The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  They returned, each holding a long piece of dried reed. They knelt down, and when they stood, the ends of the reeds were afire. Catrin nearly shrieked when the women lowered the flaming reeds toward the wax cones. Instinctively, she thought of her hair then realized she no longer had any. Tilting the cones forward, she saw flames dancing on the ends of the cones from the corner of her vision, but the waxed cloth burned slowly. A strange but not unpleasant sensation filled her ears, and she laughed. The hooded women just stood and watched the wax cones burn, but Catrin sensed their mirth.

  "I know you're smiling under those hoods," she said, and she stuck her tongue out at them. While they showed no visible reaction, she could almost feel their mental laughter, which made her smile. She tried to relax and trust the women not to set her head on fire, but it was difficult, and she was glad when they removed the burning cones from her ears.

  * * *

  Within the halls of Adderhold he stood, the boy with no tongue. He watched as liveried servants prepared a banquet, but he knew it for what it was: a trap. Soon the nobles would arrive, dressed in finery and expecting to be treated as honored guests, and so some would be, but for others, there awaited a surprise.

  Keeping to the shadows, the nameless boy watched and waited, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it; there was nothing he could do to gain his freedom or to preserve the freedom of others. He was powerless, a slave, capable of little more than serving his master, and to this fate he resigned himself. There was no one who cared for him; no one would come to rescue him from this prison of flesh and bone. He was alone--now and for the rest of his days.

  With a sigh, he moved through the dark corridors known to only a few and made his way to the banquet hall. Standing behind scarlet curtains with gilded trim, he hid, hoping no one would remember he existed. Once he had been brash and proud, but now all he wanted was to be left alone, to be forgotten.

  As the guests began to arrive, he watched, waiting to see who would show the signs. His heart beating faster with every arriving noble, he almost dared to hope, almost convinced himself that none would have real power. When the nobles began to take their seats and servants served the first dishes, it seemed his wishes had been granted, but he knew better. Nothing he had ever wished for had really come true, and he had no reason to believe things would change now.

  When servants rushed to escort a late arrival to the hall, he was not surprised to see a nimbus of power around the man they led. Dressed in lavish colors and bejeweled raiment, the man stood tall and proud. This was a man accustomed to power, both physical and political, but it was obvious he knew nothing of his real power, the very thing that made him, in this case, most vulnerable.

  With a shuddering sigh, the nameless boy retreated, not needing to see any more. He knew what was to come, and he could only lament. He was powerless--a slave.

  * * *

  That night Catrin was led to a large room, most of which was taken up by a huge stone basin filled near to capacity with a colorful array of rounded and polished stones. Two pitchers of water and a jar for drinking were also present in the room, along with a few other amenities. On the edge of the rock basin was a single red rose. Her guides gave her no indication why it was there. Instead, as they left, they wordlessly instructed her to sleep in the stone basin.

  Her thirst unquenchable, Catrin drained one of the jars before approaching the basin. The rose drew her closer, and she inhaled its fragrance, felt the texture of the petals with her lips, and marveled over the bead of moisture hidden within its folds. It was surprising how enamored she could become with a rose, something she had walked by a hundred times without really noticing, but here, in her isolation, taken out of its context, the rose was a magnificent work of art. Soft, red petals stood out in contrast to the emerald stem with its brownish thorns; it seemed a magical thing.

  As she climbed into the strange basin, the stones were cool against her skin. The more she moved, the deeper she became submerged in the rainbow of spheres. She saw topaz, turquoise, black onyx, and a host of others she could not identify. The energy of the stones surrounded her, and she basked in it. Each type had its own unique energy, much in the same way that each type of living creature had its own signature.

  Turning the basin into a game of sorts, Catrin wiggled her feet through the stones, grabbing at random with her toes. Then, using only her impression of the stone and her physical contact with it, she tried to identify what kind it was. For those types whose names she did not know, she made up names such as "Pretty Red" and "Purple Swirly." Within a short time, she could correctly identify four out of five stones without looking at them. As enjoyable as she found her little game, she paused and took time to simply bask in their energy. Within moments of quieting her mind, she slept.

