While hiding in a darkened alley, he spotted a young boy playing with a ball and stick. "Ho there, young man," Chase said. "I'll give you a copper to ask the baker a bunch of questions."
"I can do that."
Chase smiled, handed the boy a copper, and slid into the shadows, one step closer to his loaf of apple bread.
* * *
Confused, Catrin moved to Mother Gwendolin's side and tried to console her. From the looks the other monks were exchanging, they were as confused as she was. Mother Gwendolin took several deep breaths and gradually regained her composure. A young monk approached with jars of water, and Mother Gwendolin drank deeply when Catrin offered one to her. Catrin could barely stand the suspense, but she respected Mother Gwendolin and gave her time to calm herself.
"I'm sorry, Catrin," Mother Gwendolin said after another deep breath. "Your mother and aunt were poisoned. They were given a deadly overdose of mother's root, and I believe you were also a target, for mother's root only affects females."
Catrin was stunned. Her father and Benjin had always believed there had been some sort of foul deed involved with her mother's and aunt's deaths, but it had never felt real to Catrin. Now that Mother Gwendolin confirmed their suspicions, Catrin felt a deep, burning anger rise from the depths of her being. She had suppressed it for so long, uncertain it was warranted, but now the justification existed. She balled her hands into fists and wished she had something to punch, wanting very much to vent the searing fury before it consumed her.
"I wasn't certain at first," Mother Gwendolin said, breaking the heavy silence, "but you described every symptom of a mother's root overdose, and the sweet buns would have made a perfect vessel. Mother's root has a sickeningly sweet taste that could be masked with honey or sugar and become almost undetectable. Had you eaten your sweet bun, you would most likely be dead. And were it not for my envy, your mother and aunt would most likely be alive." Catrin was taken aback by the admission and waited silently for an explanation.
"When I met Benjin, he was trying to make his way back to Endland after parting company with your mother and father. He was so handsome, honorable, and in so much pain. I was drawn to him, and I admit I fell in love with him," she continued, looking embarrassed. "Benjin was smitten with your mother, and his heart was broken, but I didn't see it--didn't want to see it. I convinced myself he would fall in love with me and we would be happy together. We both had a love for herb lore, and we spent days discussing various rare plants and roots, but he did not fall in love with me. He didn't even seem to see me as a woman. I was jealous and hurt, which made me most uncharitable.
"During our last days together, Benjin asked me to help him transcribe my notes on several rare herbs of which he had no previous knowledge. I remember it clearly, though I wish I didn't. I was angry and didn't want to help him. I copied the section on mother's root, and I remember omitting the information on the effects of an overdose simply because I didn't feel like doing it. I included the information that warned against overdoses and left it at that. Now I see how high the price of my envy was. I would change it all if I could. I'm so sorry."
Catrin tried to find words to absolve Mother Gwendolin of guilt, but she found none. Instead, she gave her a hug, and they cried together for a while. Mother Gwendolin regained her composure and seemed to realize it was pointless to torture herself.
"I will send Benjin an invitation to meet with us this evening. There is nothing we can do about it now, but he deserves to know the truth," she said.
At that same moment, another young monk approached. "Many pardons, Mother, but Brother Vaughn asked me to come right away if any birds returned. These just came in from Drascha Stone," he said, bowing, and he presented several small, rolled pieces of parchment. She received them with a sad smile, her cheeks still shining with tears.
While Mother Gwendolin read, Brother Vaughn proudly explained their system of using pigeons to send messages between holds. He said several monks from each hold would travel to the other holds during the warm months, and they would carry many birds with them. The birds could then be released at any time to carry messages quickly back to their home hold. It was not a perfect system, he said, and messages were often lost. Important messages were sent with multiple birds, and any urgent messages received by one hold were forwarded to every other hold upon receipt. This, he said, helped to ensure that no Cathuran stronghold would ever be completely isolated from the others.
Mother Gwendolin looked up from the messages and handed one to Brother Vaughn. "I think this will be of most interest to you. It would appear a landslide in southern Faulk has uncovered the skeletal remains of a giant winged beast. The message indicates the beast would have been larger than a warship--incredible," she said. "There is also word of Zjhon troop movements. Several large detachments are converging near the northern tip of the Inland Sea in Lankland. I suspect they will be bound for Ohmahold by the spring melt. It would appear the Zjhon have reason to believe Catrin is here."
The news gave Catrin a cold feeling in her stomach. Now Ohmahold would be subjected to a siege simply because she was there, much as the Godfist suffered because of her. She tried not to castigate herself, knowing, deep in her heart, it was not her fault, but that failed to lessen her anguish. It was difficult to sit near Brother Vaughn, who could barely contain his excitement. The discovery of the winged beast clearly had his imagination running wild, and she tried to draw from his enthusiasm rather than dampen it with her melodrama.
