* * *
Not knowing how long she'd slept, Catrin felt thick and groggy when she woke. The cries of gulls filled the air as they feasted in the shallows during low tide. Her skin felt coated in salt, and her hair lay in ropelike clumps. Black sand clung to her leathers and her exposed skin, and she wiped it away, trying to clear the fog from her sleep-addled mind. The sight of the endless horizon brought fear and anxiety, as if she were the only person left on Godsland. Looking around for Kyrien, she found nothing but empty beaches and bare fields of black stone. If not for the gulls, she would have been truly alone.
Tears gathered in her eyes as she felt the guilt of leaving her son and her husband and all of her people to their fates. Though she knew Prios would protect Sinjin and that Chase and Morif would do their best to protect them, she knew what was to come; she'd seen it in visions she prayed would never come to pass. Standing on a lump of rock in the middle of an ocean, she could not have felt more useless. Forcing her tears aside, she climbed to the highest point of the dormant volcano, the only sign of volcanic activity the still glowing gashes in the field of stone and an occasional burst of steam from the far shore. Standing at the edge of the crater, she scanned the horizon and still saw nothing. Within the crater itself, grasses grew, and Catrin was surprised to find berries and leafy greens growing among porous rock.
While she ate, Catrin began to sense the land pulsing with life beneath her feet, and in some ways, she felt closer to the land than she ever had before. Similar to the feeling she had when standing in the Grove of the Elders, it was as if she could reach into Godsland itself and draw upon its power. She let the land guide her to a place near the center of the crater, a place where moss carpeted rounded stones. Here she rested. Composed and calmed, she moved with the pulse of the land, swaying and breathing deeply.
Using the technique Benjin had once taught her, Catrin focused on her center, which rested within the Grove of the Elders as it existed in her memory: a mighty field of black stone surrounded by twenty-one towering greatoaks. At the very center stood the Staff of Life, still blooming in the place where Catrin had planted it more than a decade before. At no time in history had the grove ever looked exactly as Catrin pictured it, at least not all at one time, but Catrin remembered this place the way she wanted it to be: a place of ancient power untouched by the mistakes of a young girl. Old guilt shrouded her heart despite the fact that she had done everything she could to rebuild the grove. Now only time would return it to its previous glory. The crater reminded her a bit of the grove in the way that the power of the land seemed more acute here. It also reminded her that the Staff of Life rested in lands now occupied by dark forces.
Anxiety poured unbidden from the depths of her soul, fears so dark and personal that she could not face them. In her most terrifying visions, she'd seen herself become the face of death, a wielder of such weapons that all would cower before her, and she had fought to become something else ever since. When making the herald globes, she'd been a creator, yet it seemed as if her true destiny was to be the destroyer. Perhaps in that the old prophecies had been right. Perhaps she had no choice but to become an avatar of death.
Is a sword only used to kill?
The thought echoed from Catrin's subconscious, distant and faint but nonetheless poignant. Catrin had used that very argument to convince Strom to make her a weapon: the sword that lay in her lap, gleaming in the preternatural light of Catrin's meditation. It was a tool--a deadly and dangerous tool. It terrified her. Always she had questioned her right to end the life of another, always she wondered what made her life more valuable than the other’s, and always she felt unworthy of those who had died so she could live.
Your work is not yet done.
That thought came from a memory of the druid Barabas and his farewell to her. He'd given his life to save hers, and his parting words frightened her more than anything else. She had yet to earn that sacrifice. Her greatest challenges lay before her, which meant there was the chance she would fail, that she would dishonor those who had made the greatest sacrifice. Fear that she would fail all those who were counting on her came to the fore and threatened to smother her, but Catrin was no longer a little girl, and she would not let fear rule her. Something had happened to her when she became a mother; her own well-being had become somehow secondary to the needs of Sinjin, and as long as he lived, she would have everything she needed to overcome her fear.
Thoughts of Sinjin drew Catrin out of the grove, and her consciousness soared. In the past she had astrally traveled and had visions, but what happened next seemed more like a mixture of the two. Unlike past visions, she could exert control over where she was, but unlike astral travel, she felt uncertain of when she was. Something about what she saw made it seem unreal. It rippled and shifted as in dreams, and her thoughts influenced all that she saw. Her heart was drawn to the Godfist, and she soared over the seas faster than the swiftest bird. The Godfist rushed toward her, accompanied by a heavy feeling in Catrin's chest. Smoke rose over parts of the island--her home--and armies of demons and giants clogged the valleys, some even spilling out into the Arghast Desert. Black ships filled the harbors, and the entrances to Dragonhold were infected with darkness. To the south, everything burned; when she soared over the landscape, nothing moved. Then she saw them: feral dragons sunning themselves along a ridgeline, looking almost serene. Catrin knew better.
