Wayward Spirits - A Prelude to The Dawning of Power (Godsland Series) (11 page)

"I'm just tired and not feeling well," she replied, feeling guilty for telling only part of the truth, but she wasn't going to tell them about her strange yearnings for power. She wouldn't blame any of them for thinking she was a witch, and at this point, she was decidedly unsure of herself.

"We're just about there. We'll be resting soon, I promise. Just a little farther," Benjin said, and soon they approached a huge split in the rock face. An enormous slab of stone leaned against the valley wall, leaving a gap several paces wide. It was open on both ends, providing two routes of escape. They filed into the gap and dropped their packs. Chase began to set up a fire circle, but Benjin waved him from the task.

"No fire tonight, I'm afraid. It's just too risky."

The others knew he was right, but that did little to improve the atmosphere. They ate a cold meal in relative silence; then Benjin urged them to get some sleep, saying he would take the first watch. Deep breathing and occasional snores soon surrounded Catrin, but she could not sleep. Despite her weariness, she lay awake, wondering if she would ever feel safe again.

* * *

From high on a hill, Wendel watched the Zjhon come, frozen in morbid fascination as what looked like a wave of fire and destruction rolled through Harborton and the lowlands. He'd come here to survey the situation, to reassure himself that his friends, neighbors, and countrymen would be fine and that going after Catrin would jeopardize no one. Watching the horror unfold before him, he was faced with a new question: Would staying to defend his homeland make any difference?

His awareness was flooded with a vision of Catrin, hunted by the Zjhon, vulnerable and calling out for him. Never before had Wendel ever been so conflicted, he felt as if his spirit were being torn apart, ripped into pieces by a decision no one should ever have to make. He felt Elsa looking down on him, and he wept as he shamed her and shamed himself. His feet had taken him to the barn, where he had already, subconsciously and automatically, started saddling Charger. From beneath a pile of hay, he pulled his portion of the supplies he and Benjin had stashed away. From one of the bags protruded a painful reminder, a physical representation of his guilt and weakness. Elsa's sword reminded him of all the things he was not, of all his failings and shortcomings. It challenged him to save his countrymen
and
find Catrin--Elsa would have saved them all.

Wendel found himself in the saddle, ready to ride away from his farm, his friends--his entire life. Just as he gave Charger his heels, he caught movement from the corner of his vision. Turning his mount with his knees, he saw a mounted soldier closing on a single-horse cart. Driving the cart was Elianna Grisk, a woman of more than eighty summers. She was as sharp as a sword and took no guff from anyone, but she was more than overmatched. Her horse was little more than a pony, and he was weary with age; he labored to pull her at little more than a walk, and the soldier's horse showed only the beginnings of a sweat.

Wendel cried out in dismay. His mind had been made up, his course set, but now he found himself swayed. Reaching back, he grabbed Elsa's sword and released a battle cry that had not been heard in many seasons. As he charged toward the approaching soldier, he saw the look of relief on Elianna's face; she believed he would save her. Life had given Wendel no other choice; there was only one way he could ever live with himself: he had to save them all.

* * *

In the darkness, all of Benjin's fears came to life and stalked him from every direction, waiting for him to let down his guard for even a moment. He was soft and slow with age, and he was unprepared for what lay ahead. Too long had he lived an easy life, forgetting the lessons his father and grandfather had taught him. He had always thought there would be time to prepare, time to train his children to face the coming storm, but now the storm had come early, and his work was not even begun.

Things most people thought of as legend were now here as flesh and blood, wood and iron, pain and fire. The Masters had always said it would only cause a panic if the truth was known to all, and thus they kept their knowledge hidden. The citizens of the Godfist would pay for the Masters' folly . . . and his.

Chapter 6

Men are fickle creatures, capable of kindness and compassion yet fascinated by the basest atrocities.

--Argus Kind, Zjhon executioner

* * *

When Catrin pulled herself from her bedroll, all but Benjin still slept. Their shelter blocked much of the morning light, and the air was still cool in the shadows. Benjin stood at the southern opening of the crevasse, his silhouette standing out in stark contrast to the bright landscape beyond. Catrin padded silently to his side and put her arms around him. He gave a start at her touch, and she knew he must have been in deep thought since he was usually impossible to sneak up on.

"Sorry," she said.

"It's all right, li'l miss. You just startled me."

"Not just that. I'm sorry about all of this. I never meant to cause so much trouble. I'm not even sure what I did, but now I've dragged all of you into my mess," she said, and she leaned her head against his shoulder for comfort.

He patted her on the head and guided her into the sunlight. "None of this is your doing, Catrin."

She looked up at him, surprised he would call her by name. She was so accustomed to "li'l miss" that her name sounded odd on his lips.

"We live in times of change, and all of us will be affected whether we wish it or not," he continued.

"But it seems, everywhere I go, trouble follows. It doesn't seem safe to be near me," she said, wanting to tell Benjin about the destruction of the grove, but she could not bring herself to speak of it.