"Do not be overly concerned," Mother Gwendolin said, sensing her thoughts. "Ohmahold is well defended and well provisioned. We can be completely self-sufficient in the event of a siege, and the Zjhon will have to battle the Wastes. When they launched their attack on the Godfist, they sent nearly two-thirds of their strength, and now they are left with insufficient troops to hold lands only recently conquered. I'm told the armies are now conscripting young women into service. These nations have already lost most of their working-age men, and now the Zjhon are sapping them of young women as well. The rural farmers have been the hardest hit. The Zjhon come unexpectedly, and the farmers have been ill prepared to defend themselves. The Zjhon take their young folk and livestock, and they make notes of any small children, so they can return for them later.
"In the meantime, the elderly and the very young are left with all of the work of growing food and caring for what remains of their livestock. The Greatland is on the cusp of famine and a full-scale revolution. I fear there are dark days ahead of us, and there is little we can do to stop it."
"I must accept the things I cannot change and focus on what I can do, I suppose," Catrin said, trying to find some escape from the futility. She glanced at Sister Hanna, who had not said a word since their introduction. "Sister Hanna, perhaps there is something you can help me with. I've been trying to translate a phrase from High Script. Do you know what Om'Sa means?" she asked.
Sister Hanna appeared impressed that Catrin would attempt to translate High Script. "I've seen that phrase only once in all my studies, and that was in one of the oldest texts we have. High Script evolved over the centuries, and the earliest versions are the most difficult to translate. From the context in which I saw the phrase, I interpreted it to mean departure or exodus of the first men. I cannot be certain my translation is correct, for phrases in early High Script can have many meanings, depending on the order of the words and their context, which makes the translation more art than science. In what context, may I ask, did you see this phrase?"
"Om'Sa is the name of a book that was given to me. It's very old, and I could not translate much of it. It's in my room at the First Inn, perhaps we could ask Benjin to bring it with him this evening," Catrin said, and Sister Hanna seemed genuinely excited about the prospect.
Mother Gwendolin added the request to her missive and sent the young monk to deliver the message.
"I know this has been a trying day for you, Catrin, and for me as well, but I sense events are beginning to acc
elerate. I'm sorry to bring this up, but I think it will be important for you to understand the nature and properties of noonstone," Mother Gwendolin said, and Catrin wondered what noonstone was.
"From what we know, the fish figurine you found, Imeteri's Fish, was carved from noonstone. Noonstone is very rare, and as you found, it can be used to store a finite amount of Istra's energy. In truth, noonstones are actually crystals that only form under the most rare circumstances. The old texts say they only form during the Istran noon, when thousands of comets can be seen in the skies at any given time. Even then, it is written that they only form under deep salt water and only when the wind is blowing east."
Catrin found it hard to imagine anything could be so rare, and again she felt the sting of having destroyed Imeteri's Fish. "How did the ancients find and retrieve the crystals if they were under deep water?"
"We don't know," Mother Gwendolin admitted. "While that remains a mystery, there are some things I do know. Noonstone is clear and shiny when it is fully charged, and it becomes chalky and porous when its store of energy has been depleted. When energy is drawn from the stone, it grows warm to the touch, and if you draw too much energy too fast, then it will get hot. If you continue to draw upon a depleted stone, it will eventually disintegrate, and the crumbled remains will no longer be viable. The stone will be destroyed."
Catrin nodded in acceptance. Much of what Mother Gwendolin said confirmed what she had deduced on her own--only too late. It was good to have the information confirmed, but Catrin doubted she would ever find another noonstone, which made the discussion seem pointless.
"What is Istra? Is she a goddess or a bunch of rocks in the sky?" Catrin asked, partially in an attempt to change the subject.
Mother Gwendolin laughed and shook her head. "You've a talent for asking questions that are nearly impossible to answer," she said. "Again, understand that this is my opinion. I believe the ancient peoples had no way to explain heavenly bodies, so they made up stories of gods and goddesses to define the unknown. Istra was their personification of the comet storm that lasted for over a hundred and fifty years. And comets are not big rocks in the sky; those are called asteroids. We believe comets are made of ice and they radiate their own energy. It is this energy you feel, much like you feel the warmth of the sun.
"If you explore ancient legends and stories of the gods and goddesses, you will find all the major heavenly bodies represented in some way or another. The sun is known as Vestra, the periodic comet storm is known as Istra, and the moon is known as the Dead God, father of the gods and goddesses, who was said to have been killed by his children. Groups of stars were given names and attributed grand deeds. It was even believed that great kings and heroes would become chains of stars upon their deaths. I believe the comet storm is a very natural occurrence, and some of our order have even hypothesized that comets may have been the very source of life itself. If comets are truly made of ice, then it could have been a comet that collided with Godsland and provided her oceans."
Catrin watched as her simple world of gods and goddesses dissolved into a highly complex universe of endless possibilities. If the gods did not really exist, at least in the form of omniscient super-beings, then who decided fate? Could life possibly be nothing more than a series of random occurrences? The evidence pointed toward something even grander than predestination and far more logical than random chaos. Life seemed to consist of many patterns and appeared to follow certain rules. The rules allow for a certain amount of predictability, whereas the complexity of the interacting forces provide entropy, resulting in a constantly changing universe based on orderly precepts--order within chaos.
The thoughts were as confusing to Catrin as they were revealing, and she had a difficult time coming to terms with the multitude of possibilities. She sat quietly for a time, simply allowing her thoughts to flow.
