The Dawning of Power

by Brian Rathbone

  The robed man abruptly stopped in front of an archway that opened into what appeared to be a temple since it contained nothing but rows of bare benches. More colorful windows adorned the far wall, and one window in particular drew Catrin's eye. Beyond it was the glowing silhouette of Istra, Goddess of the Night. Only part of her visage was visible through the slender opening, but it was exactly as she had seen it during her astral travels; only now, it glowed more brightly.

  The somber procession filed into the room. They tried to make themselves comfortable on the unforgiving benches, but it was impossible.

  "These accommodations are an insult," Millie said with her hands on her hips, but their guide simply turned and left the room.

  "This will be fine, Millie," Catrin said, hoping to lessen the tension. "I've no desire to stay here long. We'll do what we came here to do, and then we'll leave. Until then, we'll just have to accept whatever hospitality is offered."

  Benjin nodded his agreement, and Millie mumbled something unintelligible that Catrin doubted was complimentary toward the Zjhon. As evening came, the skies were afire with color, and the eerie, greenish light of the statue grew brighter yet. Sleep was impossible, and Catrin ignored Millie's protests that she couldn't be married with sagging eyes. The wedding was a farce, and everyone knew it, bride and groom included.

  For two days, they were left with little more than broth to sustain them. Millie paced the floors, casting furious glances at anyone who crossed her path. The waiting was dreadful, and no matter how hard she tried, Catrin could not make the days fly by any faster than they would. Even Benjin became snappish.

  * * *

  Atop Limin's Spire, the winds gusted, and even within the shelter of the stone walls, it was painfully cold. The structure's lack of a roof helped not at all. But the skies were clear, and Milo was convinced he had the focusing mechanism working properly.

  "I have only a few more parts left to assemble," Milo said. "Then we will see things no one has seen in thousands of years."

  Strom and Osbourne watched, waited, and shivered.

  "I just want to get this done and get down from here. Heights make my head spin," Strom said.

  "The view is incredible, don't you think?"

  "I try not to look at it."

  "That's it," Milo said. "We're ready."

  Strom and Osbourne wasted no time. After wrapping the looking glass in leather, they picked it up and began climbing to the top of the pedestal. There was no railing; nothing stood between them and a terrifying drop. Tears streamed down Strom's cheeks from more than the wind stinging his eyes; he feared that same wind would blow him from the spiral stairway.

  Not long after they passed what Strom considered the halfway point, his arms began to quiver from the exertion, but he was determined to keep going, and he gritted his teeth.

  "I'm not going to make it," Osbourne said. "I need to put it down now."

  Frustrated, Strom eased his end of the looking glass down. Leaning against the pedestal, he closed his eyes and waited for his arms to stop tingling. Osbourne moved around him, walking up and down stairs. It made Strom want to scream. How could he not realize how close they were to falling into an abyss? Milo, at least, had the sense to remain still.

  When Osbourne announced he was ready, Strom stood, planted his feet, and opened his eyes. After a deep breath, he bent down and picked up his end of the looking glass. As they neared the top, the climb seemed a bit easier, and they soon reached the mounting bracket. With one final effort, they lifted the looking glass and gently set it in the bracket. Milo slid the pins into place, and finally Strom and Osbourne could relax.

  "This thing better work," Strom said.

  "That's what you said last time," Osbourne said.

  "Yeah. I know."

  Milo aimed the looking glass away from the morning sun and began turning the large ring he said would focus the lenses, but his arms weren't long enough to reach the ring while looking in the eyepiece. "Osbourne, my boy, I need you to turn the adjuster while I look through the glass."

  With slow and tentative movements, Osbourne turned the adjuster and, by the look on his face, feared the whole thing would come apart in his hands.

  "Wait. Stop," Milo said. "Go back. Stop! That's it!"

  "It really works?" Strom asked, unable to believe what he was hearing.

