Test of the Twins

The Homecoming

Thud, thud, thud.

Tika Waylan Majere sat straight up in bed.

Trying to hear above the pounding of her heart, she listened, waiting to identify the sound that had awakened her from deep sleep.

Nothing.

Had she dreamed it? Shoving back the mass of red curls falling over her face, Tika glanced sleepily out the window. It was early morning. The sun had not yet risen, but night’s deep shadows were stealing away, leaving the sky clear and blue in the half-light of predawn. Birds were up, beginning their household chores, whistling and bickering cheerfully among themselves. But no one in Solace would be stirring yet. Even the night watchman usually succumbed to the warm, gentle influence of the spring night and slept at this hour, his head slumped on his chest, snoring blissfully.

I must have been dreaming, thought Tika drearily. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to sleeping alone?

Every little sound has me wide awake. Burrowing back down in the bed, she drew up the sheet and tried to go back to sleep. Squinching her eyes tightly shut, Tika pretended Caramon was there. She was lying beside him, pressed up against his broad chest, hearing him breathe, hearing his heart beat, warm, secure... His hand patted her on the shoulder as he murmured sleepily, “It’s just a bad dream, Tika... be all gone by morning...”

Thud, thud, thud-thud-thud.

Tika’s eyes opened wide. She hadn’t been dreaming! The sound—whatever it was—was coming from up above! Someone or something was up there—up in the vallenwood!

Throwing aside the bedclothes and moving with the stealth and quiet she had learned during her war adventures, Tika grabbed a nightrobe from the foot of her bed, struggled into it (mixing up the sleeves in her nervousness), and crept out of the bedroom.

Thud, thud, thud.

Her lips tightened in firm resolve. Someone was up there, up in her new house. The house Caramon was building for her up in the vallenwood. What were they doing? Stealing? There were Caramon’s s tools Tika almost laughed, but it came out a sob instead. Caramon s tools—the hammer with the wiggly head that flew off every time it hit a nail, the saw with so many teeth missing it looked like a grinning gully dwarf, the plane that wouldn’t smooth butter. But they were precious to Tika. She’d left them right where he’d left them.

Thud, thud, thud.

Creeping out into the living area of her small house, Tika’s hand was on the door handle when she stopped.

“Weapon,” she muttered. Looking around hastily, she grabbed the first thing she saw—her heavy iron skillet. Holding it firmly by the handle, Tika opened the front door slowly and quietly and sneaked outside.

The sun’s rays were just lighting the tops of the mountains, outlining their snow-capped peaks in gold against the clear, cloudless blue sky. The grass sparked with dew like tiny jewels, the morning air was sweet and crisp and pure. The new bright green leaves of the vallenwoods rustled and laughed as the sun touched them, waking them. So fresh and clear and glittering was this morning that it might well have been the very first morning of the very first day, with the gods looking down upon their work and smiling.

But Tika was not thinking about gods or mornings or the dew that was cold upon her bare feet. Clutching the skillet in one hand, keeping it hidden behind her back, she stealthily climbed the rungs of the ladder leading up into the unfinished house perched among the strong branches of the vallenwood. Near the top she stopped, peeping over the edge.

Ah, ha! There was someone up here! She could just barely make out a figure crouched in a shadowy corner. Hauling herself up over the edge, still making no sound, Tika padded softly across the wooden floor, her fingers getting a firm grip on the skillet.

But as she crossed the floor, creeping up on the intruder, she thought she heard a muffled giggle. She hesitated, then continued on resolutely. Just my imagination, she told herself, moving closer to the cloaked figure. She could see him clearly now. It was a man, a human, and by the looks of the brawny arms and the muscular shoulders, it was one of the biggest men Tika had ever seen! He was down on his hands and knees, his broad back was turned toward her, she saw him raise his hand.

He was holding Caramon’s hammer!

How dare he touch Caramon’s things! Well, big man or no—they’re all the same size once they’re laid out on the floor.

Tika raised the skillet—

“Caramon! Look out!” cried a shrill voice.

The big man rose to his feet and turned around.

The skillet fell to the floor with a ringing clatter. So did a hammer and a handful of nails.

With a thankful sob, Tika clasped her husband in her arms.

“Isn’t this wonderful, Tika? I bet you were surprised, weren’t you! Were you surprised, Tika? And say—would you really have wanged Caramon over the head if I hadn’t stopped you? That might have been kind of interesting to watch, though I don’t think it would have done Caramon much good. Hey, do you remember when you hit that draconian over the head with the skillet—the one that was getting ready to rough up Gilthanas? Tika?... Caramon?”

Tas looked at his two friends. They weren’t saying a word. They weren’t hearing a word. They just stood there, holding each other. The kender felt a suspicious moisture creep into his eyes.

“Well,” he said with a gulp and a smile, “I’ll just go down and wait for you in the living room.” Slithering down the ladder, Tas entered the small, neat house that stood below the sheltering vallenwood. Once inside, he took out a handkerchief, blew his nose, then began to cheerfully investigate the furnishings.

“From the looks of things,” he said to himself, admiring a brand-new cookie jar so much that he absent-mindedly stuffed it into a pouch (cookies included), all the while being firmly convinced that he’d set it back on the shelf, “Tika and Caramon are going to be up there quite a while, maybe even the rest of the morning. Perhaps this would be a good time to sort all my stuff.”