Mother Gwendolin must have sensed that she was overwhelmed because she adjourned their meeting for the day. In addition, the afternoon shadows had grown long, and they needed to get back to the Outer Sanctuary to meet with Benjin. The other monks bade Catrin and Mother Gwendolin a good evening and returned to their own tasks, and Catrin followed Mother Gwendolin back to the Outer Sanctuary.
When they arrived at one of the private dining rooms, they found Benjin already seated and in the middle of a glass of wine. Catrin's waxed leather bookcase sat on the table. Mother Gwendolin left Benjin and Catrin in privacy for a while.
"How are the others faring?" Catrin asked and was relieved to see him smile.
"Better than I would have anticipated, which is a blessing; it could have been a very long winter. Instead, Osbourne has taken up glassmaking and has really shown some promise. Milo seems truly thrilled to have an apprentice. Gustad has taken Strom under his wing, and I think he might be the father figure the boy needed. Strom has already proven himself a capable smith under Gustad's instruction, and I foresee a new future ahead of him. Vertook is in his absolute glory. He's managed to get Brunson to attempt the Arghast method of horse training. Brunson allowed Vertook to select any foal he desired, and then he selected one for himself. Now the two of them are spending every waking moment bonding with the foals. They even sleep in the fields with the animals.
"I've been working with Chase on his swordsmanship. He's quickly becoming a capable fighter, and the exercise is helping his arm heal. We spend a good deal of time discussing strategies and gambits. He's made it quite clear that he's committed to protecting you. He doesn't begrudge the others their pursuits, but he'll have none of it. All his efforts are dedicated to preparation for what may lie ahead." He paused when Mother Gwendolin returned, her face an impassive mask, and Benjin was clearly taken aback by her stark visage. Catrin sat in quiet suspense, trying to decide if she should leave the two in privacy, but she could not make herself move.
"Benjin, I have wronged you, and I am very sorry," Mother Gwendolin began. "I'll put this as kindly as I can, but there is no easy way to tell you. When we first met, I fell in love with you, and I was envious of your feelings for Elsa. You pined after her when I was right there for the taking." She stopped a moment when she saw the look of shock on Benjin's face, which slowly turned to one of comprehension and shame.
"How could I have been so blind?" he said softly, but Mother Gwendolin gave him no time to feel guilty.
"Do you remember when you asked me to help you transcribe my notes?" she asked, and he nodded mutely. "I was angry and my feelings were hurt, and I did a poor job on the pages I transcribed. I copied what I considered the most important things and left out some of the cursory details. My omission cost you dearly, and again, I'm very sorry. I would change it if I could," she said, and she handed him a page from her notes--the page describing mother's root.
He looked baffled at first as he read over the information he had memorized years ago, but then he came to the part Mother Gwendolin had not transcribed, the part that described the symptoms and treatment of an overdose. His face lost all color, and every muscle in his body seemed to tense as he read the words that could have saved Elsa and Willa. Veins stood out on his neck and forehead, and Catrin thought he might explode. Tears streamed down Mother Gwendolin's cheeks, and her lip quivered.
Benjin set the parchment down slowly then stood. Catrin thought he might leave without another word, but instead he paced slowly around the room, looking like an angry cat about to seek revenge, his lithe movements promising a quick death. After some time, his shoulders hunched as his anger seemed to turn to sadness.
"You must not blame yourself for this, Mother, nor should I be allowed to blame myself," he said in a voice thick with emotion. "We are not responsible for their deaths. We did not murder them. If circumstances had been different, perhaps I would have been able to save them, perhaps not. We would have saved them if we could, but we could not."
Mother Gwendolin nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Then she rushed to hug him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered through fresh tears.
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"I'm sorry as well, Gwen. I never meant to hurt you. I just didn't realize," he replied, but Mother Gwendolin silenced him with a finger on his lips.
"You need not explain. You are already forgiven. Now that we better understand the past, let us deal with the present," she said.
Benjin began pacing again, his hostility returning full force.
"When I find Baker Hollis, there will be justice."
Chapter 13
In the absence of drive and purpose, talent can remain forever undiscovered.
--Vitrius Oliver, sculptor
* * *
The reality of her mother's murder settled in slowly, inexorably, like the measured beat of a chisel being driven into her soul. How could anyone be so wicked? What had her mother and aunt done to deserve such hatred? Deep down, though, other questions haunted her. Was it because of her, because of something she did? Was she to blame for their deaths? Perhaps if she had done something differently, her mother and aunt would still be alive.
Nothing could bring them back; she knew that, but the pain was now fresh, as if the loss had been only yesterday. She wept for the hole in her world, the place they should have filled. Then she felt a feeling of peace wash over her, as if they were safe and happy--and with her. She wondered if it was her imagination that conjured the smell of roses, but then she decided it didn't matter; it brought her joy and absolution.
* * *
Covered in sweat and grime, Strom ran the file along the last tooth of the final gear. Finally, they were ready to assemble his machine, and all he could do was hope it would work. Nagging fears of failure made his stomach ache. Hard work helped keep his mind from worry, and he poured himself into the task. If his boiling machine did not pour glass, then it would not be due to a lack of effort.
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