Brian Rathbone - The Dawning of Power

Chase was dumbstruck. He'd never expected to hear such words from Madra. She'd always been gruff yet fair and harsh without being caustic. He'd always thought himself a burden to her and that his efforts had barely made his presence tolerable. Now, looking in her eyes, he saw something entirely different. The rough exterior had been hiding what lay beneath, and through the cracks that she allowed to show, she revealed a bit of herself to him.

"You remind me of my youngest, Medrin. He's a good boy too," she said and her voice cracked.

Chase moved closer and squeezed her hand. "You'll get them back," he said. In the next moment, his perceptions of the world changed once again as one of the strongest people he'd ever met laid her head on his shoulder and cried.

The sun brought a cheerful summer day to life, and it seemed to Catrin almost as if everything were right in the world. Honey farms and wheat fields dotted the countryside, and soon a larger town came into view. The streets were congested with merchants and beggars alike, both ready to part the unwary from their coin.

Benjin kept to the main thoroughfare and dismounted only when they reached the market proper. Here, guards patrolled and no beggars could be seen. Despite the added measure of safety they brought, Catrin feared the sight of them. Benjin tied their mount to a post in front of a place that sold wagons, not far from a shop that smelled of baking bread.

"Let me have the gold. I'll do the talking," Benjin said, and Catrin handed him the purse. "Good day to you, sir," he said to the wagon merchant.

"That it is," the man replied as Benjin wandered around the lot, inspecting the available wagons. "What can I help you find?"

"I'm not certain I see anything that would suit my needs."

"Most of the good ones have gone, and no new ones are being built, friend. You won't find a better selection in all the Greatland during these trying times. Perhaps this fine, single-horse cart would make your burdens lighter?"

"How much?"

"Four silvers."

"Two," Benjin countered.

"Three."

"Three and you include the harness."

"Deal."

Catrin was amazed at how quickly the deal was made. And she saw a look of suspicion cross the merchant's face as Benjin handed him a gold coin, not having anything smaller. The merchant handed Benjin his change in silvers as if each one were an insult. Benjin apologized and slipped the man another silver for his trouble. This brightened the man's expression considerably, but Catrin still sensed distrust.

After unsaddling their mount, Benjin put the harness on him and hooked it to the wagon. When he was done putting the saddle in the wagon, he walked to the baker's shop. Inside, all manner of bread, cake, and biscuit were on display, and bakers were busy taking fresh loaves from massive stone ovens.

"Greetings, friends. What can Amul do for you today?" asked a rotund and flour-covered man from behind the counter.

"I need as many loaves of bread and hard biscuits as you can sell me."

"Well, I certainly couldn't sell you everything since I've my regular customers to think of, and that would take a lot of coin, friend. Have you an army to feed?" the baker asked with a hint of his own suspicion.

"Sometimes it seems that way, friend Amul, but no. How much can you spare?" Benjin asked, and the baker visibly appraised Benjin and Catrin.

"Twenty loaves of bread and twice as many biscuits," the baker said after a moment's contemplation. Benjin paid him handsomely, and they loaded their wagon with haste.

Their purchases were starting to draw attention, and they rushed to escape the scrutiny. Before they left town, though, Benjin made a hurried bargain with a meat merchant, who sold them ten cured hams, and a blacksmith, who sold them a gross of horseshoes and nails. They had spent most of the gold Millie had given Catrin, but she was happy with what they had been able to get.

Fearing they would be followed, Catrin spent most of the ride looking over her shoulder, but no one came. Pulling the wagon was slower than riding, and their horse occasionally struggled with the additional weight, but it was overall a pleasant way to travel. When night arrived, they made camp in a grassy clearing, tied the gelding off to a nearby tree, and took turns sleeping under the stars.

Watching the night sky, Nat considered his fortune. He'd wasted a lifetime on the Godfist, fighting the preconceived notions of others, always having to prove himself sane. Now, after coming to the Falcon Isles, he found himself transformed from madman to teacher, pariah to mentor, outcast to leader.

The Gunata tribe had been wary of him at first, probably due to bad experiences with others of fewer morals than he. They were a primitive tribe that only in recent decades had come into contact with civilized people. Civilized-the word rang falsely in Nat's mind. Civilized: to be civil, benevolent. The term seemed more fitting to describe the unsophisticated Gunata than anyone from the Godfist or the Greatland.

The Gunata did not seem to judge one another or cast aspersions. They lived a simple existence where the tribe mattered more than any individual, yet every person was valued. Nat found it truly refreshing. Still, he had tried to avoid developing feelings for Neenya, but it was a battle he lost. As he had learned bits of her language, and she his, they had become closer, speaking a language only they understood.

During his trips to the mountain, Neenya was always by his side, helping and protecting him. When she told the Gunata of his visions, the elders seemed relieved, as if Nat were filling some crucial role. Nat wasn't certain he understood their reasoning, but they had taken him in, and they treated him as an elder. When Neenya offered herself to him as a wife, the elders approved. Despite the warnings in his head, Nat could not resist.

With the full moon at its zenith, Nat and Neenya stood before the elders.

"Zagut," Chief Umitiri said, and Nat knew that was his signal to kneel. Neenya knelt at his side, her hand in his. Each elder came to them and kissed each of them on the forehead. Chief Umitiri came last. He grasped Nat's head between his thick-fingered hands and looked Nat in the eye. When he kissed Nat's forehead, it felt like a hammer blow, and Nat was thrust into a violent fit as visions overtook him-visions of Catrin standing before a charging bull with hooves of fire.

In times of rapid change, those who do not adapt, perish. -Emrold Barnes, historian

As Catrin approached the leather shop, staying hidden in the shadows, the hair on the back of her neck stood, and a bead of sweat slid down her face. Instincts warned of a trap. Trying to decide if she could trust Mala, she looked at her tattered garments and decided to take the risk. Benjin waited outside town with the wagon, and if she did not return soon, he would come looking for her.

With a deep breath, she entered, and Mala gave a start, her eyes flitting to the back of the shop. "Welcome, m'lady," she said loudly. "I'm just putting a few stitches in the last pair of leggings. Only a moment I'll be. You can try those on for size while you wait."

Catrin pulled the jacket on, and it was a good fit. From the corner of her vision, she saw a figure dart out the back of the shop-the cobbler, she presumed. The boots were ready for her on the counter, and she quickly put them on. The fit was remarkably good, and she complimented his work.

"The man has a gift," Mala said without a hint of a smile, and again she glanced at the back of the shop.

"I cannot wait any longer. I must be going. I'll take those as they are," Catrin said, and she jumped as the cobbler returned. The shopkeeper just continued to sew. The two exchanged a glance, and Catrin nearly bolted.