  "Strom, come here. You're eyes are better than mine. Help Osbourne adjust it."

  His excitement finally overcoming his fears, Strom gazed into the eyepiece, but all he saw was the blue of the midmorning sky, and there was nothing to focus on.

  "It will be easier at night, but do the best you can. This is important," Milo said as Gustad arrived with a leather satchel. "I'll be back." Both Gustad and Milo climbed down, wanting to look at their books and calculations somewhere more sheltered from the wind.

  "Turn it some," Strom said, and the image grew fuzzy. "Go back the other way." This time the image became clearer, but then it grew fuzzy again. "Go back just a bit. There. Stop. That's the best I can do without something to look at. Let's swing this around and see if we can find anything."

  "I don't think that's a good idea."

  "Come on, Osbo. We did most of the work on this thing. I think we've earned the right to take a look around. Besides, Milo and Gustad are hiding something. Look at them down there. Did either of them tell you what this was all about?"

  "No."

  "Then let's find out. We just push here, and it should swing right around."

  "Don't look at the sun!" Osbourne yelled.

  Strom aimed lower, closer to the horizon, looking for something and not knowing what. But then he saw something strange and stopped. "Turn the ring," he said. "Back the other way. Stop!" Unable to believe what he saw, Strom just stared in silent awe for a moment. "By the gods. What is that?"

  "What is what?" Osbourne asked as Milo and Gustad started climbing back to the top of the pedestal. Strom stepped back and let Osbourne look for himself. He didn't need to look again, the image was imprinted in his memory.

  ". . . should be visible by now," Gustad said as they reached the top, but then he looked Strom in the eyes and ran to the looking glass. Osbourne stepped away, bereft of speech.

  "The charts we found in the lost library are real," Gustad said as he stepped away from the looking glass. Milo rushed in for his chance to see. "Istra has arrived."

  * * *

  Catrin and all the others stood when a soldier entered the hall. Millie blocked his path and looked him in the eye.

  "Be ready by midday," he said, casting a cold and disinterested glance around the room.

  Millie controlled her anger enough to nod and only turned her back on the man. She fussed over Catrin's hair for an impossible amount of time, most of which Catrin spent staring out the rose and chartreuse windowpanes. The sky beyond was clear, but she could feel the comets coming; they were close. She felt as if she could reach out and touch them. Though there was little evidence to support her feelings, a cloudbank on the eastern horizon seemed strange to her--unnatural.

  She was to wed this day, and she'd never even seen the face of the man who would be her husband. When she turned her thoughts to the wedding, her anxieties brought their full weight to bear. She didn't even know if she'd be able to gain access to the statue, let alone destroy it. Feeling like a prisoner, she doubted she'd be free to do anything beyond take the vows. As her mind went in circles, she resigned herself to the uncertainty. She'd know what to do when the time came--she hoped.

  As the sun moved toward its zenith, when Vestra was at the height of his power, a dozen robed men arrived to escort the bride. Benjin took his place behind Catrin as she followed her guards from their cell, as she had come to think of it. Like a funeral procession, they walked in silence, and a pall of sadness hung over them, one and all. Tears were shed, but none were tears of joy. Catrin missed her father dearly on this day, a day he should have shared with her, and she wiped her eyes with the sleeves o
f her flowing dress. Millie cast her a sideways glance but said nothing.

  At the turn of a corner, the sound of a large crowd carried through the halls, and a sunlit field became visible in the distance. At its center stood the Statue of Terhilian. Though only its base was visible from their current vantage point, there was no doubt as to what they saw. The land surrounding the level field angled upward in all directions, like a giant bowl, and ascending rows of stone seats had been carved from the mountainside. In only a few places was the stone still visible; most seats were already taken, and the rest were filling quickly.