Sitting down cross-legged on the floor, the kender blissfully upended his pouches, spilling their contents out onto the rug. As he absent-mindedly munched on a few cookies, Tas’s proud gaze went first to a whole sheaf of new maps Tanis had given him. Unrolling them, one after another, his small finger traced a route to all the wonderful places he’d visited in his many adventures.

“It was nice traveling,” he said after a while, “but it’s certainly nicer coming home. I’ll just stay here with Tika and Caramon. We’ll be a family. Caramon said I could have a room in the new house and—Why, what’s that?” He looked closely at the map. “Merilon? I never heard of a city named Merilon. I wonder what it’s like...

“No!” Tas retorted. “You are through adventuring, Burrfoot. You’ve got quite enough stories to tell Flint as it is. You’re going to settle down and become a respectable member of society. Maybe even become High Sheriff.”

Rolling up the map (fond dreams in his head of running for High Sheriff), he placed it back in its case (not without a wistful glance). Then, turning his back upon it, he began to look through his treasures.

“A white chicken feather, an emerald, a dead rat—yick, where did I get that? A ring carved to look like ivy leaves, a tiny golden dragon—that’s funny, I certainly don’t remember putting that in my pouch. A piece of broken blue crystal, a dragons tooth, white rose petals, some kid’s old worn-out, plush rabbit, and—oh, look. Here’s Gnimsh’s plans for the mechanical lift and—what’s this? A book! Sleight-of-Hand Techniques to Amaze and Delight! Now isn’t that interesting? I’m sure this will really come in handy and, oh, no”—Tas frowned irritably—“there’s that silver bracelet of Tanis’s again. I wonder how he manages to hang onto anything without me around, constantly picking up after him? He’s extremely careless. I’m surprised Laurana puts up with it.”

He peered into the pouch. “That’s all, I guess.” He sighed. “Well, it certainly has been interesting. Mostly—it was truly wonderful. I met several dragons. I flew in a citadel. I turned myself into a mouse. I broke a dragon orb. Paladine and I became close, personal friends.

“There were some sad times,” he said to himself softly. “But they aren’t even sad to me now. They just give me a little funny ache, right here.” He pressed his hand on his heart. “I’m going to miss adventuring very much. But there’s no one to adventure with anymore. They’ve all settled down, their lives are bright and pleasant.” His small hand explored the smooth bottom of one final pouch. “It’s time for me to settle down, too, like I said, and I think High Sheriff would be a most fascinating job and—

“Wait... what’s that? In the very bottom... .” He pulled out a small object, almost lost, tucked into a corner of the pouch. Holding it in his hand, staring at it in wonder, Tas drew in a deep, quivering breath.

“How did Caramon lose this? He was so very careful of it. But then, he’s had a lot on his mind lately. I’ll just go give it back to him. He’s probably fearfully worried over misplacing it. After all, what would Par-Salian say...”

Studying the plain, nondescript pendant in his palm, Tas never noticed that his other hand—apparently acting of its own accord since he had quit adventuring—skittered around behind him and closed over the map case.

“What was the name of that place? Merilon?”

It must have been the hand that spoke. Certainly not Tas, who had given up adventuring. The map case went into a pouch, along with all of Tas’s other treasures; the hand scooping them up hastily and stowing them away.

The hand also gathered up all of Tas’s pouches, slinging them over his shoulders, hanging them from his belt, stuffing one into the pocket of his brand-new bright red leggings.

The hand busily began to change the plain, nondescript pendant into a sceptre that was really quite beautiful-all covered with jewels—and looked very magical.

“Once you’re finished,” Tas told his hand severely, “we’ll take it right upstairs and give it to Caramon—”

“Where’s Tas?” Tika murmured from the warmth and comfort of Caramon’s strong arms. Caramon, resting his cheek against her head, kissed her red curls and held her tighter. “I don’t know. Went down to the house, I think.”

“You realize,” said Tika, snuggling closer, “that we won’t have a spoon left.”

Caramon smiled. Putting his hand on her chin, he raised her head and kissed her lips...

An hour later, the two were walking around the floor of the unfinished house, Caramon pointing out the improvements and changes he planned to make. “The baby’s room will go here,” he said, “next to our bedroom, and this will be the room for the older kids. No, I guess two rooms, one for the boys and one for the girls.” He pretended to ignore Tika’s blush. “And the kitchen and Tas’s room and the guest room Tanis and Laurana are coming to visit—and... .” Caramon’s voice died. He had come to the one room in the house he had actually finished—the room with the wizard’s mark carved on a plaque which hung above the door.

Tika looked at him, her laughing face suddenly grown pale and serious.

Reaching up, Caramon slowly took down the plaque. He looked at it silently for long moments, then, with a smile, he handed it to Tika.

“Keep this for me, will you, my dear?” he asked softly and gently.

She looked up at him in wonder, her trembling fingers going over the smooth edges of the plaque, tracing out the arcane symbol inscribed upon it.

“Will you tell me what happened, Caramon?” she asked.

“Someday,” he said, gathering her into his arms, holding her close. “Someday,” he repeated.

Then, kissing the red curls, he stood, looking out over the town, watching it waken and come to life. Through the sheltering leaves of the vallenwood, he could see the gabled roof of the Inn. He could hear voices now, sleepy voices, laughing, scolding. He could smell the smoke of cooking fires as it rose into the air, filling the green valley with a soft haze.

He held his wife in his arms, feeling her love surround him, seeing his love for her shining before him always, shining pure and white like the light from Solinari... or the light shining from the crystal atop a magical staff...

Caramon sighed, deeply, contentedly. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he murmured. “I’m home.”