Call of the Herald (8 page)

"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.

"G'afternoon to ya, Mr. Volker," Strom said
as he walked from the stables, but there was an odd look of fear in
his eyes, and his voice trembled slightly. "We're just about full
up. You might want to come back another day."

"Just the same," Jensen said, looking Strom
in the eye. "Mind if I tie Shama off back here."

"Of course, sir," Strom said.

"Give her a bit of water," Jensen said while
removing Shama's bridle. He hooked a lead line to her halter and
tied her off to a nearby post.

Strom approached with a bucket of water.
"Some of those inside are looking for a fight," he whispered
without looking at Jensen. "There's been a lot of talk about
Catrin. I'm sorry, sir. I don't believe any of it, and I couldn't
let you walk into trouble not knowin' it."

"You're a good man," Jensen said, but he
failed to keep the anger from his voice, and Strom backed away.
"Unhook the wagon and saddle Shama for me," he added, handing Strom
three coppers. "I may need to leave in a hurry."

Strom looked as if he would be sick, but at
Jensen's nod, he began unhooking Shama. Jensen walked to the
kitchen door and slowly pulled it open. Miss Mariss, ever in
control of her inn, noticed him immediately and moved in his
direction without actually looking at him. "You ought not be here
right now," she said. "Petram is acting like the fool he is, and
there's a parade of fools ready to follow 'im. I won't have you all
settling this in my common room. You understand me?"

"I understand," Jensen said, but he was
undeterred. When he stepped inside, Miss Mariss threw her hands in
the air. "I promise you there will be no fighting," he said.

"Men," she said. "Stubborn mules refuse to
listen to anyone else." Though her irritation was clear, she did
not stand in his way.

As he entered the common room from behind the
bar, only those at the bar noticed him, and none of them seemed
interested at what Petram Ross was shouting to anyone who'd listen.
Jensen nodded to the men at the bar then slipped into the crowd.
Some turned and glared at him as he pushed his way closer to
Petram, but when they saw who it was and the look on his face, they
moved aside without a word. Eventually, Jensen found himself
standing in front of Petram, and everyone else seemed to be taking
a step backward. Enthralled by the sound of his own voice, it took
Petram a moment to notice the change in his audience. At first, he
seemed annoyed, but then his eyes landed on Jensen, and he
instantly took a step back, only to find himself trapped by the
hearth he'd chosen to use as a backdrop.

Jensen stepped forward but said nothing.
Instead, he glared at Petram with a look that conveyed a host of
threats, most of which came from Petram's imagination, which was
just as Jensen wanted it. He wanted this man to fear him more than
death. Again he moved forward, and Petram looked as if he wanted to
climb up the chimney despite the fire burning in the hearth.

"If you even look at my niece the wrong way,"
Jensen said softly, all the while raising his hand, which was held
like a claw and moving toward Petram's throat. Just a hand's
breadth away, he stopped and slowly closed his fingers. Petram's
eyes bulged as if he were truly being choked. When Jensen finally
lowered his hand to his side, Petram ran from the room, leaving a
stunned silence hanging over the common room. All eyes were trained
on Jensen, and he searched for words, suddenly unprepared. He
thought a moment about the little girl who brightened his life and
those of everyone around her. "She's a good girl," was all that he
could say through his sudden tears. Those who had been gathered now
lowered their heads and dispersed.

"I guess you might as well eat since you
chased off all my customers," Miss Mariss said as she brought him a
platter of cured meats and cheese. "Fools they may be, but a fool's
gold is as good as any other."

* * *

Crouched in the darkness, Benjin listened.
Only the sounds of frogs and the barking of a distant dog broke the
stillness. Creeping into Wendel's cottage, he checked on Catrin and
Wendel. Both slept soundly and neither woke. He left as stealthily
as he had come.

Feeling silly, he walked back to his cottage.
Only moments before, he had been sleeping soundly, but dreams of
terror and loss drove him from his bed, demanding he check on those
he loved. Assured of their safety, he returned to his bed, but the
dreams returned.

When morning finally came, the harsh sunlight
seemed to mock the warnings of his dreams. Still he could not shake
the sense of foreboding that pressed in on him, suffocating him.
With a deep breath, he stood and prepared himself to face the
day.

Chapter 4

The mind can travel farther in a single day
than the fastest horse could traverse in a lifetime.

--Trevan Dalls, Master of the Arts

* * *

Dense fog hung over the land, holding
Catrin's world in its damp embrace. Days like this never seemed
real to her, as if, on rare occasions, she left her usual world and
stepped into the world of dreams. Even the calls of the birds and
the noises of the farm sounded different, almost magical. Catrin
suspected she was not the only one who had such feelings, as her
father and Benjin also seemed changed in this other world.

"G'morning, li'l miss," Benjin said.

Her father stood behind him with a lopsided
grin. "Go in and get Charger harnessed and bring her out to the
wagon," he said. "We're going to make a trip to the cold
caves."

Catrin nodded and went into the barn, a
feeling of anger and shame building in her gut. Going to the cold
caves had always been an adventure for her and Chase. Some of her
fondest memories were of them playing there as children. It had
been like a world of their own, a place where adventure and magic
were real and where they could explore the depths of the
underworld. The rooms filled with blocks of ice had always drawn
them, despite the lectures her father and uncle had given about
avoiding those very places. She and Chase had climbed on top of
them and slid across their slick surfaces, which were always wet,
as the ice melted slowly yet inexorably. As they grew older, much
of their time was spent moving stores in or out of the caves, but
there were special times, in the winter, when they would gather
fresh snowfall to be stored in the caves. Catrin and Chase had
spent wonderful days packing the snow into all kinds of shapes and
storing them within the caves.

As she harnessed Charger, tears gathered in
her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. By the force of her
will, she held them in check, determined to be strong. It was
something she had learned from Chase, and it seemed that now it was
a skill she would need to master. Only the tremble of her chin
escaped her control, and she hoped her father and Benjin didn't
notice.

Outside they waited in the preternatural
light that gave the world an almost greenish hue. Heavy clouds
threatened rain, and it seemed unlikely that the fog would burn off
as it did on most days. Catrin held Charger's head as Benjin and
her father slid the shafts of the wagon through the loops on the
harness. While they secured the breast-collar to the shafts, the
power of her will began to fade; tears streamed down her cheeks,
and her lip quivered noticeably. She hoped the men would simply
climb into the wagon and leave without the need for her to speak,
but she doubted it, and she chastised herself for showing such
weakness. Staying to mind the farm was not so terrible.

"She's all hooked up," her father said as he
climbed into the wagon's passenger seat beside Benjin, leaving room
for another. "Get the barn door closed and check the gates. We need
to get going."

Catrin wiped her tears and ran to the barn, a
smile forming on her face. Perhaps it was the fog. Perhaps her
father figured no one would see her through the mist, but she did
not care. Not only did he plan to let her go, the driver's seat was
still vacant, and Catrin eyed it unsurely.

"Are you going to drive us there or not?" her
father asked, his grin like a ray of sunshine.