  * * *

  "Please, Lord Jaharadin, do come in and sit with me," Archmaster Belegra said.

  "Thank you, Archmaster. You honor me," Icari Jaharadin replied as he eased himself into one of the chairs near the fire. The upholstery was far too gaudy for his taste, but the deep cushions were softer than they appeared, and the chair seemed to suck him in, as if it were consuming him alive. It was a feeling that left him on edge.

  While an audience with the archmaster was indeed an honor, Icari couldn't shake the feeling that he was in grave danger. Still, he could not resist the opportunity to bring greater standing and wealth to his family, not that declining was an option; to do so would be too great an insult. He had seen what happened to families that displeased the archmaster, and he had no wish to find himself working in the fields or rotting in a dungeon. "My mother sends her respects and asked that I extend an invitation to our humble--"

  "Yes, of course she did," Archmaster Belegra said, his eyes narrowing and a feral grin crossing his face. "Your mother is a weathered hag, and I'd sooner wallow with the pigs than dine in your hall. You are here for a reason, Icari, and that reason is not to flatter me."

  Icari could not have been more shocked, though he did what he could to conceal his reaction.

  Still, Archmaster Belegra chuckled and leveled a finger at him. "What would you do for me, Icari? Tell me. What would you do?"

  Squirming in the chair that now seemed a prison, Icari wanted to flee, but his limbs would not respond. Trying desperately to find words, he found his mouth worked of its own accord. "I would die for you," he said involuntarily.

  Tilting his head back, Archmaster Belegra erupted in laughter that held no joy. "Of course you would, my servant. Of course you would."

  * * *

  It was an unusual awakening as stones fell from Catrin's face and cheeks when she raised her head. Some defied gravity for a moment, clinging to her skin, as if they had become embedded in her flesh. Standing slowly, she brushed off the few tenacious stones that still adhered to her and laughed at the strange patterns left on her skin by the stones. She looked almost reptilian, as if she had scales. The effect did not last long, though, and her skin returned to its normal state.

  Wondering how soon the monks would arrive, she climbed free of the basin. When she went for a mug of water, she noticed that the pitchers had been refilled, and she wondered if this were a subtle hint. It became obvious later that the monks would not return for her that day, and she decided to spend her day napping and amusing herself. One of her naps ran into the next morning.

  * * *

  Oily, black smoke rolled from the lamps that lit the Watering Hole, and Miss Mariss wiped the tears from her eyes. The smoke from the makeshift lamp oil was only part of the reason she cried; what had once been a joyful existence had turned into constant struggle. Everything was in short supply these days, especially good humor. Without decent food and drink, business was slow, and she spent much of her time simply trying to survive. Scrubbing the soot from the walls, she did what she could to keep her inn clean, but it was a battle she always lost, and she began, once again, to despair.

  Many of the people she held dear were in the Chin
awpa Valley, beyond the atrocity known as Edling's Wall. Construction of the wall sapped the Pinook of resources when they were needed most. Miss Mariss could not understand how people could spend their time building a barrier between themselves and their countrymen when there was not enough food to go around. Fools they were, the lot of them, she thought.

  Looking around, she wondered why she stayed, why she didn't just join those in the Chinawpa Valley, those with good sense. But just like every other time the thought had occurred to her, she realized she could not leave behind her inn--the place that had been her mother's life and her grandmother's before that. No. She would stay and try to make the Masters see that they were wrong to divide the Godfist. Knowing they would never change their minds or their greedy ways, she returned to scrubbing, her tears running anew.

  * * *

  The first sight Catrin saw when she woke was a hooded figure leaning over her, and she squeaked in surprise. The figure backed off quickly and waved a silent apology while Catrin tried to figure out where she was. Her mind muddled, the stone bath confused her, but somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, it all rushed back. She shook her head to clear the last of the drowsiness then climbed from the basin.

