Brian Rathbone - Inherited Danger

As she climbed into the strange basin, the stones were cool against her skin. The more she moved, the deeper she became submerged in the rainbow of spheres. She saw topaz, turquoise, black onyx, and a host of others she could not identify. The energy of the stones surrounded her, and she basked in it. Each type had its own unique energy, much in the same way that each type of living creature had its own signature.

Turning the basin into a game of sorts, Catrin wiggled her feet through the stones, grabbing at random with her toes. Then, using only her impression of the stone and her physical contact with it, she tried to identify what kind it was. For those types whose names she did not know, she made up names such as "Pretty Red" and "Purple Swirly." Within a short time, she could correctly identify four out of five stones without looking at them. As enjoyable as she found her little game, she paused and took time to simply bask in their energy. Within moments of quieting her mind, she slept.

"Please, Lord Jaharadin, do come in and sit with me," Archmaster Belegra said.

"Thank you, Archmaster. You honor me," Icari Jaharadin replied as he eased himself into one of the chairs near the fire. The upholstery was far too gaudy for his taste, but the deep cushions were softer than they appeared, and the chair seemed to suck him in, as if it were consuming him alive. It was a feeling that left him on edge.

While an audience with the archmaster was indeed an honor, Icari couldn't shake the feeling that he was in grave danger. Still, he could not resist the opportunity to bring greater standing and wealth to his family, not that declining was an option; to do so would be too great an insult. He had seen what happened to families that displeased the archmaster, and he had no wish to find himself working in the fields or rotting in a dungeon. "My mother sends her respects and asked that I extend an invitation to our humble-"

"Yes, of course she did," Archmaster Belegra said, his eyes narrowing and a feral grin crossing his face. "Your mother is a weathered hag, and I'd sooner wallow with the pigs than dine in your hall. You are here for a reason, Icari, and that reason is not to flatter me."

Icari could not have been more shocked, though he did what he could to conceal his reaction.

Still, Archmaster Belegra chuckled and leveled a finger at him. "What would you do for me, Icari? Tell me. What would you do?"

Squirming in the chair that now seemed a prison, Icari wanted to flee, but his limbs would not respond. Trying desperately to find words, he found his mouth worked of its own accord. "I would die for you," he said involuntarily.

Tilting his head back, Archmaster Belegra erupted in laughter that held no joy. "Of course you would, my servant. Of course you would."

It was an unusual awakening as stones fell from Catrin's face and cheeks when she raised her head. Some defied gravity for a moment, clinging to her skin, as if they had become embedded in her flesh. Standing slowly, she brushed off the few tenacious stones that still adhered to her and laughed at the strange patterns left on her skin by the stones. She looked almost reptilian, as if she had scales. The effect did not last long, though, and her skin returned to its normal state.

Wondering how soon the monks would arrive, she climbed free of the basin. When she went for a mug of water, she noticed that the pitchers had been refilled, and she wondered if this were a subtle hint. It became obvious later that the monks would not return for her that day, and she decided to spend her day napping and amusing herself. One of her naps ran into the next morning.

Oily, black smoke rolled from the lamps that lit the Watering Hole, and Miss Mariss wiped the tears from her eyes. The smoke from the makeshift lamp oil was only part of the reason she cried; what had once been a joyful existence had turned into constant struggle. Everything was in short supply these days, especially good humor. Without decent food and drink, business was slow, and she spent much of her time simply trying to survive. Scrubbing the soot from the walls, she did what she could to keep her inn clean, but it was a battle she always lost, and she began, once again, to despair.

Many of the people she held dear were in the Chinawpa Valley, beyond the atrocity known as Edling's Wall. Construction of the wall sapped the Pinook of resources when they were needed most. Miss Mariss could not understand how people could spend their time building a barrier between themselves and their countrymen when there was not enough food to go around. Fools they were, the lot of them, she thought.

Looking around, she wondered why she stayed, why she didn't just join those in the Chinawpa Valley, those with good sense. But just like every other time the thought had occurred to her, she realized she could not leave behind her inn-the place that had been her mother's life and her grandmother's before that. No. She would stay and try to make the Masters see that they were wrong to divide the Godfist. Knowing they would never change their minds or their greedy ways, she returned to scrubbing, her tears running anew.

The first sight Catrin saw when she woke was a hooded figure leaning over her, and she squeaked in surprise. The figure backed off quickly and waved a silent apology while Catrin tried to figure out where she was. Her mind muddled, the stone bath confused her, but somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, it all rushed back. She shook her head to clear the last of the drowsiness then climbed from the basin.

As she stood too quickly, the blood seemed to rush from her head. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and the monk lent support while she regained her balance. Catrin thanked the woman and drank three mugs of water while she waited for the spell to pass. Slowly she began to feel better. Supporting herself again, Catrin gave a nod, and the monk led her back to the hall and opened the third door in. Catrin followed, whimsically wondering how they could top the previous days, and she tried to prepare herself for the unexpected.

Inside stood another stone table next to a bubbling pool of murky brown mud that shifted and moved. Tiny specks of something shiny caught the light as they shifted, giving the pool an even more mystical appearance. Another female monk waited inside, and Catrin marveled at how adept she had become at gender identification; it had become almost effortless.

Once Catrin was supine on the table, the women coated her with a thick layer of the sparkling mud that almost immediately began to dry. When she was thoroughly coated, they left her to dry in silence. The drying mud pulled at her skin as it shriveled and cracked, and in some places it itched terribly, but she endured, not wanting to move. It was not long, though, before the women returned. They peeled the husk from Catrin, and the feeling of cool air on the newly exposed skin was intense. They wiped away the rest of the mud with a damp cloth, and the entire process was repeated, consuming the rest of the day.

Fierce winds drove the sleet, turning it into stinging projectiles that immediately froze on whatever it struck. Borga Jahn walked with his head down, each step a trial as he had to stomp through the thick layer of ice that coated the snow; to walk on top of the ice was impossible.

"We should turn back," Enit said. "We'll die long before we ever reach Ohmahold."

"You knew what you were getting into when you accepted this assignment. Keep walking." Both knew this was a mission from which they would not return; they also knew they had to succeed. General Dempsy would keep his word, which meant there was no turning back. He did not know what deal Enit struck, and he did not care to know. For Borga, success was the only option. To fail was to send his daughter, Bella, to her death, and that he could not even think about.