Brian Rathbone - The Dawning of Power

Looking across the grass to where Catrin lay, Madra drew a deep breath and did her best to find some shred of hope. For Catrin's sake and her own, she tilted her head back and gazed to the skies. With all her might, she sent her prayers to the gods, hoping that maybe this time they would hear.

Our eyes are most critical of those who are reflections of ourselves. -Elinda Wumrick, mother of three

Distorted echoes of string instruments and cymbals filled the halls of Ravenhold. There was no tune or melody, as if those who played could not hear the notes. Banquet tables were laden with rotting food. Faceless men and women danced without rhythm, as if some unseen force drove them.

Catrin stood at the center of it all in her wedding dress. But when she looked down, it was soiled and torn. Her grandmother beckoned from the head table, but Catrin could not break free from those who danced. Her every step was blocked, and it seemed she was getting farther away. Lissa, looking as Catrin imagined her: like herself but with eyes of ice and fire, stood at her grandmother's side, her slender hand extended to point at Catrin, a silent accusation.

Hands grabbed Catrin's waist and propelled her around the floor, twirling her until she was dizzy. Her legs could no longer hold her, and she fell and fell and fell. When at last she struck cold stone, she looked up to see Carrod Winsiker staring down at her, his lips curled into a sneer. He laughed and the room spun. Every face she saw was twisted in contempt, mocking her. Lissa threw a piece of moldy bread at her, and her grandmother laughed.

Shame and grief overwhelmed Catrin, and she begged for mercy, but they surrounded her, accusing her of abandoning them. Her grandmother came to the fore and opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. Instead, a crimson rose bloomed on her chest, and she dropped to the floor, an arrow protruding from her back. On the balcony stood Catrin's betrothed, engulfed in a nimbus of power. He reached out with fingers of flame and raked the soft flesh of her throat. Crying out in pain, she looked down to see blood soaking her already fouled dress.

When she raised her head again, robed figures threw ropes of fire into the crowd, and those who danced burst into flame, but still they danced. Wicked laughter pounded in her ears, and as a haze of blood clouded her vision, they were gone.

"No!" Catrin shouted, grappling with hands that restrained her. She lashed out, desperate with fear.

Benjin frowned down at her. "It was a bad dream. Wake up, li'l miss. You're safe."

Slowly, reality supplanted the image of her dream, and she relaxed. "I'm sorry."

"You've nothing to be ashamed of," he said. "Fate has been unkind to you, and you've not even had time to grieve. Allow yourself to do that, and then, perhaps, the dreams will not be as bad."

"Thank you." People milled about, and several cast Catrin questioning glances.

Madra approached. Everyone in the camp showed deference to her, yet she had a kind word, a pat on the shoulder, or an embrace for each of them. The harsh persona dissolved in those moments, and Catrin saw the real Madra.

"Our dreams bring messages," she said when she reached Catrin. "But they are rarely understood. Give them credence, but do not rely on them for council."

"Thank you, Madra."

"When you've eaten, please join me," Madra said as she walked back to her tent.

Chase brought a half loaf of bread, some smoked fish, and a flask of water. "What do we do from here?" he asked.

Catrin had known this time would come, but she was still not ready to answer. Haunted by her dreams, she tried to find reason, tried to find a course that would not lead to disaster. In a moment of clarity, she firmed her resolve and made a choice. "We go to Ohmahold," she said, but she turned her head when Millie made an annoyed sound in her throat. "On the way, we'll stop at Ravenhold, but we'll only remain there a short time." Millie looked smug but seemed satisfied.

"And after Ohmahold? What then?" Chase asked.

"I'll not remain long in Ohmahold either. I'll fulfill my commitments, and then I'll find a way to get to the Firstland. Belegra poses a serious threat, and I cannot allow him to enslave anyone else. I would go in search of the other statues, but I've no idea how to find them. At least with Belegra I know where he has most likely gone, even if I don't know how to get there."

"Wherever we go," Chase said, with a pointed look at Catrin, "we are going to need a ship. Fasha was headed for New Moon Bay. Madra knows ways to contact her, as does Brother Vaughn. I guess we just need to find a map."

Catrin simply nodded her acknowledgment.

"I think Belegra may have a map, but I doubt you'll find another," Samda said. "I believe it was among his most closely guarded treasures."

"We'll find a way," Chase said with a firm nod. "Let's go. Madra awaits."

On their way to Madra's tent, Catrin saw fear in the eyes of many she passed. Making the mistake of looking one woman in the eye, Catrin felt a wave of terror pour out. Some may seek out the ability to inspire fear in others, but Catrin detested it. It made her feel like a monster.

Madra, at least, showed no signs of fear when they approached. She sat next to the remains of a small fire and motioned for Catrin to sit. Chase and Benjin seemed unsure if they were welcome, but Madra smiled. "Please, all of you, sit with me and let's discuss what lies ahead."

"Thank you, Madra."

"We set out to confront the Zjhon armies and reclaim what is rightfully ours. You're welcome to join us, if you choose. What you've already done has aided us. We're indebted to you for that, but we'll not kneel to you."

"I don't want anyone to kneel to me," Catrin said. "I seek no power or authority. I only want peace. And while I support your goals, I, too, have things I must achieve. I must return to Ravenhold and Ohmahold to fulfill my commitments, but if our paths remain the same for some time, I would welcome a place in your camp."

"Fair enough."

Driven by a strong wind, the Stealthy Shark knifed through the waves, sending sea spray high into the air. Feeling the cool mist on her cheeks was one of the things Fasha loved most about the sea, and most times, it brought a smile to her face, but on this day, it brought only fear and sadness. Watching Chase as he had waded from the surf, departing her world and entering the world of the land-bound, something inside of her had changed. She could not define what had changed, but nothing in her life had been the same since. Not even the rush of dodging patrol ships brought her any real joy. It was as if all the things that had been important to her suddenly lost their meaning.

Chase's desperate-almost primal-need to save his cousin had affected Fasha more than she had originally realized. Though she knew she belonged at sea, she found herself wanting to meddle in the affairs of the land-bound, something her mother often cautioned against, saying it was a certain path to trouble. Still the thoughts lingered, and Fasha continued to question herself. When sails appeared on the horizon, she had no choice but to concentrate on survival. Her conscience would have to wait.

Weeks of traveling with Madra's army proved to Catrin that she never wanted to become a soldier. Half of every morning was spent breaking camp, and half the evening was spent making camp. She had to admit that this specific army had problems that no other would. Children ran through the tents in packs, playing and roughhousing. Other, smaller children cried late into the night, every night, making sleep difficult to find. Tempers were short, and patience was in shorter supply than food. When Catrin could take no more, she joined Madra and Benjin by one of the many campfires.