The Dawning of Power

by Brian Rathbone

  Craning her neck, Catrin tried to soak in the myriad of details while she walked. She nearly tripped a few times, but she got to see distant waterfalls, hanging gardens, and even small ponds filled with orange fish. If the monks Catrin saw noticed her and her party, they gave little indication. Some sat in quiet meditation; others read. Some had their heads and even their eyebrows completely shaved, and Catrin reflexively reached for her hair. It had grown long in the months since she had left her home. Even after it was singed, it grew back quickly, and she had come to like the feel of it on her neck; it made her feel womanly.

  Engrossed in her thoughts, she didn't notice that the others had stopped, and she walked into Strom's back. He made no comment, but somehow he came to be standing on her toes. She pinched him, and he laughed as he stepped away. Before the entrance of the temple, Captain Longarm remained silent. One of the men standing guard simply nodded and disappeared into the temple. The other guard motioned them to follow him inside, and he led them to a small side chamber.

  The entryway floor was of polished stone, and the walls were lined with shoes and boots. No one needed to tell them they should take off their boots, and the guard simply nodded when they started unlacing. Conscious of her pale and pickled-looking feet and her crooked toes, which had all been broken at least once, mostly under Salty's hooves, Catrin suddenly wished she did not have to go barefoot. The guard pointed to some washbasins, indicating they should wash their feet before entering the temple, and they respectfully complied.

  As Catrin rinsed her feet, she caught movement from the corner of her eye. A petite woman walked gracefully toward them, her robes gliding evenly across the floor, as if she moved without walking. Distracted, Catrin lost her balance as she removed her foot from the basin. She hopped on one foot for a moment, took a bad hop, and slipped on the wet floor. Her feet were above her head when she struck the stone floor, and the air rushed from her lungs. With an angry bump forming on the back of her head, she could not have been more embarrassed and was grateful when someone helped her rise from the floor. When her vision focused, she found it was the dainty woman who assisted her. "Greetings, child. I'm Mother Gwendolin. Are you hurt?"

  "Um, no, Mother. I'll be fine in a moment--just a bump on the head," Catrin replied. She did not resist as Mother Gwendolin guided her into another, smaller room with thick carpets and comfortable-looking cushions strewn about on the floor. Mother Gwendolin led her to a large cushion and helped ease her down to it. Catrin slumped onto the cushion and ran her fingers along the back of her skull. She felt no blood, but the lump was tender to the touch.

  "Greetings, Mother Gwendolin," Benjin said. "The years have been kind to you."

  "It's good to see you again, Benjin. It seems like only yesterday we searched for herbs and roots together," she replied, and Catrin looked up to see Benjin give her a brief hug. The others seated themselves, and Benjin began by making the introductions. He worked his way around the room until he came to Catrin, and she suddenly realized she had not given Mother Gwendolin her name.

  "This is Catrin Volker, daughter of Wendel and Elsa Volker," Benjin said quietly enough to remain discreet.

  "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself, Mother," Catrin blurted involuntarily.

  Mother Gwendolin just smiled. "You need not fret. I'm not easily offended, and you did suffer quite a fall. My position often seems to impose courtesies that my ego does not require and that I would much sooner forgo. There are those who feel I must maintain my aloofness as a requisite, but I find it tiresome. It creates a barrier between me and just about everyone else. Ah, but I did not come here to tell you my troubles. Please, tell me the tale of your journey," she said, but she noticed Benjin make an exaggerated glance toward the open doorway. "Perhaps this is a tale best told in a more accommodating location. If you'll follow me, I'll find us a more comfortable place to talk," she said, and Benjin nodded in agreement.

  She led them through the large hall and down a wide, rounded flight of stairs that opened into another equally large hall. Fewer people were gathered in this part of the temple, and many of the doors that lined the hall were closed. Catrin saw people in rooms where doors were open or ajar, but they made very little noise; most appeared to be in various states of meditation.

  Another flight of stairs took them into a smaller hall with fewer doors on either side. Mother Gwendolin selected a room that had empty rooms on either side, and when they were all inside, she closed the heavy door behind them.

