Brian Rathbone - The Dawning of Power

A fierce and strong spirit huddled within an aging body. Eyes that spoke of a stone will were rimmed with tears, and a powerful jaw trembled as it tried to hold back the pain. At first, she did not even acknowledge his presence. Instead, she poured another drink. "And who might you be?" she finally asked without looking up.

"My name is Chase," he said when she raised her eyes and met his gaze. He tried to say more, but his knees suddenly felt weak, and his hands began to tremble. He could feel Madra's pain and could think of no words that would be meaningful in the face of such despair.

"I've no patience for halfwits, boy. Go on. Talk. Who sent you?"

"Fasha," he managed to say.

"Let me guess: You came looking for help?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Madra just nodded, bit her lip, and poured her last drink. For a time she simply sat and stared at it. After a few moments, though, she picked it up, stood, and walked outside. Chase followed. Beneath the moon, stars, and comets, Madra stood silent for some time, tears falling to the dusty soil beside her tattered boots. In the end, she raised her glass to the gods: "I beg for help, and you send me those in need. I ask for mercy, and you further test my will. Fine. Have your joke, you thankless jackals. I'll just have to clean up this mess myself!" she said just before she downed her last drink. "Come on, pup. We've work to do."

As he followed Madra back into her home, Chase wondered what he'd gotten himself into.

When the sun rose, casting a glow across the water, neither shore was visible; only the location of the sun guided them. The winds had taken a southerly turn and grown fierce; their boat cut the waves under full sail, riding the growing swells. With no point of reference, it looked to Catrin as if they were moving slowly, but occasional flotsam appeared in the water and was soon lost in the distance.

"We must get closer to shore before the sea claims us," Benjin shouted to Samda, and they set a westerly course.

By midday, the western coast came into view. The land was mostly forested, and only occasional farmsteads and mills gave any indication of inhabitation. But as the day wore on, the smell of smoke grew heavy on the air, and the setting sun backlit columns of smoke, red and orange, making it appear as if the sky were on fire.

"Perhaps we should move back into deeper water," Benjin said as they neared the coast. The columns of smoke were now close, and acrid clouds rolled over the water. As they passed an isolated farmstead, a band of mounted men appeared, raiding and setting the buildings afire.

"Bandits and thugs," Morif said. "The Zjhon weakened all the lands, and now that they've been routed, anarchy reigns." Samda flushed and kept his eyes downcast. "I mean you no insult, Samda. You've been good to us, but the Zjhon have set the Greatland on a path to destruction." Millie stood, tight-lipped, and cast scathing glances at Morif, but he seemed not to notice as he watched the raiders move on. "There's little food to be had, and too many young folk are dead, with the Zjhon armies, or on the Godfist. If order is not restored, there'll be nothing left to raid by spring."

Catrin watched the razing of the farmstead in horror, seeing visions of her own home destroyed, but she stifled her tears. "Turn back east," she said. "I don't want to land near here." Benjin nodded at her statement.

"The southern waters are far too dangerous," Samda said. "Storms and massive waves strike without warning. It'd be wiser to skirt the western coast and look for a safer place to land," Samda said.

Catrin got a cold feeling in her stomach when she looked at the burning farmstead, and she decided to trust her instincts. "No," she said. "We will risk the crossing."

Oversight begets disaster. -Omar Zichter, architect

An unnatural mist obscured the landscape, green and yellow like a plague, but Catrin recognized her homeland nonetheless. How she had come to be back on the Godfist was lost to her. A part of her seemed to know that she dreamed, but that knowing was overshadowed by fear and foreboding.

Harborton appeared deserted. Not a soul could be found, no birds sang in the trees beyond, and even the leaves were still. As she neared the family farm, though, dark shapes milled about, distorted by the foul mist.

In the barnyard she found her father, Benjin, Uncle Jensen, and even Chase, though she wondered how he had found his way home. Everyone she cared about from her homeland was there, yet no one spoke or even seemed to notice her. Their faces were contorted into masks of fear and rage lit by a feral glow. As one, they moved toward the pasture from which the glow originated, and there, Catrin saw what drew them. The face of Istra stared up from the depths of a gaping wound in the land, and the glow became brighter with every step she took.

She tried to warn them, to tell them to run away, but her voice made no sound, no matter how loudly she tried to scream. Frustration set her soul ablaze as she fought to alert them of the danger, but they would not see-could not hear. Moving inexorably closer, they walked to their deaths, and Catrin was helpless, unable to stop them. Clawing her throat, trying to find her voice, she moved through the cloying mist. With an effort born of love and terror, her scream finally split the air, and every face turned toward her, but before she could warn them, the haze wrapped them in its fetid embrace.

In a flash of ill light, they were gone.

Gentle hands shook Catrin awake. Her eyes burned, and she wiped the sweat from her brow, her mouth tasting of blood.

"It's all right, li'l miss," Benjin said. "I'm here. It was just a dream."

Even in the bright morning light, she could not shake the visions from her mind, and she trembled as she stood. Sucking in a deep breath, she let the damp and salty air drive away the horrors of her dreams. Shading her eyes with her hand, she could see the eastern coast beneath the rising sun.

Prevailing winds continued to drive them, and she estimated they would reach land before noon. Samda brought her a mug of water laced with herbs. "This will help clear your mind," he said.

"Thank you," Catrin said, but she spilled the drink when she spotted a dark and menacing ship approaching. "There's a ship behind us."

"Looks like a mercenary ship," Benjin said, "and I doubt they're friendly. I don't think we can outrun them, even at full sail, but let's raise all we have. Maybe we can make it to shallow water before they catch us." He and Samda moved with purpose to get as much speed as they could. Catrin and the others secured themselves as speed drove the boat into the waves.

After tossing everything that was not precious or essential, the mercenary ship still gained on them, and Catrin knew it would overtake them well before they made land. Benjin and the others seemed to come to the same conclusion and prepared themselves to fight.

Catrin tried to decide what to do. She hadn't used her powers since the destruction of the statue, and she was terrified that they would no longer work or, worse yet, that they would unintentionally hurt those she loved. As her breathing became rapid, she tried to exert control over herself, and she drew deep, steady breaths. It was much like the first time she climbed back onto a horse after having been thrown. Tentatively, she reached for Istra's power. Like breathing, the act of opening herself to the energy felt natural, only, in this case, it felt as if she had spent most of her life holding her breath. The power came reluctantly at first, but then it surged, coming to her in a rush and nearly sweeping her away.

Something within her had changed. It was as if the power she'd felt before had been flowing through a pinhole, and now the dam had burst. With deliberate effort, she pulled herself away from the energy flow. It tempted her with its sweet caress, but she knew she could not give in to its lure or she would be lost. The sudden deprivation of power after such a heady flow made her dizzy, and she swayed where she sat.