  As she stood too quickly, the blood seemed to rush from her head. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and the monk lent support while she regained her balance. Catrin thanked the woman and drank three mugs of water while she waited for the spell to pass. Slowly she began to feel better. Supporting herself again, Catrin gave a nod, and the monk led her back to the hall and opened the third door in. Catrin followed, whimsically wondering how they could top the previous days, and she tried to prepare herself for the unexpected.

  Inside stood another stone table next to a bubbling pool of murky brown mud that shifted and moved. Tiny specks of something shiny caught the light as they shifted, giving the pool an even more mystical appearance. Another female monk waited inside, and Catrin marveled at how adept she had become at gender identification; it had become almost effortless.

  Once Catrin was supine on the table, the women coated her with a thick layer of the sparkling mud that almost immediately began to dry. When she was thoroughly coated, they left her to dry in silence. The drying mud pulled at her skin as it shriveled and cracked, and in some places it itched terribly, but she endured, not wanting to move. It was not long, though, before the women returned. They peeled the husk from Catrin, and the feeling of cool air on the newly exposed skin was intense. They wiped away the rest of the mud with a damp cloth, and the entire process was repeated, consuming the rest of the day.

  * * *

  Fierce winds drove the sleet, turning it into stinging projectiles that immediately froze on whatever it struck. Borga Jahn walked with his head down, each step a trial as he had to stomp through the thick layer of ice that coated the snow; to walk on top of the ice was impossible.

  "We should turn back," Enit said. "We'll die long before we ever reach Ohmahold."

  "You knew what you were getting into when you accepted this assignment. Keep walking." Both knew this was a mission from which they would not return; they also knew they had to succeed. General Dempsy would keep his word, which meant there was no turning back. He did not know what deal Enit struck, and he did not care to know. For Borga, success was the only option. To fail was to send his daughter, Bella, to her death, and that he could not even think about.

  Bella was a good girl; too kind and sweet to be in an army. Borga could not blame her for deserting, and with his final act, he was determined to set her free. This task would be completed even if he had to do it alone, and given Enit's whining, that was beginning to seem increasingly likely.

  Borga looked around and said, "We need to make shelter for the night, or we'll freeze to death."

  "Make a shelter out of what? Snow and ice?"

  "Precisely. Now dig. We need to form a pocket of air beneath the snow; that'll keep us warm."

  "Warm?"

  "Warmer than we would be exposed to this wind. Shut up and dig," Borga said, tempted to just kill Enit now and go on by himself, but he knew that together they had a better chance of succeeding. He would tolerate Enit for Bella's sake.

  When they had a shelter large enough to hold them both, they settled in for what would be a long night.

  "I thought you said it would be warmer in here."

  "Shut up, Enit."

  * * *

  Catrin woke in a strange room that was moderately furnished, but she did not recall how she had come to be there. It was an uneasy way to start her day, but she still looked forward to whatever adventure it would bring. When the monks arrived, she discerned one male and one female. The male was obvious due to his height and girth, but she confirmed her visual assessment with her other senses.

  When the monks selected a door, Catrin was almost certain she had been through that one before, but the room beyond was nearly empty. Lamps hung on the walls, and a thin layer of cloth lined the floor. The cloth was tightly woven and appeared to have been treated with some sort of sealant. When Catrin stepped into the room, the cloth gave way, cushioning her foot. She followed the trail of footprints left by the monks and amused herself by walking in the man's large footprints. By the feel, she guessed that the floor had been covered in a layer of sand before the cloth had been laid. Intrigued, she wondered what its purpose could be.

  The male monk approached her and nodded a bow that Catrin respectfully returned. She steeled herself as he moved behind her. Using his hands, he began to manipulate her, stretching her stiff muscles, and she felt like a clay doll in his powerful grip. Some of the stretches and contortions were painful, but others felt wonderful as they released pent-up tension.

