Wayward Spirits - A Prelude to The Dawning of Power (Godsland Series) (8 page)

"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.

"Yes, sir," she said as she climbed up. He handed her the lines, and Catrin smacked Charger lightly on the rump with them while making a clucking noise with her tongue. Charger knew her business and moved out at a moderate pace. In the mist, Catrin had to use landmarks to guide her around obstacles, but she knew the path well and had little trouble steering Charger along a clear path where she was not likely to trip.

When they reached the place where the Harborton trail met the upland trail, she turned Charger slowly and deliberately. The upland trail was narrow, and Catrin had never driven a wagon on it before. Parts of the trail were treacherous, and there were places she was hesitant to even ride Salty; driving the wagon was much more challenging.

"Move a little to the right," her father said. "There's an old tree stump on the bend, and you don't want to hit it with the wheels."

Charger never faltered and, in truth, knew the way better than any of them. There were times that she corrected the path for Catrin before her father or Benjin could even warn her of an upcoming obstacle. When they reached Viewline Pass, her father asked her to stop. Catrin pulled back on the lines until Charger stopped then maintained moderate tension on the lines to keep her stopped. Charger was not accustomed to stopping here, and she fidgeted constantly.

When she turned to her father, Catrin's gaze passed over the view that gave the pass its name. Below her, looking like an elaborate child's toy from the heights, was her homeland. The fog continued to blanket the land, making it look like an ocean of white with emerald islands, sailed by buildings that floated like ships. The illusion was difficult to break, but her father demanded her attention.

"When driving through the pass, you must be extra careful. Rocks often fall here, and we have no way to know if there is anything beneath this fog that could injure Charger. You must hold the lines with confidence and authority here. Charger fears the rocks and formations that will flank her through the pass, and she often jumps sideways for reasons only she knows. Let her know that you are in control, and she will follow you instead of her fear. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"You can do this, li'l miss," Benjin added. "You just have to know you can do it."

With a strange mixture of pride and trepidation, Catrin urged Charger slowly forward. Small rocks caught under the wagon wheels, but Charger showed her worth and pulled the wagon over the obstacles. It made for a bumpy ride, but there was little to be done about it. As Charger reached the place where rocky peaks flanked her, her ears began to flip forward and back, and when she turned her head, Catrin could see the whites around her eyes.

"Make her follow you. Let her know you're in control."

Her father's words bolstered her confidence, and she held the lines firmly but without fear. Charger still sidestepped and pranced, but Catrin maintained control. Soon they were beyond the pass, and the way became easier again.

"You've done well," Benjin said, and Wendel nodded his agreement. From the two of them, it was high praise and Catrin beamed.

When they reached the cold caves, they found it was among the few places not still mired in fog. The main entrance was invisible until one reached the rock face where it hid. Between two mighty slabs of stone stood a chasm just wide enough for a horse--but nothing larger--to fit through. Benjin tied Charger to a stake they had driven in the stone many years before.

"Benjin and I will load the wagon," Wendel said. "Most of what we're after today is heavy. Go back to our personal stores and get what you would like to have for your camping trip."

Catrin wasted no time. Without another thought, she was bounding through caves, passing through the network of corridors that were like old friends. There were some of the deeper tunnels that Catrin had never really liked, but she had most of the place memorized. When she reached the area her father reserved for their storage, she sifted through and grabbed what she thought the others would enjoy as well.

After loading her supplies in the wagon, she did her best to help her father and Benjin. Despite the hard work and the sweat that ran into her eyes, it was the most fun she'd had in quite some time. Only the strange looks from those to whom they made deliveries threatened to spoil her mood, but most of the people they saw were friends of her father's and none treated her with anything but kindness--albeit awkward kindness. For Catrin, it was good enough. Only at the end of the day, as darkness began to creep back over the land, did her fears return. The hairs on the back of her neck stood as she passed by a thicket of trees bathed in shadows; the feeling of being watched was almost overwhelming. Catrin was barely able to resist the urge to push Charger for more speed, but she knew the horse had put in a full day's work, and it would be unfair to ask more of her. The ill feelings persisted, and Catrin hoped that Benjin and her father did not sense her fear.

