"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.
"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.
Milo hovered nearby, always silent but always watching. He knew they were nearing completion, and Strom thought he might not be able to stand the anticipation any longer.
"I think it's ready to go on the shaft," Gustad said. "You've done an excellent job. Now it's time to put your idea to the test. Are you ready?"
"I'm ready," Strom replied after he secured the final gear in place. With dread, he grabbed the handle and started to crank. Slowly the crucible began to turn. After cranking the crucible back to the upright position, Strom filled it with sand and placed a bowl beneath it. Trying to be as smooth as he could, he cranked the handle and simulated the pour.
"Just a little too fast," Milo said. "It accelerates the pour too soon."
"I can't believe it works at all," Osbourne said.
Strom ignored Osbourne's comment, determined to find a way to slow the initial part of the pour. "What if we cut off the first part of the strap and stitch on something thinner; then it won't accelerate much until it reaches the thick strap," he said.
Milo produced a sack made of strong but thin material, and he cut a length from it. After a few more tests pouring sand, Milo calculated the length of strap to be replaced. Stitching the light material and leather proved to be difficult, but Gustad showed Strom how to use an awl to make holes in the leather.
After a few more test pours, Milo declared the pouring machine ready for a test with real glass. They were running out of sand, and Strom felt the pressure.
When Osbourne pulled the crucible from the furnace, he performed his practiced movements and placed the rod on Strom's machine. When he went to secure the strap, though, the heat was too much, despite his thick, leather gloves. By the time the strap was attached, the glass had already cooled too much.
"Don't despair, young Strom. No one designs machines without flaws; the real challenge is to overcome those flaws. We'll just find a way to fix it and try again. Eventually we will succeed."
"How much sand do we have left?" Osbourne asked.
***
The modest room Catrin had been provided within the Inner Sanctuary offered little in the way of distraction. She was glad when Mother Gwendolin arrived, if only for something new to think about.
"I hope the morning has greeted you kindly," Mother Gwendolin said as she led Catrin through a maze of corridors.
"I've had a great deal to consider, but I'm feeling a bit better about things. Thank you."
"I'm sorry to burden you further, but time rushes away from us, and there is much we must learn," Mother Gwendolin said, and Catrin nodded. "Much of the information we have regarding ancient times is isolated and without context, which mak
es it exceedingly difficult to give any of it credence. But there is something I've benefited from personally, and I would like to share it with you. I think, perhaps, it will help you to see more clearly."
"Please, go on," Catrin said, eager for anything that might give her direction. She felt lost in a sea of critical decisions she wasn't prepared to make.
"It's called a viewing ceremony, and I find it helps me focus when I'm unable to resolve a debate or conflict. Would you like to try?"
"What does it involve-I mean, it's not painful, is it?" Catrin asked, feeling silly, and Mother Gwendolin laughed. Her laugh was like the tinkling of fine chimes, and it set Catrin's heart at ease.
"No, child, it's not painful. The viewing chamber is a very special room with two adjoining chambers. A group of specially trained monks will gather in each of the chambers, and they will perform an ancient melody. It's actually quite enchanting."
"Yes, I think I would like that. Thank you," Catrin said, and she wondered what she was getting herself into. The opportunity was certainly too good to pass up, but the Cathurans had already proven full of surprises, and she wondered what the viewing ceremony would reveal.
When they arrived at their destination, a hallway with three elaborately painted doors, they were greeted by a large gathering of robed and hooded monks standing in silence. Catrin smiled, realizing Mother Gwendolin had assumed she would say yes. With a simple nod, Mother Gwendolin sent the monks to their respective chambers. As they filed through the outer doors that bore images of colorful birds, Mother Gwendolin led Catrin through the center door. This door was painted to resemble the night sky, which Catrin noted contained no comets.
Within the chamber stood a large, thronelike chair that was made of a glossy, umber stone streaked with veins of silver and obsidian. Directly across from it, at eye level, was a round hole in the stone wall, beyond which lay open sky. On either side of the chair were twisted orifices that presumably led to the outer chambers where the monks awaited. Mother Gwendolin led her to the seat. Catrin climbed atop the cold, hard stone, doubting she would be able to get comfortable enough to meditate.
"Try to clear your mind of all things. The old writings say, 'Ride the vibrations and you will be free.' I don't think I've ever achieved the desired effect, but it has been helpful nonetheless. When you feel you are finished, just ring this bell," Mother Gwendolin said, and she produced a delicate pewter bell from her robes. It bore the figure of a fairy clinging to the bell, and its ring seemed impossibly loud and clear. Catrin placed the bell on the arm of the throne.
Icy wind gusted through the opening in the wall, and Catrin shivered, wishing she had worn something more substantial than her leather jacket over a homespun top and leggings. Removing the heavy shawl from her shoulders, Mother Gwendolin wrapped it around Catrin with a benevolent smile.
Pulling the shawl tighter, Catrin soaked in its warmth.
"I will leave you now. May you find that which you seek," Mother Gwendolin said, and she left the room, shutting the door behind herself.
The melody drifted to Catrin slowly as she sorted her thoughts and sought her center. A different cadence and tone came from each side, but they merged into seamless harmony-not the disjointed noise of two independent groups, but intentional and purposeful diversification. The two dissimilar parts formed a perfect whole. Drifting on the music, she let it carry her from her burdens.