Desperate need pulled her back to Dragonhold, deep into the stone. There she felt a pulse of life, and it spoke to her, "Mother! Please help!"
Every ounce of Catrin's energy became focused on finding Sinjin and helping him. Nothing mattered more than being there when he needed her most, yet she could not prevent the present from pulling her back, from making her experience the now. When Catrin's eyes opened, she had no idea how long she'd been gone, but the sun was already dipping into the water.
A sudden, pounding thought from Kyrien forced all else aside.
Prepare yourself!
What Catrin saw on the horizon shocked her to her core, something she'd never thought to see, at least not from this vantage point: a flying ship! And it was not just any ship. Like a lover come home after far too long, Catrin recognized the Slippery Eel, her normally submerged battering ram now cutting the wind. This alone was enough to rock Catrin back on her heels, but the air around the Eel was filled with dragons, lightning, and fire. To add to her horror, the backs of the ferals bore riders who reeked of power. It was these men who cast lightning and fire at will.
Kyrien crashed into ferals, his saddle no longer on his back. He was not alone, though, and Catrin nearly shouted in triumph when she saw the other regent dragons coming to Kyrien's aid. She'd not seen another regent dragon since her flight from the Firstland many years before, but their beauty was unmistakable, even from afar. The ferals had their own fierce splendor, but the regents nearly glowed and shifted colors in the changing light.
Catrin drew a deep breath and prepared to face her destiny. Opening herself to Istra's power, she focused on becoming the sword Strom had made for her: sharp and dangerous but finely tuned to work for good. She found the sword in her hand and raised it high, issuing a battle cry from the core of her being. From the deepest part of her gut, she released all her frustration and channeled it into deadly intent. Energy crawled over her body as she waited, knowing Kyrien would guide them to her.
Soon Catrin could see the crew of the Slippery Eel, and she smiled at the thought of fighting alongside Kenward and his shipmates. Tempted to swim out to meet them, it was all Catrin could do to make herself wait.
"There!" came Kenward's shout across the water, and Catrin waved her arms. "I told you! None of you believed me, but I told you she'd be there, didn't I? Ha ha! I told you all her dragon spoke to me, and you didn't believe me! Now who's the crazy one?"
For a brief moment, Catrin grinned, knowing Kenward's crew would not hear the end of this anytime soon. Her grin vanished, though, when the ship slowed and lowered fr
om the skies into the dark waters. Ferals dived at the ship, and only the maddened defense of the regents kept the ferals from tearing the Slippery Eel to pieces. Unable to contain her energy any longer, Catrin aimed her sword at the nearest feral and unleashed a torrent of energy that crackled with life. It struck the beast in the chest and knocked it from the sky. The seas around the Slippery Eel roiled as dragons continued to strike the surface, some dying, some fending off attacks. Only a few regained the skies and even fewer with riders still in place. Having seen her strike, the regents raised a call that stirred Catrin's blood. They recognized her!
A boat dropped from the side of the Slippery Eel, looking tiny and vulnerable in the frothing waves. Catrin feared it would capsize, but the men aboard knew their business and somehow managed to brave the dragons and the surf to make their way to shore. Catrin recognized Bryn and Farsy. The former was as red faced and freckled as ever. Farsy looked as rugged as the sea, his leathery skin hatched with lines and his graying hair pulled back into a braid. Even his tattoos were faded, but his smile shone brightly.
Racing ahead, Catrin looked for the best place for them to land, a place with more sand than rock, and they made for the same place. As they approached, a rippling wave followed them, a monstrous head rearing from the water. Bryn smacked it with an oar and was knocked backward when Catrin's attack struck the beast under the chin, snapping shut its massive jaws. Moments later a regent struck the mostly submerged feral dragon from above, and Catrin had to concentrate on getting into the boat, hoping no more ferals waited beneath the frothing waves.
The ride back to the Slippery Eel would haunt her dreams.
Chapter 14
We can reach our full potential only if we are willing to learn, which means we must occasionally admit we are wrong.
--Master Jarvis, teacher
Regent Page 41