Brian Rathbone - The Dawning of Power

She had taken only three good strides before the Gholgi resumed their hunt with what seemed a renewed sense of urgency. Grunts and growls passed between them, sounding to Catrin as if they were speaking a guttural language. Driven by fear, she climbed, hoping the Gholgi were not skilled climbers. Ahead lay a rocky vale, and if only she could reach it, she would be safe. It was an irrational thought, but it inspired her to even greater speed. Exhaustion threatened to overcome her; her vision blurred and the world took on a yellow haze, but she drew a deep breath and climbed.

Beyond one last boulder waited rich grasses that promised a soft bed. Littered with chunks of granite and bathed in moonlight, the vale looked as if some god had split a mountain into bits and sprinkled them along the valley floor. Reaching up to grab the top of the boulder, Catrin cried out as a Gholgi clutched her leg, pulling her backward, its claws biting through her leggings and into her flesh.

In the moment before she knew she would succumb, the attack suddenly stopped; the Gholgi released its grip and was gone. Exhausted and losing blood, Catrin could make no sense of what had just happened, and she concentrated on simply reaching the vale. In a dreamlike state, she crawled across the grasses to one of the boulders.

Leaning against the rock was more comfortable than she had expected, and she was grateful for a place to rest; she felt safe. Cutting her leggings away from the wounds on her leg, she winced. From deep gashes, some nearly to the bone, seeped her precious blood. If she did not stop the bleeding, she would die, but her meager efforts did not staunch the flow.

Weariness began to overtake her and she thought it might be nice to lie down on the grass and sleep, but a nagging voice in the back of her mind reminded her that sleep meant death. She was not ready to die yet; her work was not yet done.

Pulling her eyes open, she realized she was already lying down, the grass pressing against her face. After pushing herself back into a sitting position, she drew a deep breath, and her head spun.

Draw on the life around you.

She didn't know from where the message came, but it was a welcome one, full of hope and compassion. Opening herself up, she allowed the life around her to flow into her, and she was surprised by the power of it. Looking down, she saw blood still running from her wounds, and she knew the additional energy would not be enough to save her. She had to find a way to stop the bleeding.

Despite the warnings, she thought of Enoch Giest and how he had healed himself. The lines of all those he taught to heal themselves had been doomed. Knowing the effects, Catrin concluded it was worth the risk as long as she did not have children or teach anyone else how to do it. Of course, that was assuming she could figure it out herself in the limited time she had left.

Using the last of her strength, she reached out to the comets and drew a trickle of power. Combined with the life energy she still felt flowing around her, she attained clear thought. She knew what her body had to do to heal itself. All she had to do was get a message through the barrier between her conscious and subconscious minds without shattering it in the process.

Somehow, instinctively, she knew where to find the barrier, and she visualized it as a wall of stone and mortar in her mind. Not wanting to take down the entire wall, she chipped away at the mortar around a single stone. With her trusty, old belt knife, which still existed in her memory, she broke away the mortar, and light began to stream through from the other side, blindingly bright and filled with colors Catrin had never before seen.

Determined, she wiggled the stone until it started moving a little more with each swing. Then it broke free with a suddenness that left her reeling. Radiant light poured through the hole, and Catrin approached it with apprehension. Beyond lay an unknown reality, the part of her that truly understood how her body worked yet was somehow blind to her immediate need. She knew her body could create a clot to stop the bleeding and fill the wounds with scar tissue, but it did not seem to realize the imminent need, for her blood still flowed.

Applying her will, she pressed her face to the wall and shouted into the hole, "Stop the bleeding. Heal my leg." She sensed something akin to acknowledgment and pulled her face away. With the stone still in her hand, she brought it back up to the hole, but before she could slide it into place, she looked through and saw a stunningly beautiful face staring back with an equally awestruck expression.

Thrilled and terrified, Catrin stared for a moment, memorizing every detail, every curve and highlight, but then from somewhere came a warning, little more than a sense of danger. Closing her eyes, Catrin shoved the stone back into place. Only then did she realize the damage she had done: None of the mortar remained. Light streamed around the stone. Then the stone wiggled.

It had never occurred to Catrin that her subconscious might want to communicate with her just as badly, but when the stone suddenly fell from its hole, she scrambled to replace it, trying to remember how mortar was made. Perhaps, she thought, if she could think of how to make mortar, she could conjure up some to fill in around the brick. It seemed strange to think of making mortar in her mind for what was only her visual representation of something, but it felt very real to her.

Stuffing the stone back into the hole, she tried her best to imagine up some mortar, and she cheered when she finally succeeded. Just as she reached up to apply her mortar, though, her heart leaped; the stone slowly moved away from her and fell through to the other side.

Light poured through, and Catrin's curiosity soared, but the warnings returned, and she slammed her hands, full of mortar, over the hole. In her mind, she stayed there, guarding her meager barrier and hoping her mental wall would not come tumbling down. Sleep overcame her, and her dreams were filled with visions of Enoch and Ain Giest laughing at her.

Stretching himself between a branch and a rock outcropping, Chase prayed he didn't slip. Keeping himself from looking down was difficult; it was an almost morbid fascination, wondering if the fall below would kill him or just leave him broken and wounded.

With a grunt, he thrust himself across the divide and dug his fingers into the first impression he could find. Slamming his body against the stone, he used his knees and toes to keep his grip. When he gained the top of the outcropping, he leaned against the cliff wall behind him, regaining his breath, and looked down.

Losing himself in the vertigo, he let his mind go where it would. Visions of the Gholgi attack were etched in his memory. Osbourne and Brother Vaughn had both been hurt, and he'd sent Strom back to the ship with them, for protection. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he was alone and had no idea of how to find Catrin, if she still lived. Unwilling to believe her dead, he pressed on, staying to the higher reaches to avoid most of the wildlife, though he wondered if the climbing was any less dangerous than what waited below.

Nightfall brought overwhelming despair since it meant he would not find Catrin this day; she was lost to him. Tears dripped from his nose, and he wiped them away angrily. They were not defeated yet. Catrin still lived, he told himself, and he made himself believe it.

In the deepest shadows, fire, both terrible and magnificent, can spring to life. -Casicus Mod, coal miner

Encumbered by the basket of fish he carried, Prios climbed the loose rocks with great care. Belegra had ordered everything he caught saved, but Prios filled his stomach while away from the archmaster's watchful eyes. These days they seemed to see only what they wanted to see, and Prios was determined to take every advantage.