  "I apologize, Mother, but our tale must be kept in confidence. I fear anyone who learns of it will be in danger. I'm hesitant to place such a burden on you, and I'm prepared to tell you pleasant lies if you decide that is best. I would ask your preference," Benjin said.

  Mother Gwendolin smiled, nodding in acknowledgment of his warning. "First, I must ask you to address me as Gwendolin while we're in a private setting. It will lighten my heart to enjoy your company as equals. Second, I wish to hear your tale, no matter how dangerous the information may be. I sense this is no minor matter, and I'll do what I can to assist you."

  Everyone in the room seemed to relax once those things were understood, and Catrin let Benjin's voice pull her along as he told their tale. He left out no details, shocking everyone with the extent of his disclosure. He spoke of Catrin as the one who had been declared the Herald of Istra, and Mother Gwendolin gave her more than a few glances during the telling of her deeds. Catrin immersed herself in Benjin's telling, and she let herself experience the tale from his perspective.

  He wove the story with skill, and his details painted vivid impressions in her mind. She liked the texture of his rendition and stored his memories alongside hers. Mother Gwendolin made not a single sound. She listened intently until Benjin reached the last part of his tale. When he described their journey with Milo and Gustad, she dropped her face into her hands and sighed; then she laughed. Benjin fell silent and Mother Gwendolin looked at each of them anew.

  "You've endured many trials along your journey, and you've more challenges ahead. Benjin's words tell me you have acted wisely and bravely, and I honor your courageous deeds. He also alluded to Catrin's desire to learn from us. I would ask what it is you seek."

  "I . . . uh . . . I came here hoping to learn about my magic," Catrin answered, caught off her guard.

  "Pah! Magic? What do you need with magic? Do you wish to perform tricks at country fairs?" Mother Gwendolin asked, incredulous, and Catrin gaped. "What you possess is not magic, child. You have power. Not the perception of power like that which politicians wield, but real, tangible power. It would seem you were right to seek us out, for you have much to learn, but we will remedy that, shall we not?"

  "Thank you," Catrin responded. "I don't want to be a burden, but any help and information you can offer will be greatly appreciated."

  "You couldn't just come to visit, could you, Benjin?" Mother Gwendolin asked with a wink.

  "I suppose not."

  "I think Catrin and I should spend some time together," Mother Gwendolin said. "Perhaps she could rejoin you this evening at the First Inn?"

  "Certainly. We can find our way out," Benjin said.

  "You should pay a visit to Milo and Gustad. I'm sure they'd be glad to show you their experiments," she replied with a wave, and Benjin closed the door behind himself.

  Nervous and self-conscious when left alone with Mother Gwendolin, Catrin quailed. The woman's grace and eloquence made her feel crude and ignorant, and she was somewhat cowed by Mother Gwendolin's reaction to the word magic.

  "Well now, where shall we begin, hmm?" Mother Gwendolin said. "Perhaps you could describe your experiences with power. That would help me understand what you know."

  Catrin sighed, took a deep breath, and prepared to verbalize the indescribable. She began by detailing the events surrounding the attack on Osbourne and how she had thought she would die. Then she tried unsuccessfully to relate the feeling of the world flying away from her.

  "Hmm, ye
s, that explains a great deal," Mother Gwendolin said. "It is my belief that the human brain is capable of much more than most people realize. There are doorways in our minds, like portals to ancient knowledge, most of which are closed. Some doors can be opened gradually over generations. I believe those opened by a parent before the time of a child's conception are made easier for the child to open, and I have hypothesized that these doors can be blown apart by traumatic experiences. It is my unproven theory that the unconscious mind can sometimes override the conscious mind for the sake of self-preservation, but I digress.

  "It would seem a major doorway fell before the threat on your life, and you instinctively triggered a chain reaction, unleashing a blast of energy. It is my belief that one cannot create energy. One can store energy, harness it, release it, but not create it. Again, I digress, please continue," she said.

