"Now most sane people don't believe a word of it, Cat. Everyone that knows you loves you. They know you as the spirited young athlete who competes in the Summer Games and as the hardworking girl that doesn't hesitate to help at a barn building. Your friends and family won't give up on you just because something unexplainable happened," he said, pulling up a chair. "I'm disappointed in you for insulting Master Edling today, but I can understand your distraction. I'll have a word with him on your behalf. Your best hope is that he has it in him to forgive you."
"Yes, sir," Catrin replied, looking downcast.
"There's no sense dwelling on it; we'll just have to see what tomorrow brings. For now, I want you to look after a few more things around the farm."
* * *
In the darkness of the bakery attic, where the heat was more than most could bear, Trinda watched, just as she always did. Always careful to remain undetected, she watched and waited, looking for anything that might please the dark men. It seemed all her life had been lived in fear of the strange men who came in the night, and here every waking hour was devoted to keeping them pleased. As long as she gave them what they wanted, they would never hurt her again. The memories still seared and burned as if they were new. The dark men were coming again; she could feel them getting closer.
When Miss Mariss walked out of the Watering Hole, Trinda jumped and then chastised herself for her carelessness. Of all the people she did not want to know about her spying, it was Miss Mariss. The dark men always asked questions about her; they always wanted to know whom she talked to and what they talked about. Trinda had only some of the answers they wanted, and it was all she could do to come up with enough information to satisfy them.
Holding her breath, Trinda froze until Miss Mariss was lost from view. She was, no doubt, coming to place her order. Without the breads her father baked or the dough she used to make her famous sausage breads, Miss Mariss would surely suffer. The relationship between her and Trinda's father had always been tense and strained, but they were both professionals, and they did not let personal feelings stand in the way of business.
As Trinda stood, ready to climb down and make an appearance by the ovens, she stopped. Someone she didn't recognize was approaching the Watering Hole, and he went neither to the front entrance nor to the stables; instead he walked into the shade provided by an old maple. It seemed a strange thing to do, considering there were no doors on that side of the inn. Knowing her father would scold her for not appearing while Miss Mariss was in the bakery, Trinda stayed, intrigued by this unknown man's mysterious behavior.
For what seemed a long time, he stood in the shadows, only the toes of his boots visible from Trinda's vantage. Then, when the streets were empty, he squatted down and wiggled a loose piece of the inn's wood siding. After sliding what looked like a rolled piece of parchment into the space behind the siding, he quickly adjusted the wood until it looked as it had. Then he melted into the shadows and disappeared.
* * *
"Where is Trinda today?" Miss Mariss asked, trying to make the question sound entirely casual, as she always did, and Baker Hollis looked nervous and fidgety, as he always did.
"Must know there's work to be done," he said. "Any time there's somethin' needin' done, she turns invisible."
"Those her age can be like that," Miss Mariss said, despite not believing any of what he said. "I'll be making double the usual amount of sausage breads, and I'll need triple the usual baked loaves for the Challenges. That won't be a problem will it?"
"No problem at all," Baker Hollis said, and he looked over his shoulder as if expecting to see Trinda. Miss Mariss was as surprised as he that she had not shown herself. It seemed whenever Miss Mariss came to the bakery, Trinda would make a point of making herself seen. "Everyone's sayin' this year'll be better than any before. I suppose we'll have to rise to the challenge," he said.
"I'll send Strom over in the morning for the daily order," Miss Mariss said as she turned to leave. Before she reached the door, though, a small, sweat-soaked head peeked around the corner and briefly met her eyes. Miss Mariss could read nothing from Trinda's expression; it was the same bland and sullen look as always. With a sigh, she left the bakery behind and soon forgot about Trinda as the responsibilities of running her inn once again consumed the majority of her thoughts and time.
* * *
Sitting on a bale of hay with his knees pulled to his chest, Chase kept to the shadows, not wanting to cause any trouble for Strom, who was busy saddling a pair of horses. So many things had changed in such a short period of time that Chase could hardly believe it. He no longer felt safe in places where he'd once felt quite at home. People he had considered friends no longer met his eyes, yet he could feel the stares that lingered on his back as he walked away.
"Sorry about that," Strom said once the customers had ridden around the corner.
Chase just handed him the jug of huckles juice they were sharing. "Do you remember when things used to be normal?"
"I remember," Strom said. "I remember things were sometimes good and sometimes bad, but it always seemed like things would get better. Now . . ."
"I know what you mean," Chase said. "I really made a mess of things."
Strom laughed. "You're still blaming yourself for all of this? You sure do think a great deal of yourself. Are you so powerful that you can control everyone else? I don't think so. You need to face the fact that you're just as helpless as the rest of us. Whatever happens just happens, and there's not a thing you can do about it."
"Thanks for the uplifting speech," Chase said. "I feel much better now."
"Don't come to me if you want sunshine and roses. That's not how I see the world. You could go talk to Roset. She still lives in a land of buttercups and faeries; maybe she could make you feel better."
"She won't even talk to me," Chase said, his mood continuing to be dour in the face of Strom's humor.
"You see? You're utterly powerless. Therefore you can't possibly be at fault. Doesn't that make you feel better?"