As she let her spirit float, the drums began. Starting softly, they grew to a pounding crescendo, resonating in a way that seemed impossible, and Catrin could feel them more acutely than she could hear them. The thunder of them rattled the foundation of her being and seemed to shake loose the dust and clutter from her soul. It was as if she were shedding a dead skin, and she experienced herself as a wave of energy rather than her physical form. It was glorious and terrifying.
Despite the exultation of these new feelings, she grew frustrated. Surely some revelation should have come to her by now, some inkling of what path she should take. But the ecstasy was void of insight, and she felt as if she were missing something critical, something just out of reach. Concentrating, she squeezed her eyes shut but still struggled in vain. After numerous attempts, she relented, her will spent.
With a forlorn sigh, she resolved to ring the bell, but as she leaned back, too fast, the back of her head smacked against the unyielding stone with a hollow thunk. Her jaw dropped and her eyes flew open with the shock of pain. Her vision focused on the sky beyond the opening in the wall. It was beautiful and inviting, and in her next breath, she was soaring through it.
Her awareness flew among the clouds, and she reveled in the glory of existence for a time, but the strangeness made her wary. She wondered at her lack of form and realized a silvery thread of energy trailed her, like a strand of gossamer leading back to her physical vessel. The confining husk that usually held her awaited in the viewing chamber. She could feel the connection, and she clung to it. Though she enjoyed the invigorating freedom, she knew she would need to return to her prison of flesh; she would be lost without it.
Lost.
Like the sudden realization that one is falling, Catrin snapped to her senses and realized she had no idea where she was. Her consciousness soared across the heavens with alarming speed, the land sliding away beneath her. Pristine snow gave way to a brilliant display of late fall colors. The coastline of what Catrin guessed was the Inland Sea came into view, and she soared closer, changing course by the sheer force of her will. The rocky coast was breathtaking from above. Sunlight danced off the sea, and the land rose in sharp contrast, a myriad of details and textures.
Though she was tempted to orient herself from what she remembered of the maps and where the Inland Sea was, she realized it was too risky; she needed some confirmation. With trepidation, she soared over the waves, hoping she would not get lost over endless seas. Lulled by the monotony of the homogenous waves, Catrin felt herself being drawn into a strange trancelike state, and she fought to keep her concentration.
When rocks jutted from the waters below her, Catrin felt a thrill of expectation, and when a smooth and sandy coastline materialized in the hazy distance, she soared with confidence. Now she was almost certain she was somewhere over Faulk, and she prepared to find her way back to Ohmahold, but a curious sight drew her attention. Like a trail of ants, a line of people snaked along the coast and through the plains, and it was difficult at first to determine which way they moved. South, Catrin decided.
Intrigued by the masses, her curiosity won out over her desire to return to her body, and she flew along, letting the trail of humanity guide her until she came upon a place crawling with activity. Devastation greeted the eye; it looked as if the side of a mountain had fallen onto the plains, and the mass of its rubble could obscure entire towns. Rich, brown soil, newly exposed to the sun, looked like a gaping wound on the land, and as Catrin looked closer, she saw a thin line of people climbing toward an area framed with fallen timber. The obviously man-made fortifications stood out in stark contrast to nature, even in its disorder.
Willing herself closer, she hovered above the odd structure. It was not tall; in fact, it seemed only to form a stable platform. At its center, though, lay the partially exposed skeletal remains of a giant creature. Catrin became excited when she realized this was the beast the monks had reported, and she tried to commit as many details as possible to memory for the sake of Brother Vaughn.
It seemed odd that there were no workers busy uncovering the rest of the beast, and she looked, once again, at the line of people. They continued past the man-made plateau, as if the ancient remains were of no interest. They wound around the mountain to the opposite face. The southern face was nearly whole, with one notable exception. Nearly halfway to its peak, a large section of rock had been torn asunder, leaving a gaping chasm. An eerie glow emanated from the chasm, and it was there the throng congregated, their faces reflecting the ominous light.
Fear and uncertainty crawled across Catrin'
s consciousness, and she could almost feel the hairs on her physical body rise. A faint urging called her back to her body, but she pulled away, needing to see the source of the bizarre light. She hovered closer to the chasm, past the enraptured faces, until she was directly above it. There, staring back at her was the face of a goddess, larger than a giant and throbbing with inner light. The sight shocked her, and for a few moments, she wondered what it could possibly be. When the realization came, it blotted out all thought and all other possibilities. It left no room for doubt or conjecture; it was as certain as the sunrise.
It was one of the Statues of Terhilian, the bane of humanity.
Cold realization after cold realization slammed into her consciousness, and she reeled in horror, suddenly wishing she had been more attentive during her lessons. Before her was the greatest threat to ever face her world, and it looked as if the Zjhon were determined to exhume it. If what she had been taught was true, the statue would charge in the light of Istra and Vestra; then it would detonate. She did not know what the scale of the explosion would be, but the vision her mind created made her quail. A deceitful weapon, left over from a war long past, once again threatened all life on Godsland.
A strange wrongness floated to Catrin along the thread of energy that led back to her body. It felt of worry, anxiety, and mostly fatigue. With a final glance at the face of Istra and the bones of the beast, she stored as many details as she could then started her retreat. Intent on returning with all due haste, she raced along her thread. It was taut and straight as the path of an arrow, and she let the tension of it guide her.
The resonance of the melody changed suddenly, and her thread of energy wavered and went slack. It was a frightening sensation, but it lasted only a moment before the harmony became strong once again-different, but strong. With renewed vigor, she pulled herself along, the land rushing away beneath her. Once she moved back to the east side of the Inland Sea, she soared north.
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