The darkness was nearly complete, broken only by monstrous bolts of lightning as they set fire to the thunderheads. The wind howled and intensified, screaming at them, sucking their belongings into the night. Thunderous cracks and booms mixed with the wailing call of the wind and battered Catrin's senses, making her think she was about to go mad. Dirt and debris, carried by fierce gusts, stung her exposed skin.
Catrin screamed as lightning illuminated the plateau long enough for her to see a mass of branches and leaves hurtling toward them. It struck the ground in front of them with incredible force, driving the air from her lungs. Startled but uninjured, Catrin and her friends huddled under the massive limb, hoping nothing else would fly from the darkness.
* * *
From the deck of his flagship, Rebellion's End, General Dempsy stared at the skies in disbelief. It was not the storm that came as such a surprise; it was the comet. Archmaster Belegra had told him it would come, but he had not believed; instead he had chosen to deny the truth, to go into the greatest of peril unprepared because of his own blindness. It took some time for him to accept this new reality, since it seemed everything in his world had suddenly changed.
Next came his anger. What did Archmaster Belegra expect him to do against the ultimate adversary? How could he ever be expected to achieve victory? His father had taught him that joining a battle where there is no chance for victory was to die a noble fool, but General Dempsy could see no honorable way out. No matter what his father had said, honor was a thing worth dying for, and he would not back away from his responsibilities because of fear.
In his mind, a plan began to form, and his face settled into a look of determination. Whether his plan would achieve victory or utter defeat, General Dempsy would use every trick he had ever learned. May the Herald beware.
Chapter 5
In our darkest moments, we come to know the true measure of our souls.
--Ain Giest, Sleepless One
* * *
As dawn illuminated the valley, turning it into a rippling palette of light and shadow, Catrin and her friends could see the full extent of the storm damage. The majestic grove that had drawn them was no more. Not even one of the greatoaks remained standing. They were strewn about the plateau as if felled by a mighty hand. Some were almost whole but had been torn from the soil and apparently flung about. Others had been twisted then sheared off, leaving fingers of wood sticking out from stumps like splinters of bone protruding from grisly wounds. It was the lightning-struck trees, though, that disturbed Catrin most. The bark was blasted off in many places, and the exposed wood was so warped, it resembled partially melted candle wax.
Catrin surveyed the damage, walking ahead of the dispirited group toward the place that had once been the center of the grove. Her heart was hurt at the sight of the ruination, but some morbid sense drew her on, forcing her to commit the images to memory. Since passage was hard to find among the fallen leviathans, their progress was slow, but no one spoke a word of protest. Catrin ran her hands along the fallen trunks as she passed them, bidding them a silent farewell.
It took her a moment to recognize the center of the grove when she reached it. Tears filled her eyes, and her body trembled as she gazed upon the black stone. None of it had escaped damage. That which was not crushed under the fallen giants had been blasted by lightning and pounded by massive hail. All that remained was a mass of rubble and gray powder that crunched under their boots. Grapefruit-sized hailstones still littered the area, serving as poignant reminders of nature's power. Catrin turned wordlessly back to her friends, who remained downcast and silent; they had tears in their eyes, and she could see the fear in them.
"It was so beautiful," Osbourne said in a low whisper.
His words stung Catrin like a physical blow, and she moved away from the place quickly, trying to escape the oppressive weight settling on her shoulders. She wanted to believe the destruction of the grove was not her fault, but she found no comfort . . . only tremendous shame and grief. Her father had finally trusted her enough to share the knowledge of how to find his special place, and she had destroyed it. Her depression deepened when she realized it had not really been her father's place at all. Someone planted the greatoaks, by her guess, many generations ago. She had entered a sacred place and, by some unconscious action, had brought about its desecration. She felt as if she had betrayed her ancestors, and she could almost sense their accusing stares on her, denouncing her. Tears clouded her vision as she stumbled through the maze of debris.
When she reached what remained of the campsite, she began to gather what she could find of her gear. Chase reached her side but remained silent for a time.
"You can't blame yourself for the weather, Cat. This wasn't your fault. This was just like the storm we had three weeks ago. That funnel cloud did a lot of damage too, and you had nothing to do with it either," he said.