"If I said yes, would you stop talking about it?" Chase asked.
"Probably not."
* * *
Catrin spent the next few weeks throwing herself into every task her father assigned. Master Edling did not return, despite her father's many requests. Benjin and her father did what they could to teach her, but what they remembered of their own lessons was fragmented and disjointed. Catrin learned other things from the extra time she was spending on the farm. Benjin taught her the basics of shoeing horses along with other farrier skills. She was an apt student and excelled with little practice. It interested her because she loved horses, and they had always been part of her daily life. She had seen it done a hundred times, which helped her to quickly master even the most difficult techniques.
Forge and anvil became outlets for her frustration. She coerced the hot bars into the desired form, shaping them with her will. The song of the hammer and anvil soothed her, and she quickly replenished their supply of horseshoes. Benjin also taught her to make shoeing nails, whose shape was critical. Wide heads prevented the shoe from slipping over the nails, while the tapered edges prevented injuries by forcing the nail to turn outward to the edge of the hoof against the taper.
As long as a farrier is careful not to drive one backward, the nail will always poke back out of the hoof, a finger's width above the shoe. The farrier would clip most of the tip of the nail then crimp the remains against the hoof. The technique provided a secure fit and better protection from sprung shoes.
"A horse will always spring a shoe at the worst possible moment, and it's good to know how to handle it," Benjin said. "You seem to handle the hammer well. Would you like to make a farrier's kit?" he asked. Catrin was delighted with the idea.
The hours she spent at the forge with Benjin were the only times she forgot her worries. Using tools to create new tools enthralled her, and she was immensely proud of her new implements. In a way, they brought her freedom. There wer
e always coppers to be made shoeing horses and trimming hooves at local farms, and the knowledge that she could earn her own way was comforting. She would take pride in whatever work she did with them. Smiling, she tucked them into her saddlebags with care.
The weather was becoming unusually volatile, and intense storms confined Catrin to the barn or the cottage much of the time. Clear skies could quickly turn dark and foreboding, and fierce winds drove the rain. One afternoon, the sky was an eerie shade of green, like nothing she had ever seen before. Hail made her run for cover, each stone growing in size as she ran, some even larger than her fist. Benjin and her father sprinted into the barn just behind her.
Wind howled so fiercely through the valley that it lifted a hay wagon into the air and over a fence, depositing it, unharmed, in a pasture. When the storm passed, they checked for damage. Catrin helped her father and Benjin repair the roofs on the cottage and barn. The chicken coop had also suffered damage, but Benjin mended it quickly.
Abe Waldac, a local cattleman, drove his wagon behind a team of mules to the front of the barn. "Anyone hurt?"
"Luck was with us, Abe. We're fine. Thank you for checking on us, though. It's much appreciated," her father replied.
"You've always been good neighbors. I'm glad to see you all well. A funnel cloud ripped through the lowlands; looks like it made a boiling mess of things. I'm going to see if anyone needs help."
"We'll go with you. I'm sure they could use some extra hands down there. Catrin, you stay here and mind the farm. We'll be back late. Gunder may come for his mare. She's in the second stall," her father said, and the men rode off in Abe's wagon, leaving her alone. She knew someone had to watch the farm, but Catrin could not help feeling ashamed. Her father did not want to be seen in public with her.
* * *
Depression drove Nat back into seclusion. No one wanted to face the truth, even with the proof visible to all. It sickened him. They would rather die than admit he might have been right all along. In the end, he gave up trying to convince anyone else of the danger they faced. There seemed no point in even trying. Miss Mariss, at least, had listened politely, but even she refused to see the truth.
Returning to his normal life seemed almost surreal at first, but the feeling grew faint over time until he no longer noticed it. After days of blue skies and good fishing, he had almost been able to forget about his visions and feelings of impending doom; his life had been almost normal, even tranquil. The storm changed all that. Sudden winds had forced him north, well beyond the waters he normally fished, out to where dangerous currents had been known to carry away craft as small as his boat and pull them into open water.
Despite his efforts, he was pushed farther and farther from shore, and with every passing moment, the chances of his survival diminished. His only hope lay with a change in the wind. Occasionally he felt a shift in the air, as if a crosswind fought against the storm, and Nat prayed it would win.
Lightning splayed across the clouds, illuminating them from within and revealing the intricate structures and formations. Taller than mountains, yet flowing like rivers, the clouds seemed to reach from the sky and attack the sea itself, and Nat shivered. Though he hated the life of a fisherman, longing instead for the life of a scholar, the seas were the giver of life, and he quailed at the sight of waterspouts, which thrashed the waves, tore them asunder, and tossed them into the sky.
As the storm finally passed, the sun began to set. The failing of the light was like a slow death knell for Nat, who was near despair when he saw a sight that chilled his soul. Silhouetted against the orange and purple sky along the edges of the storm was a multimasted warship. Like the image that haunted his dreams, it came to life and gave him reason to fear. Only the sudden shift in the wind gave him any hope.
