The Dawning of Power

by Brian Rathbone

  There she found a marvelous treasure: books of every description. Leather-bound volumes with gilded titles and designs on their spines stood beside books bound in colorful cloth. One especially intriguing tome appeared to be bound in some sort of tree bark. Afraid to even touch the precious volumes for fear of damaging them, Catrin just stared in awe; she'd never seen so many books in one place. She heard the others as they entered the room, but she was engrossed in the titles of the volumes, many of which were in foreign languages. When she stood from examining the bottom rows, Kenward stood beside her.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry," she said. "I'm fond of books, and this is a wonderful collection."

  "Think nothing of it. Those're here for your enjoyment during the long voyage. I fear you'll find the collection insufficient before your journey ends. Incidentally, you can put your boots on the carpet; it's not a problem," he said.

  Still self-conscious, she took off her jacket and laid it on the floor, placing her boots atop it.

  Kenward just chuckled and shook his head. He asked everyone to gather around. "Welcome aboard the Trader's Wind. This ship was designed specifically for the long journey between the Greatland and the Falcon Isles, and she's well provisioned. She's still being loaded with the bales of dried herbs that are her main reason for being here, but she should set sail within two or three days. We were fortunate the rains delayed the harvest, or we'd have come too late.

  "These rooms will be your quarters for the next half a year, and I'm sure you'll tire of them, but your attendant will try to make your stay as comfortable as possible. You must not leave these quarters for any reason. There are many merchants and their men aboard this ship, and we can't guarantee everyone's loyalties," Kenward said.

  Catrin was shocked to realize these elaborate quarters were reserved for her and her party; the others appeared impressed and pleased as well.

  "You'll need to double up in the sleeping quarters, but you should find them well appointed. It's not often the Trader's Wind has this many discreet travelers in the same group," Kenward continued with a smirk. "I'll meet with my mother and then return with your attendant. I'm sorry she won't be able to come herself, but we must maintain secrecy. The captain is rarely alone, and it can be difficult for her to explain sudden trips belowdecks. I'm sure she'll arrange for a meeting during your journey. In the meantime, I assure you that you're in good hands."

  After lighting a lantern, he left by the door that stood opposite the hatch; it opened into a dark and cramped hallway. He closed it behind himself, and they were left to get acquainted with their surroundings. The sleeping rooms were relatively large; each held two hammocks and a feather bed along with two wooden chests. They quickly picked their rooms. Catrin chose a room to share with Chase, and Strom and Osbourne selected another, which left private rooms for Benjin and Vertook.

  The arrangement suited them all, and they were still standing around when Kenward returned since none of them was comfortable sitting on the furniture in their dirty clothes. Kenward knocked before entering and was followed by a shy-looking young man who did not raise his eyes.

  "This is Pelivor," Kenward said and introduced the young man to each individual. Pelivor's smile was warm and friendly. When he was introduced to Catrin, he shook her hand, only then raising his eyes to hers.

  "Pelivor is fluent in High Common and Zjhonlander, as well as the Old Tongue and High Script. He'll help prepare you to blend in once you reach the Greatland. He'll be your only contact with the crew and will visit you periodically to assist with any needs you may have," Kenward continued, and Pelivor nodded.

  "I must leave you now; my duties await, but before I leave, I have joyous news. We got word that Fasha and some of her crew have survived and escaped during the destruction of the Zjhon fleet. The Slippery Eel will leave for the Godfist with the dawn, and we look forward to reuniting the Stealthy Shark with her crew. Her missive mentioned something about a group of fools stealing the Shark, but I'm sure she'll forgive you," he said with a mischievous grin. "May the winds be fair and your journey swift, and I hope we meet again someday." He finished with a bow, and Catrin gave him a kiss on his cheek before he could escape through the hatch. He smiled and waved farewell.

  Pelivor was nervous and unsure of himself. He was slight of build and seemed to shrink under their scrutiny, but then he noticed Catrin's boots sitting on her jacket, and he seemed braver for the sudden remembrance of his duties.