Catrin wanted to agree with him. She was no goddess or sorceress with influence on the weather. To believe she was would be silly. But she still needed a reasonable explanation for the strange occurrences that seemed to center on her. She supposed her dance above the stone could have been a hallucination, but such rationalizations did not ring of truth. When she considered the appearance of the comet, the odds against it all being coincidental were staggering. Perhaps, she thought, she had just been in the wrong places at the wrong times, but things were too similar for those events to have been purely accidental.
Once she and the others finished packing what they had left, Catrin shouldered her pack and looked at her companions. They looked away, and she understood their fear because she, too, was terrified. They probably believed she was somehow responsible for the devastation of the grove, and she feared they could be right.
"What happened last night, Cat?" Osbourne asked. "What happened to you?"
"I don't know," she said, her voice shaking. "I'm so sorry. Let's go home."
The others nodded and followed her wordlessly. They picked through the storm-tossed foliage but had to backtrack several times before finding clear passage. When they emerged in the eastern clearing, they found that it, too, was littered with debris and slowly melting hailstones. The forest trail was blocked in many places, and they had to shoulder through the brambles and thorns that abounded alongside the trail.
When the forest eventually thinned, they emerged into a bright and sunny afternoon. The valley ahead appeared largely untouched by the storm, and it seemed as if they were drifting out of a nightmare and back into a pleasant reality. Catrin relaxed when she saw a part of her world unblemished, but the images of the grove were still vivid.
Travel was easier when they were clear of the forest, and they soon approached the stairs. They descended carefully, aware that the slightest misstep could send them tumbling. Strom lost his footing once and slipped, frightening them, but he caught himself, and only loose chips of rock dropped over the edge. It took a few moments for them to calm themselves before continuing at a slower pace, and they were relieved when they finally reached the bottom.
The misty air surrounding the falls drove them onward. Once clear of the spray, they found themselves at the shady spot where they had eaten lunch the day before. They stopped and ate the last of their provisions in silence.
Familiar sights and smells brought Catrin some comfort, and as the group neared her home, she began to feel almost safe again, but the illusion was shattered when Benjin seemed to materialize from the shadows. He placed a finger to his lips, motioned for them to follow, and led them into a dense stand of pines. Catrin grew even more concerned when she spotted leather bags and packs stacked in an orderly pile, filled nearly to overflowing. The boys followed her gaze and seemed to come to the same cold realization: something else had gone very wrong.
"Don't have much time to talk, but I'm so glad you're here. Wendel and I guessed the storm might bring you home early. Couldn't be certain, but it saved me coming to find you," Benjin said just above a whisper. "Yesterday aft
ernoon, y'see, there was a huge crowd at the Spring Challenges, even though it looked like bad weather. The games were over before the storm hit, but it was dark when everyone started to leave. Then a swift wind parted the clouds. Don't know who saw it first, but people shouted and cried when the comet appeared and didn't know what to do with themselves. They just stood and gawked and carried on about it until Nat Dersinger climbed up onto the reviewing stand.
"He started out rambling on that Istra had returned to the skies of Godsland, and Catrin's power meant she was the Herald of Istra. Yes, li'l miss, he called you by name. And now, this morning, over a dozen fishing boats came back early, each saying they had seen foreign ships. The details varied from ship to ship, but they agreed on one thing: a large host of ships is approaching the Godfist.
"When they heard this, people panicked and started shouting. A bunch of angry citizens went to the farm looking for you," he said, nodding at Catrin. "Your father and I had anticipated trouble, and I was already packed when they got there. I hid until they left. Your father knows how to deal with people, and he managed to convince them he'd sent you to the cold caves. He said you were retrieving supplies and would return on the morrow.
"He told 'em he'd let them know as soon as you came back, li'l miss. He need not have bothered with that, for I'm betting the townsfolk are now watching every road and trail that enters Harborton. I'm just glad they didn't post a sentry here at the mountain paths, or we'd have been hard pressed. Your father wanted to be here, but he knows he's being watched. He sends his love and will join us when he feels it's safe for him to escape."
"Where are we going?" Catrin asked, her voice wavering.
"High in the mountains, there's a spot Wendel and I found years ago. It's a good hiding place, and it has most of what we'll need to survive. Now we need to get going. We don't want to meet up with the townsfolk, and they could send sentries here at any time.
