks, and carefree attitudes. Children and adults of all ages, races, and creeds were dressed in costumes and danced beneath the moons and stars; laughed and ate and drank their fill, giving thanks for the bountiful harvest and communal spirit before the chill of winter began to make its presence known.
The only thing that the night was lacking were the usual sights of true magic-users amongst the crowds. No one seemed to note their absence, however, and the ordinary folk of Solace were quite fine in not spending energy thinking about why this was so. Only people privy to inside information, like Caramon had once been, knew that the Wizards of High Sorcery were all within their towers, celebrating in their own mysterious way.
The night wore on and, soon, the family found themselves following the flow of the crowd to the other half of the field that had been left empty for the great event that would conclude the festivities: the three moons above would align to form the great Eye of Magic.
Solinari, the largest of the moons, sat farthest away from Krynn and was the white of the eye. Lunitari, the mid-sized moon, formed the eye's red iris, while Nuitari, the small and illusive black moon, created the pupil.
The Majere's had all settled themselves upon a blanket to watch the great event when, suddenly, Tika looked around. “Where’s your brother?” she asked Sturm and Tanin, both of which were emptying the contents of their burlap bags onto the blanket to yet again haggle and divvy out their spoils, as was tradition between them.
“I dunno,” Tanin said with a shrug, a stick of colored rock candy hanging out of his mouth.
Caramon was already on his feet. “I'll go look for him,” he said. “I know he was here just a second ago...”
Tika, a worried look plastered across her freckled features, merely nodded and stayed with the boys, Laura still asleep against her chest.
The big man made his way past other families, scanning their faces by the bright light of the moons as he did, thinking perhaps the lad had mistaken another family for his own or had found a familiar face or even one of his friends from school. It wouldn't be the first time that Palin had wandered off without telling anyone where he was going. Often Caramon would find him at Weird Meggin's cottage or down the street at Tasslehoff Burrfoot's house.
However, the kender had not returned yet from his latest foray to visit the plains people, so Caramon knew better than to look through the various groups of kenderkin scattered here and there, frolicking and causing mischief as was their people’s wont to do.
Soon Caramon found himself on the outskirts of the field near the tree line. “Palin?” he called into the night, his voice muffled by the darkened boughs laden with leaves of crimson, yellow, and orange. Stopping to listen, he tried not to give in to the panic slowly creeping up his spine.
His son was fine.
His son was safe.
Palin had probably just found something shiny along the way and got distracted.
Again, it wouldn't have been the first time...
But no matter how much he tried to console himself, fear began to sink its claws into Caramon, and he prayed it wouldn't be the last time his son had wandered off!
“Palin!?” the big man cried again, louder now that he was away from the crowds. His only answer was the murmur of voices from nearby tents and the loud crinkle of leaves beneath his boots as he continued on his way, following some deeply ingrained fatherly instinct.
Then, he saw it: a discarded burlap bag lying atop the fallen leaves.
Dashing over to it Caramon's heart froze, his throat going dry as he picked up Palin's treat bag.
It was still full of candy and cookies.
The big man was about to call out again when the sound of a child's laugh floated to him from somewhere deeper in the forest. Without thinking twice, Caramon rushed towards the sound which grew louder the deeper he went into the trees. He paused to get his bearings and, most definitely, the voice he heard chattering belonged to his youngest boy.
On instinct, the former warrior eased out two knives—one for each hand—from their holders slung across his chest. They were bent and dull butter knives, but Caramon Majere had killed with less.
Rounding a tree, the former Hero of the Lance found himself at the edge of a smaller clearing and he could not stop the gasp of surprise that escaped his throat at the sight before him.
For there, standing in front of a crouched man within a pool of combined moonlight, stood Palin. The little boy was chattering away happily, unconcerned as sparks of power danced around him, the moons above nearing their peak. He seemed at ease even though it looked as if his auburn hair was kissed by fire as Lunitari's glow made the red in it burn and his homemade robes shone with white radiance as if spun from threads of Solinari's light.
But that is not what gave Caramon Majere pause, no.
The figure crouched before the child was a man dressed in robes so black they swallowed all light—as if Nuitari himself had descended to Krynn to have an audience with this boy. A bone-white hand reached out to rest gently on the boy's shoulder as the figure made a soft, inaudible reply.
Caramon couldn't discern anything else about the figure except, perhaps, a faint sheen of gold that glinted upon that hand or a glimmer from the depths within the hood. He knew that such an effect could very well have been a trick of the magic-tinged light... But in his heart, he knew.
He just knew .
At the sound he made, Palin turned and grinned. “Papa!” he cried and ran to him, once more tripping over the hem of his makeshift robe. He didn't seem to mind, however, for he was so excited by the events of the evening that he had long gotten used to it.
Caramon did not take his eyes off the crouched figure and it did not turn to look at him as the lad made his way to the safety of his father's presence.
“ Papa!” Palin exclaimed again and flung himself against Caramon's legs, jostling him enough that the big man finally tore his eyes from the mysterious figure. “Aren't the moons pretty !” the boy beamed.
Caramon ran his hands quickly over his son's hair and down his shoulders before crouching to get a good look at him. Finding Palin to be unharmed, he said in a shaky voice, “Yes, the moons are very pretty.”
“See? It's the eye of the Gods of Magic!” Palin declared, turning and pointing to the sky. “They're looking down on us and blessin' us!”
Indeed, at that very moment, the three moons completed their perfect conjunction, showering the world of Krynn in waves of magic and power.
Caramon looked away from the sky and past his son's shoulder...
… and found that the figure had vanished.
But in his heart, Caramon Majere knew.
And he smiled.
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