  "I'll bring basins for washing. There are various articles of clothing in the chests. I'll be happy to care for your garments. Just leave them in a pile after you've changed," he said, nodding and walking backward toward the door. He slipped out without another sound.

  Within the chests, they found neat stacks of garments. Other than size, they were all very similar, made with a light, soft material Catrin could not identify, whose color ranged from white to tan. She raided the other chests for garments in her size, and she soon had an ample wardrobe stored in her chest. The others had similar success, but the search had left their quarters in disarray--the pristine cabin suddenly looked as if a storm had struck. Catrin was just about to start cleaning up when Pelivor returned.

  He carried four clay water basins, a large wooden pitcher, and a stack of soft, white towels. He nodded to Catrin over the towels as he set them down. She was impressed he managed it all in one trip, but the mess also embarrassed her. Pelivor's face registered no surprise, though. He immediately began folding and stacking the piles of clean garments. Catrin rushed to help him, but he seemed shocked.

  "Please enjoy yourself. I'll just tidy these up. No need for you to bother with it. Would you like me to bring a washbasin into your room?" He walked to the basins, filled one, and questioned Catrin with his eyes as to which room she had chosen. He placed the washbasin in the room she indicated, handed her three soft towels, and returned to folding clothes.

  The others, except Chase, who waited for Catrin to finish, were pouring water for themselves as she closed her door. It felt wonderful to get clean, and the moment of privacy was a luxury in itself. She took longer than she should have, but she felt refreshed and renewed when she finally emerged. Comfortable in her snug-fitting trousers and lightweight shirt, she had no more qualms about using the furniture.

  "Thanks for being quick about it," Chase said with a twinkle in his eyes and a playful swat at her shoulder. Wrinkling her nose, she kept him at a distance. He smirked and went off to get clean.

  Pelivor made several more trips, bringing them platters of fresh fruit, cheeses, and hard bread. Another trip yielded a case of the deep red wines favored by Kenward and his family. The rest of the evening was the most pleasant time Catrin had spent in far too long: she was clean and comfortable, her stomach was full, and she was relatively safe. The possibility of being discovered gave her some anxiety, but it seemed unlikely, and she put it from her mind.

  Loaded with empty platters, Pelivor excused himself for the night, saying he would be back in the morning. No one said much for a while. They were content to relax or nap on the comfortable cushions and feather beds, though Chase said he had grown accustomed to the hammock and retired to their room.

  * * *

  Soon the novelty of leisure wore off, and the group began to systematically read all the books written in High Common. Catrin had been confused at first, having never heard the language she spoke given a name.

  "Most nations speak High Common," Benjin said. "In the past, it was only the Zjhon who spoke Zjhonlander, but their influence has spread, and most people of the Greatland now speak both languages. Very few people understand the Old Tongue or High Script. Pelivor is quite a rarity."

  Pelivor would accept no credit for his accomplishments. He would only say he was fortunate to have received a fine education. His self-effacing attitude annoyed Catrin. She could not stand to see such a bright and talented person think so little of himself, and she was determined to convince him of his self-worth. He seemed to sense
her desire and was unnerved by it. She asked him pointed, personal questions and watched as he squirmed uncomfortably while attempting to formulate suitably humble responses.

  Benjin and the others almost seemed to have sympathy for Pelivor, and they gave him advice on how to handle women. Their advice, however, seemed to disturb him more than Catrin's constant probing, and he often appeared to be fleeing as he departed their company, which seemed to amuse the men.

  Catrin enlisted Pelivor's help in getting herbs for Chase. His shoulder still pained him, and Pelivor happily accepted the task. The next day he arrived with a special tea for Chase. Catrin would have preferred the herbs themselves, but she decided to trust Pelivor's judgment. However, she kept a close watch on Chase's condition just as a precaution.