"Strom, Osbourne, come with us if you wish, but if you decide to stay, you must not tell where we are going. Chase, your father asked me to take you along, and I hope you want to come. He fears for your safety and thinks you'll be a help to us."
"I'll go with you," Chase said.
"Sounds like a long camping trip. I want to go," Osbourne added a moment later.
Strom seemed to struggle with some inner turmoil, and they watched as they saw him thinking. "I hate to leave Miss Mariss without a stable boy, and my mother will be without the extra income, but I'm a terrible liar, and I'd surely give you away if someone asked me. I think I should come too," he said.
With that settled, Benjin repacked the provisions and distributed the bags. Each of them was carrying a great deal when they set off, their burdens heavier than just the weight of the packs. Benjin led them through the trees, staying as far from the open trail as possible and keeping to the shadows, even though it slowed their pace.
They had covered very little distance when the fire bells began ringing. Even from a distance, the cacophony was startling and disconcerting. Benjin motioned for them to stop, dropped his pack and bag, and climbed a nearby tree. It took him a few moments to gain a clear view of the harbor. Once there, he scanned the horizon. Cursing, he scrambled back to the anxiously waiting group and tried to catch his breath.
"What did you see? What's happening?" Chase asked, fear in his voice.
"The warning fires are lit," Benjin said.
"Which fires? Is the one near the Watering Hole lit?" Strom asked anxiously.
"All of them are lit. The Godfist is under attack." His words seemed to linger in the air, and a feeling of impending doom crept across the group. Benjin cocked his head to one side as if listening intently. "We need to go. Now."
"But my father . . ." Catrin protested.
"Your father can take care of himself, li'l miss. He'd wring my neck if I let you go back there after 'im. You know he would. You're in far more danger than he is. Now go!" he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He led them on a meandering trek from shadow to shadow. They moved as quietly as they could, but every noise seemed to echo across the valley. They heard no sounds of pursuit, but they would have had to struggle to hear anything over the pounding of their hearts and their labored breathing.
Rather than head for the falls, Benjin angled north and east, and when they reached the eastern ridgeline, he started up the incline. It was a difficult climb, but it would take them into the neighboring valley, Chinawpa. It was narrower than the fertile Pinook River Valley. Bramble and thorn bushes grew thick, and few ventured there.
After having been hidden by the shadows, Catrin felt as if the whole world could see her on the face of the mountain. They climbed in anxious silence, occasionally disturbing loose rocks, which bounced down the steep incline with what sounded like a terrible clatter. Benjin occasionally stopped to scan the valley for signs of pursuit, but he saw none.
Sweaty and tired, they crested the ridgeline and stared into the valley below. The descent into the Chinawpa Valley was not as steep as their climb had been. Benjin continued to lead, moving carefully down the ridgeline at an angle to make the descent more gradual. Daylight was failing them, and he cautioned them to beware of loose rock and scree. A few tenacious trees growing out of the rock face steadied them in treacherous places.
It was early twilight when they finally reached the valley floor, tired, sore, and in need of rest.
"I know you would all like to stop, but we have to get as far away as possible before we camp for the night," Benjin said, although it was unnecessary to tell them what they already knew.
Catrin trudged along behind him, not really paying attention to where she was going, just following the body in front of her and concentrating on staying upright. She was exhausted, her muscles cramped, and she clutched her side as she walked to try to ease the aching. Staying near the ridgeline, where the vegetation was sparse, Benjin seemed to be searching for something.
"Are we looking for something specific?" Catrin asked in an irritated tone. She knew she sounded childish and contrary even as the words left her lips.
"There's a place up ahead where your father and I once made camp; it provides some shelter, but it is primarily defensible should the need arise. I don't think we'll be found tonight, but it's better to be prepared for the improbable--and sometimes the impossible. You'll have to trust me that it's the best place for us to stop," he said, continuing to walk.
Darkness settled over them and slowed their progress. The skies were overcast, and Catrin could barely make out the moon and comet behind the clouds. She could feel the energy enveloping her, but it was strange and frightening, and she closed herself to it. Still, it pulled at the edges of her mind, promising warmth, security, and power.
"Are you all right, li'l miss?" Benjin asked, concern clearly audible in his voice.
"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.