Damp, clinging mists swirled up around Raist s chair. He was no longer in the library. Voices seemed to be whispering, just out of his hearing. Suddenly his mother appeared.
"Come with me, dear," invited Rosamun. "I will be your guide." The boy reached out eagerly to take her extended hand. The instant their fingers touched, however, Rosamun was transformed into a terrifying slime-covered creature that sucked Raistlin to its chest with an irresistible force. Panicked, he was enveloped in ooze. Desperately he fought against the suffocating sensation, struggling for air, gulping mouthfuls of the sickening stuff. He was drowning in slime!
Just as suddenly it evaporated. Now Raistlin was back home, perched on his mother's bed. He was in fact sharing her body, seeing with her eyes, breathing her tremulous breaths.
Kitiara was getting dinner ready. Caramon was idly flipping twigs into the fireplace. Gilon came in. Only it wasn't Gilon. This creature had horns and a huge head. It towered over Kitiara, brushing against the ceiling. A minotaur, Raist realized with a shudder. It stormed to Rosamun's side. She screamed and tried to fight the beast-man off as he neatly trussed her—and Raist, in her body— in sheets. Kit and Caramon didn't appear to care or even to notice. While Rosamun screeched in protest, the minotaur carried her under its arm to the front door and heaved her to the ground.
Abruptly Raist was outside his mother's body and pulling himself up by the window ledge to peer inside the cottage. He saw the minotaur and Kit nod to each other conspiratorially. Looking more closely at his older sister, Raist saw that she looked different, changed. She was covered in armor made up of shimmering blue scales. When she opened her mouth, flames shot out. Around her waist was a scabbard with the wooden sword her father had bequeathed her. Only when she drew it forth, it was wooden no longer. The solid metal gleamed in the firelight. With her fearful sword, Kit advanced on the oblivious Caramon.
Raist clung to the window ledge, fascinated, unable to act. Finally he began pounding at the window with one arm, yelling a warning at his twin. Caramon didn't look up as Kit raised the sword above his head. Rosamun's shrieking could be heard behind him still. With horror, Raist watched Kit bring the sword down, slicing off Caramon's head. The bloody thing rolled toward the window, its eyes finally gaping at Raist. Calmly, with sorrow not rancor, Caramon's head asked, "Brother, why didn't you warn me?" The words pierced Raistlin's heart. He collapsed on the ground, sobbing. Raistlin jerked awake. He had fallen asleep! Flushed with humiliation, Raist's eyes swept the room, seeing with some relief that he was still alone.
It must be nearly suppertime, when Gilon and Kitiara would be coming back to get him. At least three hours had passed without a clue as to the whereabouts of the master mage. Where could Morath have gone for so long? And what was Raist supposed to do now?
All was silence. The library was virtually dark now, only a pale glow of light fell from above, illuminating the center of the room, slanting westward across part of the table. Opposite from where Raist sat, near Morath's chair, the light shone on the book that the master mage had picked out and set aside for himself.
Eyeing that book, Raist wondered what wisdom it contained. Drumming his fingers, the little boy reached across the table and, after standing on his chair, managed to tug the book closer to himself so that he could make out the words on its cover. The History of the Present Up to the Moment, As Set Down by Astinus, said the auspicious lettering on the front.
The history of the present! Raist wondered how that could be and what this unusual book might say. He wondered about it so much, he was practically on fire with curiosity. But he sat there for another ten minutes without moving in the slightest. Then, hearing and seeing nobody, Raistlin stood on the chair again and leaned across the table, touching the cover. He fingered the spine of the book, felt the raised lettering of its title, and caressed the crisp edge of its pages. His face had a intense, almost rapturous expression, as if he was concentrating on receiving some message through his fingertips.
"Ahem."
Raist was startled by the voice behind him and whirled to see the master mage standing there, frowning. Raistlin had not heard the library doors open and close, or Morath come in. The master mage carried with him a flickering globe that bathed the library in dancing yellow light. He glided around to his chair and sat down, putting down the globe, then pointedly reached across to bring the Present History back to his side of the table.
"What have you been doing?" Morath demanded.
"Well," began Raist uncomfortably, sliding back into his chair and looking up into Morath's fierce black eyes staring at him. "I finished the book with all the numbers and equations in it about two hours ago, so I started to read the other two books you brought out for me, the ones about geography and elven history. I finished them, too, and then—" Raist's voice faltered "—I think I fell asleep for a few minutes."
"Asleep!" Morath boomed indignantly.
"For a few minutes," Raist repeated softly.
There was a long ominous silence while each waited for the other to say something else.
"I think," said Raist, after a long pause,