  "We should set sail by nightfall," Pelivor said on his next visit, and excitement rippled through the cabin. The journey ahead would be long, and everyone was anxious to be under way.

  Pelivor became slightly bolder over time, and he spent most of his days helping them learn different languages. He concentrated on Zjhonlander, which Catrin found quite easy to learn. She made a mental mapping of each word in High Common and its Zjhonlander equivalent. It was easier for her to learn proper sentence structure, verb conjugation, and other linguistic nuances when she already knew many of the words and their meanings. Still, Pelivor insisted she learn to speak in three different ways, depending on where she was.

  "There are many dialects and accents," he said. "If you wish to fit in wherever you go, you must not speak like a Southlander when in northern Mundleboro."

  Before long, Catrin could speak passably with each accent, but some of the others struggled. While Pelivor worked more with them, Catrin picked up a book written in Zjhonlander but found it depressing. The other Zjhonlander books had a similar effect on her. They seemed to be written with the intention of making her feel inadequate and unimportant. More like propaganda than stories, they told her she should be thankful her betters were in control of her life and destiny.

  One, in particular, raised her ire; it was among the newest and most recently written. On the cover, an embossed image portrayed Istra and Vestra in their immortal embrace. The now familiar symbol of the Zjhon triggered her initial anxiety, but the words within infuriated her, defying everything she'd ever been taught. Descriptions of the Statues of Terhilian made them sound as if they would be the salvation of mankind, if only they could be found. Everything Catrin had been taught about the statues portrayed them as terrifying weapons disguised as gifts from the gods.

  "What do you know of the Statues of Terhilian?" she asked Pelivor, but he seemed hesitant to answer.

  "I know very little about them," he said after a long pause, "but I know a great deal about what other people believe to be true. The statues are the source of the greatest and deadliest debate our kind has ever known. It would be presumptuous of me to offer any information as fact. Some believe the statues will destroy the world; others believe just as strongly they will save it. I remain unconvinced by either argument."

  "Another unanswerable question," Catrin said as she put the book aside.

  Disgusted with Zjhonlander writings, she convinced Pelivor to help her learn High Script. "In ancient times," he said, "the spoken language was much different from written language, and even in those days, High Script was understood by only a very small part of the population. We will concentrate on the written." He taught her how to form each of the symbols, and the sheer number of them, many of which were only slight variations of others, discouraged her.

  "You mustn't make the strokes in the wrong direction; it distorts the character," Pelivor said as he watched over her shoulder. Over time, she came to see that it did.

  It took much longer for her to grasp the intricacies of the archaic language, and many of the concepts seemed foreign to her, but she persisted nonetheless. Once she gained a rudimentary understanding of the language, she attempted to read books written in High Script, but they were confusing. Most contained accounts of family bloodlines and little else. Often, when she asked Pelivor what specific words meant, they were names of places, people, or families.

  The books written in High Common were a luxury; most were tales of adventure and intrigue with happy endings. Nothing in them would help her prepare for the Greatland, though, so she pressed on with her studies.

  Strom and Osbourne both gained passable knowledge of Zjhonlander, but Vertook steadfastly refused. He had tried at first, but no one spoke his native dialect; thus, it was much more difficult for him to learn. Catrin doubted Vertook would ever be mistaken for a native of the Greatland, and it probably didn't matter anyway. If they kept him disguised, perhaps he could be convinced to remain mute.

  Boredom plagued the men. They didn't share her passion for books and needed some other way to occupy themselves.

  "Any chance you could find us some dice?" Benjin asked Pelivor one afternoon.

  "I suppose there's a chance. I'll make some inquiries on your behalf."

  In the meantime, he brought a new stack of books for their entertainment; most were in High Common, but a few were in High Script. Those in High Common were soon divided among the others, and Catrin supposed more ancient lineage wouldn't kill her. She picked up a badly faded and ancient-looking tome and was pleasantly surprised to find it actually told a story.

