Call of the Herald (7 page)

"Now, Cat, you must stop this. Master Edling
came here to help you, and you ignored him. He may never return. I
can't send you back to the public lessons. Even if I could convince
the council, it would be asking for trouble. Talk in town has grown
a bit wild of late. Nat Dersinger has convinced some people that
you are the Herald and that Istra will return to the skies of
Godsland soon," he said then stopped, fearing he had gone too far
and frightened his daughter.

"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 were 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.