  Primal fear struck Catrin's heart. Not only must she face her new husband and the Statue of Terhilian, she must do it in front of the largest assemblage she'd ever witnessed. Only one thing consoled her, and that was the location of the altar, which was scant paces from the base of the statue. Her guts twisted into knots when she saw another procession coming from the opposite direction. In the lead came a proud young man who walked with his chest out and his head tilted slightly back.

  It was not his physical features that intrigued her, though; it was the nimbus that surrounded him. Unlike the auras described in the old tales, it had no color and was only clearly visible when she squinted. But when she did, she could see an area around him that distorted whatever was behind him, like the heat of a fire only less fluid.

  He ignored Catrin completely, and she felt her face flush. Surely he must be curious about his new bride. How could he not even try to see what she looked like? Perhaps, she thought, he had already decided she was a monster, a hideous and undesirable wretch not worthy of his blood.

  In a moment of sudden clarity, she realized she had done the same to him. No matter how kind or polite he was, he'd always be a Kyte, one of the people responsible for the deaths of her mother and aunts, and who knew how many others. She made herself look anywhere but at him, knowing he would sense her stare. She looked beyond the statue to the towering archway that dominated the eastern end of the arena. It was twice as large as the one at the main entrance, and Catrin guessed it was the only opening large enough to admit the statue.

  In the skies beyond, the strange thunderhead grew larger and uncharacteristically bright, as if illuminated from within. But Catrin soon reached the raised dais, and the statue blotted out the rest of her world. The energy radiating from it felt unclean, nothing like the waves of energy that descended from the skies. Like a kernel of hard corn held over a fire, its inside boiled, and at any moment, it could release all its energy in a single, devastating flash. Standing before it took much of her willpower, and her knees felt untrustworthy, as if they would buckle in the slightest breeze.

  When the groom stood directly across from her, she looked skyward once again, and the heavens were aglow. The storm was no storm. It was a comet scudding across the skies. Grinding against the air, it erupted into a conflagration the likes of which had not been seen in thousands of years. Its energy slammed into Catrin, and combined with the noxious charge from the statue, it was more than she could handle. She swayed on her feet, and Benjin supported her from behind. As he held her, her staff pressed against her bare forearm. The feel of the polished wood was comforting, and she took solace from it.

  "Behold, the eye of Istra," a voice boomed, startling Catrin. She had no doubt it was Archmaster Belegra who spoke, but she could not make herself look at him, afraid of what she might see. "This day she has come to witness the union of Lankland and Mundleboro under her light and likeness. Vestra joins her, high in the skies, and we ask for their blessings. Give us a sign, and we'll rejoice!"

  Catrin waited along with everyone else for some sign, and none were disappointed when red lightning spanned the eastern horizon, cast out in all directions from the raging comet. The distant rumbling did not fade like natural thunder; instead it grew steadily, intensifying, but no one was prepared for the blast that knocked them from their feet and seats alike. A wave of fetid air roared from the west, and the ground shook.

  The western horizon took on its own eerie glow, one that matched the light of the statue. And Catrin knew, in that instant, without any doubt, the Statue of Terhilian that had been found in the west had just detonated, and she shrank away from the realization that tens of thousands had just perished in an instant. A new cataclysm had begun, and the next component of destruction stood within throwing distance of her. Zjhon guards formed a ring around the dais and effectively barred her path.

  Most people had regained their feet, though the moans of the injured could still be heard, and angry voices protested from the crowd.

  "The other statue has exploded!" someone shouted, and many looked about to see who it was, but no one laid claim to the statement.

  "The Herald Witch has attacked the Westland," a woman shrieked, and Archmaster Belegra jumped on the opportunity.

  "Friends, we are besieged. The Herald Witch has brought war to the Greatland, and we are all in dire peril. We must stand together and face our common foe as one unified nation. If we remain separate, surely we will perish," he bellowed, and the acoustics of the arena carried his words to even those in the highest rows. Ragged cheers broke out, but many within the crowd seemed unsure, as if their faith had been something of little consequence in the past but was now coming to haunt them. They would need to quickly decide what they believed, for now their lives depended on it.