"You can look at it that way if you wish, but I suggest you concentrate on what you can do to make the situation better. You cannot change what has already happened, but you can prepare yourself for the future. I can't say what this day will bring, but I vow to face it with my head high and my wits about me. I suggest you do the same. You can wallow in self-pity if you like, but it'll only bring you misery. There's a greatness in you that you don't realize yet, Catrin, so you must not lose hope. We'll get through this together and be stronger for it."

"I know you're right. I'm sorry."

"And no more 'sorrys' from you," he said, shaking his finger at her. "I'll strike a bargain with you: If you promise not to intentionally hurt me, and I promise not to intentionally hurt you, then there will be no more need for another 'I'm sorry' between us. Do I have your word?"

"You have my word," she said with a small smile.

"And I give mine," he replied with a flourish and a bow. He smiled and touched her shoulder. "C'mon, let's go make the best of things."

Catrin felt a great deal of comfort from their talk. He'd forgiven whatever mistakes she might have made, and now maybe she could forgive herself. She made a conscious effort to tell herself she was forgiven and was surprised at how much it eased her guilt and anxiety.

She acknowledged that most people never intended to hurt her; her pain had been an unintentional by-product of their actions. A great weight seemed to lift from her soul, and she decided to focus on positive things. Taking a deep breath, she released her anger in a long sigh. A renewed Catrin strode back into the crevasse with confidence.

After they broke camp, Catrin helped the others stow their bedrolls and check their packs. Benjin led them by memory, and they often had to backtrack when the way was blocked. Numerous game trails crossed the valley floor, and he seemed to have trouble finding distinguishable landmarks. By noon, it seemed they had covered very little distance.

Chase, Strom, and Osbourne talked quietly among themselves. They were worried about their families and the other people they had left behind. They speculated about the invaders: who they might be and why they would attack.

Catrin listened in silence. She ached to know her father was safe, and she tried to have faith. Her mental image of him was one of strength and unbending integrity, and bringing that image to mind soothed her. She could not picture a man of such goodness and fortitude ever being in danger, and she clung to that illusion.

"I heard said some of the ships bore a symbol of a man and woman in an embrace. Sounds like the mark of a Zjhon warship to me. As much as I hate to speculate, I fear invaders have come from the Greatland," Benjin said.

"The Greatland!" Strom snorted. "I thought that existed only in fairy tales and legends. There's been no contact with other civilizations for thousands of years. Only the old texts mention the Greatland and the Firstland, so what reason do you have to believe they even exist?"

"I assure you the Greatland does indeed exist, and the danger presented by the Zjhon empire is all too real," Benjin stated flatly.

"You talk like you've been there," said Strom.

"That's because I have been there, but that's a story for another time. What's important now is that you know the Zjhon empire has not forgotten about us. They believe the Herald of Istra will be born on the Godfist and will be revealed through great acts of power. The Zjhon prophecies say the Herald will betray them and destroy their nation . . . or something like that. It's hard to tell just what they mean.

"I believe they'll go to great lengths to capture and kill anyone they believe could be the Herald. As much as I hate to admit it, I think Nat Dersinger was right: they've come to destroy us in a desperate attempt to save themselves. They will not find the Godfist an easy place to conquer, though; the Masters and a few select families have been making preparations for decades."

"You knew they were coming?" Osbourne asked, incredulous.

"In a sense we
knew,
but our information was thousands of years old, and it was nearly impossible to tell truth from fairy tale. Huge amounts of information were lost during the great wars and the Purge, and no one knew if the prophecies were anything more than legend, but we did know the Zjhon believed them to be sacred and quite real. We did our best to prepare for an invasion, and seeing their ships over the years kept us vigilant, but we thought we'd have much more time before it would happen. I guess our calculations were wrong," he said, stopping to untangle himself from a thorn bush.

"I don't understand," Chase interjected. "How could you
calculate
when they would attack?"

"It's a long story and rather complicated, but I'll try to explain. About twenty years ago, we heard the Zjhon Church had started quoting certain scriptures again, the ones that tell the Zjhon their duty is to fight in the name of Istra. The scriptures also say Istra's return will be the divine signal to embark on their holy war. We know they calculate the Vestran cycle to be about 3,017 years, but by our reckoning, it has only been 2,983 years since Istra departed."

"I
still
don't understand," Chase persisted. "I thought Istra was a goddess. What do you mean she has returned to the skies? All I've seen in the sky is a comet."

"A long time ago, people made up stories to explain things they couldn't understand. When a comet storm lasted over a hundred years and seemed to grant otherworldly powers, they glorified it and named it 'Istra, Goddess of the Night.' The comet we saw was most likely the first of many to come.

"It's said that during the Istran Noon, some seventy-five years into the storm, there can be as many as a thousand comets visible in the sky on any night. Some of the old tales refer to the first comet as the Herald of Istra, but others say it will be a person born here on the Godfist. I'm not really certain what I believe," Benjin added.