  Catrin went on with a bit of excitement. She hadn't known what to expect, but at least Mother Gwendolin had some answers for her, even if they were vague and unproven. She managed to tell the tale of the destruction of the greatoaks without crying, but Mother Gwendolin's astonished reaction made it difficult.

  "By the land. The Grove of the Elders and the Heartstone destroyed."

  "You know of the place?" Catrin choked.

  "Only from legends and scripture, but you described it perfectly. It was a very sacred place where the land's energy was said to be almost palpable."

  "It was. I felt it." Catrin sobbed, once again suffering the guilt of destroying the once beautiful place.

  "You could not have known, dear. Now, now, don't cry," Mother Gwendolin said softly.

  Catrin then told of her experiences on the plateau and how the water seemed to repel her. She described the emotions she had been experiencing when she slammed the ground, and Mother Gwendolin looked thoughtful but remained silent. She went on to tell about her trials among the Arghast, and about the striking of the well.

  "Clever," Mother Gwendolin said.

  Finally, Catrin described her attack on the Zjhon fleet. She tried to express in words her energy vortex spinning in a similar manner to the rotation of the storm, and how exhausted she had grown trying to maintain it. Only when she reached that part of her tale did she remember the fish carving, and she quickly filled Mother Gwendolin in on the overlooked details. Mother Gwendolin's eyes flew as wide as saucers, and Catrin grew quiet.

  "Wait one moment before you say anything more," Mother Gwendolin said. She went to the door and summoned a nearby guard. After she whispered something in his ear, he left at a run. Catrin wanted desperately to ask what was going on, but she sensed Mother Gwendolin had good reason for her silence, and she also sensed an aura of excitement.

  A sudden knock at the door startled them both, and Mother Gwendolin rose to meet the guard. The man was winded and said nothing as he handed her a leather-bound book. Mother Gwendolin turned back to Catrin and quickly flipped the pages, clearly not wishing to prolong Catrin's torment; then she held the open book out.

  "Does it look like that?" she asked, no longer able to contain her excitement. Catrin's heart slammed into her throat, and she knew before she looked at the pages that she had found and destroyed some ancient relic. One glance at the page confirmed her fears, and she nodded with tears in her eyes. She didn't miss the caption written in bold letters above the drawing; it read, Imeteri's Fish. Mother Gwendolin looked at her with a mixture of horror and foolish hope. "Please tell me you lost it," she pleaded then sat down hard as Catrin shook her head.

  "I didn't know," Catrin said through her grief. "No one told me. I swear I didn't know. I needed the strength to stay alive. I didn't know." She sobbed and curled into a ball, and Mother Gwendolin held her.

  "I'm so sorry, dear Catrin. I'm a foolish old lady. I didn't realize the extent of your pain, and I've only served to make it worse. You are a remarkable young woman, and I'm proud to be known by you. I'll be more careful from now on. I promise," she said while Catrin cried on her shoulder.

  "I destroyed Imeteri's Fish."

  * * *

  The aroma that came from Miss Chambril's kitchen was enough to drive away most of the group's fears, but Chase had no appetite. Since their arrival at Ohmahold, a nagging intuition kept him from ever truly relaxing, and he paced the common room, waiting for Catrin to return.

  "She'll be fine," Benjin said as if reading his thoughts, and Vertook nodded firmly in agreement, but even their reassurances sounded thin and weak to Chase's ears, and he continued to fret.

  "What do you think will happen next?" Osbourne asked, his voice quivering, betraying his own fears.

  "The snows have begun," Benjin said. "The passes will soon be impassable, and I doubt anyone will arrive at Ohmahold or leave before the spring melt. We have little choice now but to settle in for the winter and make the best of the time we have."

  "What will we do?" Strom asked.

  "Perhaps a visit to Gustad and Milo, as Mother Gwendolin suggested, would be a good place to start. Learn all that you can, for you can never say what knowledge will mean the difference between life and death. Keep me apprised of all that you hear, and somehow we will piece together a plan."