  "Can the Herald travel a third of the Greatland in the span of just one breath?" a familiar voice asked, and Catrin searched for the speaker without success.

  "Of course not," Archmaster Belegra replied, seemingly outraged by the notion. "No one can do such a thing. The Herald Witch is powerful, but she's not unstoppable. We have but to join with one another, and we can defeat her. We must do this before she brings any more evil into our world." He seemed pleased with his words.

  "Could the Herald cause such destruction in the Westland if she was here, within Adderhold?" the same voice shouted from the crowd, and the speaker became easy to locate, as just about everyone in his vicinity moved away. He stood proud and defiant, and Catrin could hardly believe the cruelty of fate when she recognized him: Rolph Tillerman, one of the few people in the Greatland who might guess her identity. She cursed herself for her own stupidity. She should never have let her tongue slip, but the damage was already done, and all she could do was wait to see how dire the consequences would be.

  "There's no way the Herald Witch could cause such damage from a great distance. We are safe here," Archmaster Belegra replied.

  "Then the attack on the Westland could not have been committed by the Herald," Rolph bellowed triumphantly.

  "How could you know such a thing?" Archmaster Belegra asked, clearly confident that Rolph would only prove himself witless, but Rolph's response stirred the frightened crowd into frenzy.

  "I know this for certain, since the Herald of Istra stands before you," he said, and Catrin leaned heavily on Benjin as Rolph's eyes turned to her. "In a wedding dress."

  Chapter 24

  Death, like life, is part of the natural cycle. To fear one is to devalue the other.

  --Manul Praska, shaman

  * * *

  Time slowed and Catrin swung her head in a wide arc, taking in every detail as she spun. All eyes were on her, and she felt every stare acutely, especially those from within the hoods of the men surrounding Archmaster Belegra. Hostile energies gathered there, making ready the attack, and Catrin was jolted by the recognition of one.

  Prios.

  The pattern of his energy was unmistakable, and she sensed his recognition of her even without being able to see his face. He gave no outward sign save a small twitch of his hood. But then her gaze moved to the very close face of her betrothed. His eyes were filled with rage, and his aura reached out for her like fingers of flame. For a moment, time accelerated; then he was leaping for her throat with deadly quickness.

  Instinct drove her, and the heady abundance of energy she'd been absorbing made her off-balance parry a ma
ssive blow that sent him tumbling through the air. Even as he spiraled into a crowd of those attempting to flee, she wondered at the fact that she didn't even know his name, this Kyte whelp, and she wondered if it wouldn't soon be a name she'd wish to forget. For the moment, though, he'd pose no more threat; his limp form was dragged from the field by his guards. The flesh of her neck and throat stung, and when she ran her hand over it, it came away covered with blood. Had he raked her flesh without ever touching her? She wondered at that, but her attention was required to stay alive, and the world rushed around her again.

  Her momentum carried her, and she found herself facing Benjin, who tossed her staff into the air between them. Catrin leaped to meet it halfway and caught it deftly. She rolled over it and sprang into a fighting stance only to find no one between her and the statue. One man moved to bar her path, but his eyes bulged, affixed to the heel of her staff, and he fled. She risked a quick glance at her staff. The serpent head stood out in bold relief, outlined by pulses of liquid energy, and, for the first time, the true nature of the serpent was revealed. Tendrils of liquid fire clearly showed the outlines of wings, but Catrin could look upon it no more. The noonstone eyes shone bright white, and blue spheres obscured her vision long after she looked away from the blinding glare.

  The comet above seemed likely to destroy them all as it moved in front of the sun and was spectacularly backlit during the eclipse. Deep shades of purple and amber rolled away from the massive sphere of ice, and a towering cloud of vapor trailed behind it. The air sang like an anvil rung by a thousand hammers, accompanied by the monotonous thundering that threatened to vibrate everything into oblivion.