  Bones occasionally popped and shifted as she stretched, and it felt glorious. She was surprised, though, when the man contorted her body, seemingly for the sole purpose of producing loud pops. The positions were not all that uncomfortable, and the releases felt good, but she couldn't shake the impression she was being attacked by a bear. When he grabbed her head, swiveling it back and forth, she prayed he did not underestimate his strength and twist it right off her neck.

  A sudden jerk of his hands was accompanied by an alarmingly loud series of crunches, and for an instant she feared he had snapped her neck. When he removed his hands from her head, she moved her neck tentatively and not only found it still attached, but discovered the knot in her neck was gone, and she hadn't even realized her neck was sore until after the relief of tension.

  He gestured for her to lie on the floor, and Catrin wondered what he would do to her next. He rolled her to one side, manipulating her low back in ways she would have never imagined. The pops and cracks were not as loud or as plentiful, but those that occurred felt massive. Rolling her onto her stomach, he placed his hands on her head for a moment then departed.

  The female monk approached, and Catrin was a bit shocked when the woman stepped on her, and she was even more surprised when the second foot followed. More loud pops and cracks accompanied the woman's footsteps as she worked Catrin's flesh with her toes. Catrin was glad the female monk was performing this part of the ritual; the man would have crushed her.

  When the treatment was completed, she was led back to the room with the stone-filled basin. The energy of the stones beckoned to her, and she rushed to finish drinking her water, anxious to immerse herself in the rainbow of energy textures.

  * * *

  "Do you think Catrin is purified yet?" Osbourne asked over the evening meal.

  "With as much manure as she shoveled over the years, they've got a lot of purifying to do," Strom said, laughing.

  "Do you really think they'll make Cat cut her hair?" Chase asked.

  "There's a good chance," Benjin said. "I only told you it was a possibility so you would not be surprised. She may not be very happy about it."

  "I can't imagine Cat without any hair."

  "It'll grow back," Benjin said softly, and he looked around the common room. Tables we
re beginning to fill up. They had agreed to keep Catrin's activities to themselves, and he did not wish to be overheard. The murmur of many voices filled the air, but still he kept his voice low. "Just keep doing what you are doing, and everything will be fine."

  "I know," Osbourne said. "I'm sorry. I just keep thinking about what they might be doing to Cat, and it gives me the crawls."

  "This whole place gives me the crawls," Strom added.

  "Things here may seem strange," Benjin said, "but if these people journeyed to the Godfist, they would find our ways just as strange. You'll get used to it."

  "I just want to see Catrin do whatever it is she's supposed to do, so we can all go home," Chase said.

  Benjin looked at the faces around him, knowing none of them would be going home soon, knowing their homes may no longer even exist, but he said nothing. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.

  * * *

  The days and nights that followed were variations of the first few days, and Catrin enjoyed herself thoroughly, although she was not overly fond of shaving. Despite the lack of food, she seldom felt pangs of hunger. It was more the desire for taste and spice that gave her cravings than it was the desire for solid food. She lost count of the days and lost track of which doors in the hall led to which rooms. As she approached what she thought to be the final days of the cleansing, she was immensely proud of herself for having gone through with the process. It had been a scary thing to take on alone, and she felt strengthened by the experience.

  When four monks, three female and one male, arrived for her one morning, Catrin anticipated the conclusion of the ritual. She followed the figures in respectful silence and did her best to perform her part. Although she had laughed and teased the monks during part of her time with them, she could feel the seriousness in the air. This was a sacred affair, and she was determined to show proper humility and respect. They took her to a narrow room with oddly shaped openings in the walls.

  Without instruction, she climbed atop the table. Trying to center herself, she closed her eyes, took slow, deep breaths on the count of seven, and calmly addressed her thoughts. No one touched her, but she could feel the presence of hands above her head, feet, hands, and naval. She felt no pressure, but a warm tingling sensation infused her flesh as the energy shifted and moved.