  It was an impossibly difficult text to translate, and she often had to read a passage several times before she had even a cursory understanding of what it meant. Even when she thought she made sense of something, she wondered if she weren't misinterpreting it. Based on her best guesses, she surmised that there had been two warring factions: the Om and the Gholgi, and the Gholgi were very powerful. Some passages seemed to indicate that the Om were forced to live underground in order to avoid the Gholgi. This confused Catrin, and she was almost certain she was reading something incorrectly, but she continued, hoping to find something to confirm or deny her assumptions.

  "What do these two words mean?" she asked Pelivor.

  "I don't know what Gholgi means. I apologize for my ignorance. This book is from the captain's personal collection, and it is probably the oldest text I have ever seen. Based on the ancient form of High Script, I suspect this is a relatively recent transcription of a much older work. Some of the words it contains may have never been translated before or may have no translation. The other word you asked about, Om, could be similar to Ohma, which means men."

  "That makes no sense either, unless the men were fighting women. Perhaps Gholgi is the word for woman," she said.

  "I doubt that. Uma is the more modern form of woman. Perhaps the old form was Um," he speculated, and Catrin scanned the pages in hopes of confirming his guess. She was almost disappointed to find the word Um used later in the text since that bit of conjecture only made the rest of the puzzle appear more complex.

  The further she read, the more confused she became, and she eventually set the book aside in frustration. Pacing the cabin relentlessly, she was like a caged animal. She needed answers, not guesses, but all she had were feelings and assumptions. Her confinement became like a tangible thing; it trapped her and prevented her from getting the answers she sought. She knew, deep inside, it wasn't true, but frustration overwhelmed her good sense. She stewed in her uncertainty and anxieties until she worked herself into a frenzied state. The men seemed to sense the rising storm, and they exchanged glances, as if wondering where she would strike.

  Fears and concerns overwhelmed her, and she realized not all of the worry was hers. She could sense the others, and their moods were influencing hers. And she wondered if she could remain sane while trapped with so much emotion in what now seemed like small quarters.

  Pelivor broke the tension when he brought dried fruits and walnuts soaked in maple syrup. Everyone gathered around him and sampled the unexpected treats. The mood lightened, and soon they laughed while licking their fingers. Chase and Strom told tall tales along with more than a fe
w true tales, and Pelivor laughed so hard he nearly choked. Chase patted him on the back, and as soon as he was breathing again, they launched into a series of humorous anecdotes that nearly killed the young man.

  Vertook surprised everyone when he told the tale of an adventure with his horse, Al Jhadir. He was somber at first, and Catrin could sense his pain, but she was also glad to know Al Jhadir's name; she would never forget him.

  He said that he and Al Jhadir were once caught in a tremendous sandstorm, a storm so terrible, his love feared for his life. They limped back to camp barely alive and bearing a mighty thirst. The first thing they came upon to drink were jugs of whiskey. Laughing so hard that tears ran down his face, he had trouble finishing his tale. He finally managed to tell them that he and his horse nearly drank themselves to death, and his lover threatened to leave him after she found him passed out, his arms around Al Jhadir. Pelivor fell from his chair laughing.

  The sight of Pelivor enjoying himself lightened Catrin's soul, as she felt somewhat responsible for his new confidence. It was Chase, though, who sent Pelivor over the edge. His rendition of their trip through the marshes sent Pelivor into fits. Even those who had endured those trials found Chase's comical reenactment too humorous to resist. When Chase got to the part about Strom realizing he had mistakenly used the leaves of a poison plant for personal purposes, Pelivor's eyes grew very large and he covered his mouth. He could not make a sound as he pointed and stared at Strom, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  Claiming his stomach hurt from all the laughing, Pelivor excused himself, and they were all sorry to see him go. His mood had been infectious, and they all felt better for it. The silence he left behind seemed to lend itself to quiet reflection, and Catrin found herself reviewing many of the good times in her life. The silence held as if everyone in the room were enamored with it, and Catrin wondered who would finally break the spell.