Brian Rathbone - The Dawning of Power

"I'm nearly certain. I can still sense the hummingbird that landed on my finger," Catrin said, and now Nora and Fasha gave her astonished looks. "He grows faint as he gets farther away, but he's that way," she said, pointing, her eyes closed.

"East!" Kenward said, and he did a happy dance that clearly disgusted Fasha.

"I'd say southeast," she said, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Maybe a little south," Kenward conceded, but his grin did not fade.

"I've nothing better to go by. South and east it is," Nora said as they reached the shoreline.

In a wagon loaded with jars of powdered pyre-orchid, Mirta rode through town, trying to avoid the roadways that were still clogged with snow. On the main thoroughfare, the snow was mostly cleared, and she had to guide her mare around only occasional patches of ice. Along the way, she stopped to see Becka, who was now fully recovered. The spread of illness had been staunched, here at least, but Mirta knew many others throughout the Greatland were at risk. Orman wouldn't tell her who had sent the precious flowers, but Mirta had her suspicions. Wilmer and Jidan weren't talking, and Mirta had to admire their ability to keep a secret. She supposed it was a family trait.

What really mattered was that the gift not be wasted. It had taken time to dry and prepare the powder, then months making sure that the sick were truly cured. Now she knew she could wait no more. In the harshness of winter, there would be many in need. For them, Mirta was leaving her home, her loved ones, what seemed her entire life. Suisa could tend to those she left behind; she was a skilled woman with a kindly manner. Still, Mirta's heart ached as she released herself from responsibility to home and opened herself to responsibility to everyone.

With a wave to the crowd that had gathered to see her off, despite the cold, Mirta chirruped and slapped the leather lines across her mare's rump.

As the seasons passed, a new sort of normality set in, Rolph Tillerman did as he and his ancestors always had: he worked the land. His efforts provided food for his family and for others around him, but lately his labors seemed almost a waste of time, a poor attempt at keeping starvation at bay. Jessub was a growing boy, but he was not ready to take his place as the man of the farm, and Rolph began to question how much longer he would be able to hold up under the physical strains of his labors. His father had always said that farming was the work of a young man; teaching that young man to farm was the job of his father. Martik. If only he were here to raise Jessub, to teach him all the lessons he would need to survive, then things would be better.

"I'm just too old," Rolph said to himself as the pain in his back escalated from a dull ache to a sharp, stabbing pain. Forced to admit he could no more, Rolph held a hand to his back and walked slowly to the cottage where Collette waited, her hands on her hips.

"Didn' I tell ya no' to work yerself t'death?" she asked. "Better to git a little done each day, I says, an' then a little more the next. That's what I says, an' look at ya. Come on now. Git in here and let me git a look at ya. Foolish old man."

As Rolph settled himself in the most comfortable position he could, he stayed quiet while his wife lovingly massaged his aching muscles and lectured him about being more careful and listening to her. Rolph closed his eyes and let himself relax. At least some things in his world remained the same. That realization gave him hope. Somehow he would find a way to make things right.

A moment later, though, Jessub charged into the cottage, the door slamming behind him, which was something he'd been scolded about far too many times. Covered in mud, cuts, and scrapes, he looked the part of a scamp, especially with the broad grin on his face. "Gramma, Grampa," he said, "look what I caught!" He held up a small, lizardlike animal that still squirmed in his hand.

"I don't care what it is," Collette said, immediately shuffling the boy back outside. "I want it out o' my house, and yer not t'come back in 'til yer stripped and washed. Understood?"

"Yes, Gramma," he said, and though his eyes were cast downward for a moment, in the next he was running back to the mud hole, presumably in search of more salamanders. "That boy'll be the death o' me yet."

Rolph just shook his head and sighed.

Staring at the endless waves, Catrin wondered if she would ever see land again. Having long since lost contact with the hummingbird, she was no longer so certain of their course, and they had seen nothing for months-no fish, no birds, nothing but deep water.

Kenward stood nearby watching the Stealthy Shark as she slowed and turned. "What is that woman up to this time?" he said, but then came the mirror flashes, and he cursed. "Prepare to board the Shark. She's wounded and we must capture the crew."

Catrin sighed. Nora never stopped. Rather than simply sail, the entire trip was transformed into a training exercise. Each drill brought new challenges, and Catrin was certain this one would as well. The races and some of the maneuvers had been exciting and even fun, but boardings were brutal. Only practice weapons were used, but they left everyone bruised and welted, not to mention exhausted.

"They've beaten us back twice already," Kenward said. "And they've taken us twice. No mistakes. No mercy. If my mother or sister leave an opening, take it, or they will humiliate you. Trust me on this. Leave them welted and bruised at the end of this day, and there'll be more racing than boarding for the next week."

The crew readied themselves, rallied by his words. Catrin felt her heart pounding, and she gathered her will, wanting to avenge Kenward's losses and her own. His eye was still blackened from a punch his own mother had landed. Strom had already "killed" Catrin by sneaking up on her and hitting her across the back with the flat of his sword. Benjin had forced her to submit twice without ever hitting her. Holding her corner of the boarding net, she waited for Kenward's command, ready to fight.

At ramming speed, he sailed without wavering.

"What's that boilin' maniac doing?" Fasha shouted. "Raise the-"

"Hold!" Nora said. "Not yet. Stand ready to be boarded. Take no prisoners," she added with a pointed glance at Benjin.

"He's gonna sink both of us," Fasha said but remained at her post. The Slippery Eel charged through the waves as Kenward used every trick he knew to get speed. The crew moved without hesitation, despite what were obviously ludicrous orders. "How does he get his crew to go along with his crazy ideas?"

"They believe in him," Nora said. "Fools and dreamers they may be, but somehow they make it work."

"Kenward will come for mother and me," Fasha said. "He'll be seeking revenge. I'm certain of it."

"Chase and Catrin will come for me… together I think," Benjin said.

"Do you think our plan is gonna work?" Strom asked.

"They'll never see it coming," Fasha said. Nora remained silent, anxiously watching the Slippery Eel's daring approach. "Stand ready to repel!" she said as the Eel executed a turn that left it coming toward the Shark sideways, driving a wall of water before it. "Brace yourselves!"

Atop the Eel's wake, the Shark heaved and rolled, her decks thrown far from the Eel's.

"Hold!" Kenward's shout carried above the roaring water. As the Shark rolled on the receding wave, it came back closer to the Eel. Sliding down in the water, her decks dropped below the Eel's. "Now!" came Kenward's command.

Howling like animals, his crew attacked. Catrin and Chase moved toward Benjin, who looked up to see if Osbourne and Strom were in place. Taking a deep breath, he bent his knees. Fasha bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, swaying back and forth like a panther waiting to strike. She gave him a nod. The bait was ready, the trap set.