  "You go," Chase said to Strom and Osbourne as they stood to leave. "I'll wait here for Cat." Strom looked him in the eye, and they exchanged a silent vow: Somehow they would keep her safe--somehow. Icy wind tore through the common room as Strom and Osbourne pushed opened the doors and leaned into the wind.

  When the doors slammed shut, Chase kicked a nearby chair, venting his frustration. Catrin needed him, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. Anxious and frightened, his thoughts ran in circles, and still no path became clear. He could only hope that something would show him the way. Until then, he would pace.

  Chapter 9

  The world is but a pyre of timber waiting for the tiniest spark to unleash an inferno.

  --Ain Giest, Sleepless One

  * * *

  Deep in the night, Catrin woke to find herself curled up on a cushion. Nearby, Mother Gwendolin snored softly. Catrin felt strange and scared in the silent darkness. Curling into a ball, she concentrated on positive thoughts and sought her center. As she drifted between sleep and wakefulness, she began to feel deep vibrations of power from within the stones of the temple. It was a comforting sort of energy, and it lulled her back to sleep.

  When she woke again, she was alone; a tray of fruits waited in a corner. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she plopped down next to the tray and helped herself to some apple slices and a few grapes. The sweet taste refreshed her and helped chase away her morning lethargy. Suddenly remembering that Benjin and the others had expected her back and knowing they were probably worried about her, she scrambled to her feet and charged toward the door just as it opened inward.

  "Good morning, Catrin. How are you feeling today?" Mother Gwendolin asked as she glided into the room.

  "Much better, thank you. I'm sorry I was such a bother last night. I didn't mean to keep you from your bed. I must let Benjin know--" Catrin began, and she would have continued if Mother Gwendolin had not placed a finger on her lips.

  "I sent word to Benjin last night, and you have nothing to worry about. Now that the snows have fallen and continue to fall, those within Ohmahold shall stay, and no more will arrive before the spring melt. For now, you may enjoy some respite," Mother Gwendolin said with a smile. "I've asked Benjin and the rest of your party to dine with us this evening, but there is something I wish to discuss with you before then. Would you like a little more time to greet the day?"

  "Now is fine," Catrin said, barely able to stifle a yawn, and Mother Gwendolin shook her head in a good-natured way.

  "It seems you have a great many questions, but few of them are clear in your mind. Perhaps it would help if you were able to achieve a clearer state of consciousness," Mother Gwendolin began, and Catrin gave her a perplexed look. "A common belief among the Cathurans is that every bit of food and drink you consume affects the
functions of your body and mind. Every substance you ingest alters your mental and physical state in some way. The only exception is clean water, the substance of life itself, which carries toxins from the body. I'm suggesting that you not only fast, but also undergo the purification ritual."

  "What's that?"

  "The ritual consists of a series of traditional ceremonies that help rid the body of stress and toxins. The ritual is also required of anyone who wishes to enter the Inner Sanctuary, which is where you may find some of your answers, though I make no promises. The ritual is not trivial. It lasts thirty days, during which time you will be unable to visit with anyone."

  Catrin's anxiety must have been easy to see.

  "Do not fear. I've undergone the ritual many times, and I find it helpful when I am undecided about something. I don't want to pressure you. The choice is yours. Would you like to walk in the gardens? Let us take in some beauty while we contemplate."

  The thought of a relaxing walk appealed to Catrin, and the warm coat Mother Gwendolin provided would make it more comfortable. All the walkways had been completely cleared of the previous night's snowfall. The sun shone brightly but brought little warmth along with its light, and Catrin was thankful for the coat.

  The gardens were breathtaking. Many plants still carried their fall shades of red and yellow, standing out in contrast to the pristine snow that partially covered them. Some of the colorful leaves were completely encased in sparkling ice. Droplets of water formed as the ice slowly melted, and rainbows danced across the gardens. A lone monk, his long gray hair flowing behind him, stood silently. He held what looked like two small bowls, one on top of the other. The top bowl appeared to be ringed with small holes that had flowers painted around them.