Brian Rathbone - Inherited Danger

Envisioning a fountain of energy flowing from her forehead to the sky, she poured all the hurt and pain from her soul into the wellspring. She allowed it to be as it would be and embraced the things that made her who she was. It seemed, at first, as if her fountain of anguish would flow forever, but it finally began to abate. As it dwindled, a pure flow of energy took its place. More and more, love and joyfulness washed away the pain. As the flow became pure joy, she cast it out in all directions, to be shared with everyone and everything. The energy poured through her and from her, and it felt as if a worn, dead shell were blasted away before the onslaught.

The next breath was like Catrin's first. Inhaling deeply, she savored every scent in the air, each one a marvel. The air around her body vibrated as if alive, and she kept her eyes closed, afraid to break the spell. As her mind settled, she found the center of her focus. It was a small dot in her consciousness that seemed far away at first, but she applied her will and flowed closer. It grew no larger as she approached; it just felt nearer.

When she could finally touch her center, it was sharp, like the tip of a pine needle. Catrin figured something so important should be larger; then maybe it would not get lost so often. As the energy surrounding her reached a crescendo, she applied it and her will in an attempt to enlarge her center of focus. It grew slowly at first, resisting the change, but the rate of growth became exponential, and on every breath it seemed to double in size.

Letting the energy flow, she experienced the life essence around her. As her energy field grew, it enveloped the monks. Using it, she expressed respect and love to them, and she thought she sensed reciprocation. Her consciousness expanded into the stone and began to encompass the rooms in the hall. She felt the mud baths, the rock basin, and still she flew outward. Feeling the life within the temple, she embraced it.

A nagging absence of life in one part of her awareness tugged at her, but she could not focus on it. As she tried to narrow her perceptions down to that feeling, she sensed ancient life in another part of her consciousness. The chanting began to grow softer, slowly and gracefully dissipating, denying Catrin the opportunity to investigate the strange sensations. She gradually drew her consciousness back in as she lost the ability to maintain her far-reaching center.

When her center shrank to the size of a melon, she grabbed on to it with her mind and solidified it. She imagined it as a large version of the polished onyx from the stone basin. It had weight and texture; it was solid and real. With a deliberate mental effort, she stored it in a very special location: floating atop the night-black stone at the center of the Grove of the Elders, which still existed in Catrin's memory.

Utter silence filled the room in the absence of chanting, and Catrin could no longer feel the monks contributing to her energy flow. Her body tingled and still seemed to vibrate long after the monks departed. Left to revel in the feeling of having been cleansed and remade, her body and consciousness sang. Gradually, the effects wore off, and exhilaration was replaced by weariness. Somewhere in between, she drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

"The boy has some good ideas here," Gustad said as he looked at Strom's rough sketch.

"You replaced me with a stick?" Osbourne asked.

"A very special stick," Gustad said. "We'll need to grind the notch smooth so it won't bind."

"The real magic is in the strap," Strom said. "We confine it to a narrow channel as it gets wound around the shaft. Every turn, the shaft becomes larger and increases the speed of the pour."

"That just might work," Milo said, a gleam in his eye. "How soon can you have it done?"

The question was like a kick in the stomach, and Strom had no idea what to say. He'd been so excited about his idea, yet he really knew nothing of how to actually make it. Gustad stood mumbling over the drawing then began making his own markings.

"Forty days," he said.

Strom smiled, allowing himself to hope. Maybe he, too, was meant to do something special. He looked back at his friend and the monk who remained in the room before he followed Gustad to the forge.

Osbourne watched as Milo pored over Strom's sketch and Gustad's markings. Seemingly without thinking, he moved the candle away from Milo's robes.

A gentle nudge brought Catrin from her slumber. A female monk helped her dress in a warm robe and soft, fur-lined boots then led her from the room. Unsure if she would be led to yet another room, she was hesitant to set her expectations differently, not wanting to be disappointed. She was thus pleasantly surprised when they went beyond the last door and into the dark hall beyond.

The hall was unlit through a series gentle bends, and Catrin used her senses as guides. Then a faint light illuminated the base of a spiral stair hewn from the walls of a towering cylindrical shaft. When they reached it, Catrin stopped to look up. The stairs seem to rise for an impossible distance. High above, sunlight streamed through an archway, illuminating parts of the stair and leaving other parts in shadows and lamplight. The climb was arduous, and Catrin was short of breath when they finally reached the landing.

Beyond the archway waited a stunning view. A valley lay cradled between three mountain ranges. At the center stood an ancient tree, massive in size. Not tall like a greatoak, it sprawled. Its branches thicker than the trunks of most trees, it shaded most of the valley. Covered in deep green moss, the bark had a life of its own, and hanging bunches of silvery threadmoss clung to the mighty leviathan.

At the far end of the valley, Catrin could just barely see a shaded entranceway, and the wonders that lay within beckoned to her. The monk led her onto the snow-covered grass and along a path that led to the tree's trunk. Beneath its bows, snow covered only small patches of ground, and lush grasses emerged in tufts. Gold-colored seedpods dotted the grounds, and Catrin was amazed that something so large could grow from something so small.

Near the massive trunk, several monks sat in a circle, all their heads completely shaved. Catrin recognized Mother Gwendolin and Brother Vaughn, though they both looked much different without hair. Honored by their sacrifice, Catrin felt her eyes well with tears. The others were unfamiliar, but they turned to watch her approach. Though she tried to mimic the graceful stride of the monks, Catrin fell short of creating the gliding effect.

Mother Gwendolin waved with a smile, and Catrin was thrilled that someone might actually speak to her. She had not realized how much she depended on interaction with others until she had been in relative seclusion.

"Greetings, Catrin. I hope the day finds you well," Mother Gwendolin said.

"Thank you, Mother. I feel wonderful."

"Please sit with us," Mother Gwendolin said. "I've asked a few others to join us. You've already met Brother Vaughn, who not only cares for the aviary, but also has great knowledge of the Greatland's geography. To my left is Sister Hanna, who is an accomplished historian and scholar specializing in the time of the Purge. To her left is Brother Jamison, who is responsible for analyzing the political climate and nuances here and abroad. And to my right is Sister Velona, who is somewhat of a historical detective and mystic. For decades she has been studying every available piece of material related to Istran phases."