Brian Rathbone: The Dawning of Power

"Slow down, Cat. Don't get too upset on me. Let's just talk about this," he said gently, and Catrin did her best to steel herself and try to keep her emotions under control.

"I don't think Master Edling believes I am a worthy student."

"Are you?"

"No, sir, I don't think I am," she replied sadly.

"Now, Cat, you must stop this. Master Edling came here to help you, and you ignored him. He may never return. I can't send you back to the public lessons. Even if I could convince the council, it would be asking for trouble. Talk in town has grown a bit wild of late. Nat Dersinger has convinced some people that you are the Herald and that Istra will return to the skies of Godsland soon," he said then stopped, fearing he had gone too far and frightened his daughter.

"Now most sane people don't believe a word of it, Cat. Everyone that knows you loves you. They know you as the spirited young athlete who competes in the Summer Games and as the hardworking girl that doesn't hesitate to help at a barn building. Your friends and family won't give up on you just because something unexplainable happened," he said, pulling up a chair. "I'm disappointed in you for insulting Master Edling today, but I can understand your distraction. I'll have a word with him on your behalf. Your best hope is that he has it in him to forgive you."

"Yes, sir," Catrin replied, looking downcast.

"There's no sense dwelling on it; we'll just have to see what tomorrow brings. For now, I want you to look after a few more things around the farm."

In the darkness of the bakery attic, where the heat was more than most could bear, Trinda watched, just as she always did. Always careful to remain undetected, she watched and waited, looking for anything that might please the dark men. It seemed all her life had been lived in fear of the strange men who came in the night, and here every waking hour was devoted to keeping them pleased. As long as she gave them what they wanted, they would never hurt her again. The memories still seared and burned as if they were new. The dark men were coming again; she could feel them getting closer.

When Miss Mariss walked out of the Watering Hole, Trinda jumped and then chastised herself for her carelessness. Of all the people she did not want to know about her spying, it was Miss Mariss. The dark men always asked questions about her; they always wanted to know whom she talked to and what they talked about. Trinda had only some of the answers they wanted, and it was all she could do to come up with enough information to satisfy them.

Holding her breath, Trinda froze until Miss Mariss was lost from view. She was, no doubt, coming to place her order. Without the breads her father baked or the dough she used to make her famous sausage breads, Miss Mariss would surely suffer. The relationship between her and Trinda's father had always been tense and strained, but they were both professionals, and they did not let personal feelings stand in the way of business.

As Trinda stood, ready to climb down and make an appearance by the ovens, she stopped. Someone she didn't recognize was approaching the Watering Hole, and he went neither to the front entrance nor to the stables; instead he walked into the shade provided by an old maple. It seemed a strange thing to do, considering there were no doors on that side of the inn. Knowing her father would scold her for not appearing while Miss Mariss was in the bakery, Trinda stayed, intrigued by this unknown man's mysterious behavior.

For what seemed a long time, he stood in the shadows, only the toes of his boots visible from Trinda's vantage. Then, when the streets were empty, he squatted down and wiggled a loose piece of the inn's wood siding. After sliding what looked like a rolled piece of parchment into the space behind the siding, he quickly adjusted the wood until it looked as it had. Then he melted into the shadows and disappeared.

"Where is Trinda today?" Miss Mariss asked, trying to make the question sound entirely casual, as she always did, and Baker Hollis looked nervous and fidgety, as he always did.

"Must know there's work to be done," he said. "Any time there's somethin' needin' done, she turns invisible."

"Those her age can be like that," Miss Mariss said, despite not believing any of what he said. "I'll be making double the usual amount of sausage breads, and I'll need triple the usual baked loaves for the Challenges. That won't be a problem will it?"

"No problem at all," Baker Hollis said, and he looked over his shoulder as if expecting to see Trinda. Miss Mariss was as surprised as he that she had not shown herself. It seemed whenever Miss Mariss came to the bakery, Trinda would make a point of making herself seen. "Everyone's sayin' this year'll be better than any before. I suppose we'll have to rise to the challenge," he said.

"I'll send Strom over in the morning for the daily order," Miss Mariss said as she turned to leave. Before she reached the door, though, a small, sweat-soaked head peeked around the corner and briefly met her eyes. Miss Mariss could read nothing from Trinda's expression; it was the same bland and sullen look as always. With a sigh, she left the bakery behind and soon forgot about Trinda as the responsibilities of running her inn once again consumed the majority of her thoughts and time.

Sitting on a bale of hay with his knees pulled to his chest, Chase kept to the shadows, not wanting to cause any trouble for Strom, who was busy saddling a pair of horses. So many things had changed in such a short period of time that Chase could hardly believe it. He no longer felt safe in places where he'd once felt quite at home. People he had considered friends no longer met his eyes, yet he could feel the stares that lingered on his back as he walked away.

"Sorry about that," Strom said once the customers had ridden around the corner.

Chase just handed him the jug of huckles juice they were sharing. "Do you remember when things used to be normal?"

"I remember," Strom said. "I remember things were sometimes good and sometimes bad, but it always seemed like things would get better. Now…"

"I know what you mean," Chase said. "I really made a mess of things."

Strom laughed. "You're still blaming yourself for all of this? You sure do think a great deal of yourself. Are you so powerful that you can control everyone else? I don't think so. You need to face the fact that you're just as helpless as the rest of us. Whatever happens just happens, and there's not a thing you can do about it."

"Thanks for the uplifting speech," Chase said. "I feel much better now."

"Don't come to me if you want sunshine and roses. That's not how I see the world. You could go talk to Roset. She still lives in a land of buttercups and faeries; maybe she could make you feel better."

"She won't even talk to me," Chase said, his mood continuing to be dour in the face of Strom's humor.

"You see? You're utterly powerless. Therefore you can't possibly be at fault. Doesn't that make you feel better?"

"If I said yes, would you stop talking about it?" Chase asked.

"Probably not."

Catrin spent the next few weeks throwing herself into every task her father assigned. Master Edling did not return, despite her father's many requests. Benjin and her father did what they could to teach her, but what they remembered of their own lessons was fragmented and disjointed. Catrin learned other things from the extra time she was spending on the farm. Benjin taught her the basics of shoeing horses along with other farrier skills. She was an apt student and excelled with little practice. It interested her because she loved horses, and they had always been part of her daily life. She had seen it done a hundred times, which helped her to quickly master even the most difficult techniques.