He called for a quick break, and while the young people rested, he walked a short distance in each direction. He was pushing his way into some heavy underbrush when he exclaimed, "Aha! I knew we were going in the right direction." He emerged from the underbrush with a gleam in his eyes.

"What did you find?" Catrin asked, and he beamed at her.

"When your father and I came this way, we left a few markings in case we ever wanted to find our way back. Beneath the underbrush and a thick layer of moss, I just found one of them. We carved it deep, and, luckily, it survived the passage of time. Our destination is due east, about a day's walk from here."

They were encouraged that they were on the right path and glad they would not have to carry their packs much farther. Benjin's excitement urged him to move on, this time leading them on a much straighter path. "Try to leave the forest undisturbed," he said. "Any sign we were here will help trackers."

Now there were fewer times they had to double back, and as they ascended a sloping hill, the forest became less dense, allowing them to move with greater speed. Just before nightfall, they crested a large rise. Tall trees provided cover, and there were a few open spaces for camping. They made no fire, for fear of being seen, but the mood was cheerier than it had been the night before. The evening air was cool and not uncomfortable. They snacked on their provisions and drank springwine, but Benjin cautioned them not to overindulge.

"Your packs may seem heavy now, but soon you may wish we could've carried more."

Chase and Strom both volunteered to take the first watch to let Benjin get some rest. "Thanks, boys. I'll fare better if I can get some sleep. Sentry duty is no pleasure, and it requires concentration. Your first duty is to remain awake. Sleep has claimed many sentries, and their groups have perished. I suggest you try to achieve a restful but alert state. Quiet your minds and concentrate on your breathing. The trick is to keep part of your mind focused on sight, hearing, and smell. It takes practice, but once you master it, you'll be able to achieve it at will.

"Don't shout or make any loud noises if you spot someone, as that might draw them to us. Wake the sleepers quietly, and sleepers should try to remember to wake quietly. Our sentry's stealth may go for naught if one of us wakes in a panic," he lectured. "I trust you will do your best to remain alert during your watch, but I think it'd be best if you double up for now. Chase and Catrin, take the first watch, Strom and Osbourne, the second, and I'll take the third.

"Periodically report to each other during your watch. Walk to where the other one is posted to check. Plan to alternate which sentry goes to the other. Changes will help keep you from getting sluggish."

The night was quiet, and Catrin dozed off during her watch. She flushed with shame when Chase woke her from a deep sleep, and she stood for the rest of her watch. When morning came, Strom and Osbourne admitted they had also fallen asleep, and they vowed to do better.

When they began their hike the next day, Benjin told them to be watchful for game trails, likely watering holes, and streams or ponds where the fishing might be good. "The land we're crossing now should be within our hunting range. There's a lot of game, but it's crafty because it's had to learn to avoid wolves and mountain cats. Animals are large out here, and they can be dangerous. Keep your wits about you."

* * *

Deep in the heart of the Masterhouse, within the mountain rock that held the most sacred halls, far from the stench of refugees, Master Edling paced. Here, fresh air vents allowed him to breathe freely for the first time since he awoke. Like so many vermin chased upward by floodwater, they had come to the Masterhouse, expecting to be fed and protected, and like the great soft-hearted fool he was, Headmaster Grodin let them in. It was suicide. With the emergency provisions stored deep in the mountain, those who dwelt in the Masterhouse could have easily lasted several winters, but with the boiling refugees, they would be lucky to last until spring. Even with strict rationing, they would most likely starve.

"We should send them to the cold caves with the Volkers," Master Beron said. "They've got plenty of food."

"Grodin would never allow it, the boiling fool. He doesn't deserve to be Headmaster. That position is reserved for someone with a strong enough will to make tough decisions when they need to be made," Master Edling said. "There must be another way. The problem we have right now is that the refugees are everywhere, like lice. Thank the gods that Grodin has at least the decency to maintain the sanctity of the sacred halls. If we could get him to agree to isolate the refugees in the audience halls, we could collapse the entrances and be rid of them."

"And let them starve?" Master Beron asked, looking as if he might be sick.

"That's a big part of your problem, Beron; you've got no backbone. Would you prefer we offer them up to the Zjhon as slaves? Would you rather be a slave or die free?"

Master Beron sat for a moment before responding, but Master Edling's glare demanded he say something. "I suppose I'd rather die free," he said with uncertainty.

"You're boiling right you would. Now act like a man. These are terrible times, and if we're to survive, then terrible things must be done."

* * *

By midday, they reached an area where the vegetation thinned, giving way to mature trees that were widely spaced. Benjin scanned the valley walls, looking for another landmark.

"There was an ancient landslide--huge boulders in an enormous mound of rubble that was grown over with moss. It looked like a sleeping giant leaning against a cliff," he said as he searched, growing anxious as they traveled with no further sign of a landmark. "Wendel and I carried lighter packs, and maybe we were able to cover more ground. It was a long time ago, and my memory is not what it once was." They continued their hike for what seemed like ages, and still they found no signs of the sleeping giant. Benjin called a halt and looked for a place he could climb the valley wall.