Brian Rathbone - The Dawning of Power

"What did you see? What's happening?" Chase asked, fear in his voice.

"The warning fires are lit," Benjin said.

"Which fires? Is the one near the Watering Hole lit?" Strom asked anxiously.

"All of them are lit. The Godfist is under attack." His words seemed to linger in the air, and a feeling of impending doom crept across the group. Benjin cocked his head to one side as if listening intently. "We need to go. Now."

"But my father…" Catrin protested.

"Your father can take care of himself, li'l miss. He'd wring my neck if I let you go back there after 'im. You know he would. You're in far more danger than he is. Now go!" he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He led them on a meandering trek from shadow to shadow. They moved as quietly as they could, but every noise seemed to echo across the valley. They heard no sounds of pursuit, but they would have had to struggle to hear anything over the pounding of their hearts and their labored breathing.

Rather than head for the falls, Benjin angled north and east, and when they reached the eastern ridgeline, he started up the incline. It was a difficult climb, but it would take them into the neighboring valley, Chinawpa. It was narrower than the fertile Pinook River Valley. Bramble and thorn bushes grew thick, and few ventured there.

After having been hidden by the shadows, Catrin felt as if the whole world could see her on the face of the mountain. They climbed in anxious silence, occasionally disturbing loose rocks, which bounced down the steep incline with what sounded like a terrible clatter. Benjin occasionally stopped to scan the valley for signs of pursuit, but he saw none.

Sweaty and tired, they crested the ridgeline and stared into the valley below. The descent into the Chinawpa Valley was not as steep as their climb had been. Benjin continued to lead, moving carefully down the ridgeline at an angle to make the descent more gradual. Daylight was failing them, and he cautioned them to beware of loose rock and scree. A few tenacious trees growing out of the rock face steadied them in treacherous places.

It was early twilight when they finally reached the valley floor, tired, sore, and in need of rest.

"I know you would all like to stop, but we have to get as far away as possible before we camp for the night," Benjin said, although it was unnecessary to tell them what they already knew.

Catrin trudged along behind him, not really paying attention to where she was going, just following the body in front of her and concentrating on staying upright. She was exhausted, her muscles cramped, and she clutched her side as she walked to try to ease the aching. Staying near the ridgeline, where the vegetation was sparse, Benjin seemed to be searching for something.

"Are we looking for something specific?" Catrin asked in an irritated tone. She knew she sounded childish and contrary even as the words left her lips.

"There's a place up ahead where your father and I once made camp; it provides some shelter, but it is primarily defensible should the need arise. I don't think we'll be found tonight, but it's better to be prepared for the improbable-and sometimes the impossible. You'll have to trust me that it's the best place for us to stop," he said, continuing to walk.

Darkness settled over them and slowed their progress. The skies were overcast, and Catrin could barely make out the moon and comet behind the clouds. She could feel the energy enveloping her, but it was strange and frightening, and she closed herself to it. Still, it pulled at the edges of her mind, promising warmth, security, and power.

"Are you all right, li'l miss?" Benjin asked, concern clearly audible in his voice.

"I'm just tired and not feeling well," she replied, feeling guilty for telling only part of the truth, but she wasn't going to tell them about her strange yearnings for power. She wouldn't blame any of them for thinking she was a witch, and at this point, she was decidedly unsure of herself.

"We're just about there. We'll be resting soon, I promise. Just a little farther," Benjin said, and soon they approached a huge split in the rock face. An enormous slab of stone leaned against the valley wall, leaving a gap several paces wide. It was open on both ends, providing two routes of escape. They filed into the gap and dropped their packs. Chase began to set up a fire circle, but Benjin waved him from the task.

"No fire tonight, I'm afraid. It's just too risky."

The others knew he was right, but that did little to improve the atmosphere. They ate a cold meal in relative silence; then Benjin urged them to get some sleep, saying he would take the first watch. Deep breathing and occasional snores soon surrounded Catrin, but she could not sleep. Despite her weariness, she lay awake, wondering if she would ever feel safe again.

From high on a hill, Wendel watched the Zjhon come, frozen in morbid fascination as what looked like a wave of fire and destruction rolled through Harborton and the lowlands. He'd come here to survey the situation, to reassure himself that his friends, neighbors, and countrymen would be fine and that going after Catrin would jeopardize no one. Watching the horror unfold before him, he was faced with a new question: Would staying to defend his homeland make any difference?

His awareness was flooded with a vision of Catrin, hunted by the Zjhon, vulnerable and calling out for him. Never before had Wendel ever been so conflicted, he felt as if his spirit were being torn apart, ripped into pieces by a decision no one should ever have to make. He felt Elsa looking down on him, and he wept as he shamed her and shamed himself. His feet had taken him to the barn, where he had already, subconsciously and automatically, started saddling Charger. From beneath a pile of hay, he pulled his portion of the supplies he and Benjin had stashed away. From one of the bags protruded a painful reminder, a physical representation of his guilt and weakness. Elsa's sword reminded him of all the things he was not, of all his failings and shortcomings. It challenged him to save his countrymen and find Catrin-Elsa would have saved them all.

Wendel found himself in the saddle, ready to ride away from his farm, his friends-his entire life. Just as he gave Charger his heels, he caught movement from the corner of his vision. Turning his mount with his knees, he saw a mounted soldier closing on a single-horse cart. Driving the cart was Elianna Grisk, a woman of more than eighty summers. She was as sharp as a sword and took no guff from anyone, but she was more than overmatched. Her horse was little more than a pony, and he was weary with age; he labored to pull her at little more than a walk, and the soldier's horse showed only the beginnings of a sweat.

Wendel cried out in dismay. His mind had been made up, his course set, but now he found himself swayed. Reaching back, he grabbed Elsa's sword and released a battle cry that had not been heard in many seasons. As he charged toward the approaching soldier, he saw the look of relief on Elianna's face; she believed he would save her. Life had given Wendel no other choice; there was only one way he could ever live with himself: he had to save them all.

In the darkness, all of Benjin's fears came to life and stalked him from every direction, waiting for him to let down his guard for even a moment. He was soft and slow with age, and he was unprepared for what lay ahead. Too long had he lived an easy life, forgetting the lessons his father and grandfather had taught him. He had always thought there would be time to prepare, time to train his children to face the coming storm, but now the storm had come early, and his work was not even begun.

Things most people thought of as legend were now here as flesh and blood, wood and iron, pain and fire. The Masters had always said it would only cause a panic if the truth was known to all, and thus they kept their knowledge hidden. The citizens of the Godfist would pay for the Masters' folly… and his.