* * *

Miss Mariss heard all the gossip; she knew where in her inn to be if she wanted to hear the conversation at a specific table. Much of the inn had been designed around this purpose, though most would never have guessed it. Simple things, such as a knothole in the common room floor that continued through a bored-out log all the way to the cellar, made her task a great deal easier. Her exceptional hearing gave her the advantage of being able to attend to the work of running her inn, all the while collecting valuable information.

Whether Catrin was the Herald of Istra or not remained to be proven in Miss Mariss's mind, but either way there would be much work to do. Everyone in Harborton was tense and afraid, and that alone had far-reaching effects. If it turned out that incident in the clearing was simply a freak occurrence, she would be just as happy, though she knew Catrin would never escape the stigma. Still, that seemed far better than the alternative--far better indeed.

* * *

Anticipation drove Catrin from her sleep earlier than usual. She had been looking forward to this day, and it was finally upon her. She dressed while reviewing her mental list, making sure she had not overlooked some important detail. Her tinderbox and extra clothes were already packed, and she added some dried fruit, smoked beef, and salted fish to her backpack. A trip to the cold cellar yielded a bottle of springwine and waxed cheese she had brought back from the cold caves. Her bedroll wrapped in her leather ground cloth and secured atop her backpack, she wondered what it was she was forgetting; there had to be something.

Her morning chores needed to be finished before she left, and she had asked the boys to give her until daylight. Still, she was not completely surprised when she heard laughter that sounded like a couple of halfwits trying to be quiet and failing. When she opened the door, she found Chase and Osbourne side by side, grinning like fools, and her father walked up behind her at the same moment.

"Good morning, boys. You're here early," he said over her shoulder while she grinned back at the boys.

"G'morning, Mr. Volker," Osbourne replied.

"Good morning, Uncle Wendel. Sorry we're early, but we thought we could help get Catrin's chores done faster, and then we could get an early start," Chase said, but then he jumped as if someone had pinched him. "Oh, yeah, I almost forgot," he twitched again and laughed, squirming. "We have a surprise for you, Cat. Guess who is coming with us?" he asked as he and Osbourne stepped aside with a dramatic flourish. Strom entered the cottage smiling and bowing.

"I'd wager you weren't expecting to see me here," he said. "G'mornin' to you, Mr. Volker."

"Good morning to you, Strom. It's good to see you again. Now, you grinning scoundrels, get out there. Clean and fill those water buckets. Catrin, you get the horses fed and take care of your cats, and then you can go," Wendel said with a smile. He seemed as excited about their big trip as they were.

The group of exuberant young people gave Wendel a mock salute and, almost in unison, said, "Yes, sir."

They made quick work of the buckets and feeding. Benjin wished them a safe trip and told the boys to behave themselves or he would hunt them down like rabid dogs. He said it with a smile, but the boys nodded seriously and said again in unison, "Yes, sir." Benjin laughed, shook his head, and walked into a stall with his pitchfork.

The excited campers waved good-bye as they shouldered their packs and started their walk down the river trail. The false dawn had not yet shown on the horizon, but the moon was bright enough to light the way. They had little trouble getting to the river; once there, they turned and climbed past the shoals and falls. They had covered half the length of the lake by the time the sun cleared the mountains.

They laughed and talked while they hiked, having a generally good time of things, and Catrin began to feel the distance between her and her troubles. A small clearing, shaded by tall pines, seemed like a good place to rest, and they flopped onto the bed of needles. Catrin dug in her pack for the dried fruit and cheese, but it was Strom who got a whoop of delight from the others when he produced four of Miss Mariss's sausage breads. Each one was twice the size of his fist and wrapped in waxed paper.

Strom cleared his throat and said, in his best imitation of Miss Mariss's voice, "Miss Mariss sends these with her best wishes to some of her favorite patrons. She looks forward to your next visit. Her words, not mine," he added, just to make sure Catrin understood the message was intended for her. The subtle message surprised Catrin, as did the support from Miss Mariss, who had always been stern with her, but she decided she would process that information later. Today she was on a grand adventure, and she wanted nothing more than to enjoy the sausage bread.

Her bottle of springwine was drained all too quickly, and she realized she should have brought more.

"No fears. I came prepared for just such an occasion," Strom said, seeing the concern flicker across Catrin's face, and he produced a bottle of springwine and a bottle of huckles juice from his pack.