* * *
Osbourne recovered from his wounds and came with Chase to visit Catrin on several occasions. The boys seemed to feel it was their duty to keep her informed of the happenings in town. Much of the news they brought seemed to have lost all significance in her life. She no longer cared what girls the boys were fighting over or whose father had been thrown into the lockup for being drunk. There were other times, though, when she wished she could achieve the same level of detachment.
"Nat Dersinger came back from fishing the northern coast, and he claims to have seen long ships on the horizon," Chase said. It was not the first time Nat claimed to have seen long ships, only to have them disappear before another ship could verify the sighting. Nat was not the only fisherman to have seen strange ships in the distance, but he was certainly the most vocal about it.
"He said our ancient enemies, the Zjhon, were planning an attack. Waving his staff over his head while he ranted, he really went overboard. He said the Herald would destroy the Zjhon, according to some prophecy. He even said the Zjhon would kill all the inhabitants of the Godfist--just to be sure they kill the Herald. Most folks pay him no heed, but some fools actually believe him."
Osbourne said rumors of unusual occurrences were increasing. A shepherd reported losing half of his flock in a single night without ever hearing a sound, and a western village claimed the community well had run dry for the first time in recorded history. Fishermen complained of dangerous shifts in the currents; fishing was poor for the most part, though some returned with bizarre and unknown fish. They said the strange creatures were caught in warm water currents, unusual for so close to the Godfist because they normally stayed much farther out to sea.
Unsure if the exotic fish were safe to touch or eat, most fishermen threw them back into the sea. Some claimed to have been stung by poisonous fish, and others grew fearful of anything not easily identified. Most simply cut the lines when they brought up something they did not recognize.
"This year's Spring Challenges are going to be the grandest ever," Osbourne said, seemingly trying to lighten the mood. "You should see the new game fields, Cat, and the rows of benches for spectators." Catrin was lost in her own thoughts and barely heard him. Chase elbowed him in the ribs to make him stop.
Catrin had participated in the Challenges since she was old enough to ride, and most years she qualified for the Summer Games, but this year would be different. She knew she would not be allowed to compete, and she had no need to ask because it was understood. The townspeople did not want her. She was unwelcome.
"I was thinking about going on an outing, maybe a hike into the highlands," Chase said. "Telling stories around a campfire would be more fun than the Challenges and a lot less work. Wouldn't you agree, Osbourne?" Chase asked, elbowing him again. He had known Catrin her whole life, and he knew how crushed she must be.
"I can't attend the Challenges, but that doesn't mean the rest of you shouldn't. I know how much both of you like to compete, and I was looking forward to hearing of your victories," she said with a slight catch in her voice, which she had tried to control.
They stood, and Chase announced, "I'm going camping," crossing his arms and inflating his chest.
"So am I," Osbourne said, mimicking Chase, though he didn't look quite as imposing.
"But--" Catrin began. Her words were cut short when Chase tackled her. He and Osbourne coerced her into submission by means of the dreaded tickle torture. It was the first time Catrin had truly laughed in a long while, and she felt better for the release.
Despite her acquiescence, she still needed her father's approval, and she feared he would deny the request. She found him sitting at the table, working his way through a stack of parchment. Catrin sat across from him, waiting for him to finish what he was working on. After a few moments, he looked up from his work and acknowledged her with a strained smile.
"What's on your mind?" he asked in his usual straightforward manner.
"I don't think I should compete in the Challenges this year," she said, and he nodded in silent agreement. "Chase and Osbourne are boycotting the Challenges; they want to spend the time with me instead," she continued, and he raised an eyebrow but remained silent. "I
was wondering if we could camp at the lake those days," Catrin asked, finally getting to her point. She was always amazed at how much information her father could get out of her without ever saying a word.
"I tried to talk them out of boycotting, Father, really I did, but the harder I argued, the more they argued back," she said with a smile and actually giggled. "They made me agree by means of tickle torture."
Her father chuckled and smiled briefly. "Tickle torture, you say? That does sound serious. I guess I could let you go for a few days. I wouldn't camp near the lake at this time of year, though. The mosquitoes will suck you dry. It'd be better if you climbed past the lake and continued to the highlands. There is a natural stair near the falls, and a grove of ancient greatoaks is due west of there. It's a fine place to camp, and the land is too rocky and dry for mosquitoes to be much of a problem. It's half a day of walking and climbing, but it would be well worth the effort," he said.
Her father had told her stories of the place, but he had always forbidden her to go that far. The closest she had ever ventured was to the very end of the lake, where a large set of falls drained from the river above. There she had climbed the tallest tree and gazed in all directions but was unable to see the grove. She was genuinely excited about the trip and hugged her father and kissed him on the forehead.
"Thank you," she said, smiling broadly. He patted her on the shoulder and told her to run along. She retired to her bed and dreamed of ancient trees dancing in the light of a campfire.
* * *
Jensen piled the last of the lumber near old man Dedrick's barn and gave a wave as he climbed back into his wagon. With all the deliveries done, he had enough time to stop at the Watering Hole. A mug of ale might help the world look better, and Chase always loved it when he brought home some of Miss Mariss's sausage breads. This time of day was a busy time at the Watering Hole, and the tie-offs were all taken. Jensen guided Shama to the back of the inn.
The Dragon Writers Collection Page 48