Inherited Danger

Chapter 11

"The boy has some good ideas here," Gustad said as he looked at Strom's rough sketch.

"You replaced me with a stick?" Osbourne asked.

"A very special stick," Gustad said. "We'll need to grind the notch smooth so it won't bind."

"The real magic is in the strap," Strom said. "We confine it to a narrow channel as it gets wound around the shaft. Every turn, the shaft becomes larger and increases the speed of the pour."

"That just might work," Milo said, a gleam in his eye. "How soon can you have it done?"

The question was like a kick in the stomach, and Strom had no idea what to say. He'd been so excited about his idea, yet he really knew nothing of how to actually make it. Gustad stood mumbling over the drawing then began making his own markings.

"Forty days," he said.

Strom smiled, allowing himself to hope. Maybe he, too, was meant to do something special. He looked back at his friend and the monk who remained in the room before he followed Gustad to the forge.

Osbourne watched as Milo pored over Strom's sketch and Gustad's markings. Seemingly without thinking, he moved the candle away from Milo's robes.

A gentle nudge brought Catrin from her slumber. A female monk helped her dress in a warm robe and soft, fur-lined boots then led her from the room. Unsure if she would be led to yet another room, she was hesitant to set her expectations differently, not wanting to be disappointed. She was thus pleasantly surprised when they went beyond the last door and into the dark hall beyond.

The hall was unlit through a series gentle bends, and Catrin used her senses as guides. Then a faint light illuminated the base of a spiral stair hewn from the walls of a towering cylindrical shaft. When they reached it, Catrin stopped to look up. The stairs seem to rise for an impossible distance. High above, sunlight streamed through an archway, illuminating parts of the stair and leaving other parts in shadows and lamplight. The climb was arduous, and Catrin was short of breath when they finally reached the landing.

Beyond the archway waited a stunning view. A valley lay cradled between three mountain ranges. At the center stood an ancient tree, massive in size. Not tall like a greatoak, it sprawled. Its branches thicker than the trunks of most trees, it shaded most of the valley. Covered in deep green moss, the bark had a life of its own, and hanging bunches of silvery threadmoss clung to the mighty leviathan.

At the far end of the valley, Catrin could just barely see a shaded entranceway, and the wonders that lay within beckoned to her. The monk led her onto the snow-covered grass and along a path that led to the tree's trunk. Beneath its bows, snow covered only small patches of ground, and lush grasses emerged in tufts. Gold-colored seedpods dotted the grounds, and Catrin was amazed that something so large could grow from something so small.

Near the massive trunk, several monks sat in a circle, all their heads completely shaved. Catrin recognized Mother Gwendolin and Brother Vaughn, though they both looked much different without hair. Honored by their sacrifice, Catrin felt her eyes well with tears. The others were unfamiliar, but they turned to watch her approach. Though she tried to mimic the graceful stride of the monks, Catrin fell short of creating the gliding effect.

Mother Gwendolin waved with a smile, and Catrin was thrilled that someone might actually speak to her. She had not realized how much she depended on interaction with others until she had been in relative seclusion.

"Greetings, Catrin. I hope the day finds you well," Mother Gwendolin said.

"Thank you, Mother. I feel wonderful."

"Please sit with us," Mother Gwendolin said. "I've asked a few others to join us. You've already met Brother Vaughn, who not only cares for the aviary, but also has great knowledge of the Greatland's geography. To my left is Sister Hanna, who is an accomplished historian and scholar specializing in the time of the Purge. To her left is Brother Jamison, who is responsible for analyzing the political climate and nuances here and abroad. And to my right is Sister Velona, who is somewhat of a historical detective and mystic. For decades she has been studying every available piece of material related to Istran phases."

Catrin greeted each of them warmly and thanked them for taking time to talk with her. Those who had not already met her seemed taken aback by her humility.

Intimidated by the vast amount of knowledge attributed to these people, Catrin hoped she did not appear to be a complete fool. At the same time, she was ecstatic to finally have access to people who might have some real answers.

"You have completed the purification ritual, and you are to be congratulated on your accomplishment," Mother Gwendolin continued. "Many do not complete the ritual on their first attempt. Some elements are simply beyond their level of acceptance, but you persevered. From what I've heard, though, those who administered your ritual shall never forget it. I'm told you were a very unique subject to observe… and to be observed by," Mother Gwendolin said with a raised eyebrow, and Catrin blushed, remembering the man who had sensed her probing.

"Completion of the ritual grants you access to the Inner Sanctuary, and from now on you need only go through a brief cleansing to regain entry. Those within this circle agreed that clarity would be crucial during this time and chose to undergo the ritual as well. Many elements of the ritual need not be performed in specific order, and we have done simultaneous purifications in the past, but never have we done this many at one time. It required the efforts of every trained monk in Ohmahold to make it happen, and I'm proud they rose to the challenge."

Catrin's awe at their dedication to what was essentially her cause was extreme and left her with a feeling of gratitude toward these people she had just met. "Thank you all for what you've done."

"Everything we discuss will be held in the strictest confidence, but we understand some things should remain clandestine. You will need to decide what must be disclosed, and to whom you trust that knowledge. We realize that you will need to discuss some things with Benjin and perhaps others, and we will not ask you to swear a vow of secrecy, but understand that under any other circumstances, we would."

Catrin nodded her understanding.

Mother Gwendolin continued. "There are many things we wish to discuss, but I know you have come to us in search of answers, and I will let you ask some of your questions first."

After considering carefully for a moment, Catrin decided to reword her reason for seeking out the monks. "I've come seeking knowledge and understanding regarding the power I wield. I don't understand it, and while I have done some amazing things, I have no real control over my power. I don't understand why I was chosen to be the Herald of Istra. What am I supposed to do?"

Mother Gwendolin rocked back on her heels with a whistle. "Not one for simple questions, are you? I must tell you first that we will not be able to tell you what you are supposed to do. None of us know. In order to give what answers we can, you must understand some things. The Cathuran order is devoted to knowledge and understanding of the world around us and the creatures that inhabit it, including ourselves. We have all taken an oath of neutrality, which forbids us to interfere in the affairs of the world under most circumstances.

"We will give you our open and honest opinions as we are able, but you must understand that each of us has our own personal views, and we will only be expressing our individual perceptions of the world. It is our belief that life is the greatest mystery ever conceived and that no one will ever know the true meaning until after they depart this world, perhaps not even then. Do not take our words for absolute truth. Instead, use them to formulate your own perception of truth. Do you understand?" she asked.

Catrin nodded her understanding again, though she was beginning to wonder if she would ever get a straight answer.

"Do you believe in predestination?" Mother Gwendolin asked. Catrin wasn't certain she understood, which must have shown on her face. "In other words, do you believe the course of future events has already been determined?"

"I don't know," Catrin answered hesitantly. "I don't think so."

"Interesting," Mother Gwendolin replied. "It would seem to me that one must believe in predestination in order to believe that prophecies can be real. If the course of events has not been predetermined, then true prophecy could not exist. Prophecies, you see, are paradoxical in nature and can only be proven authentic if they are unknown during the events they portend. Otherwise, knowledge of the prophecies can affect the course of events. Thus, a prophecy can be instrumental in its own fulfillment. Would you have attacked the Zjhon if they had not invaded the Godfist?"

"No. I wouldn't have attacked anyone. I had no reason to destroy the Zjhon. I wasn't even certain they existed, and I still have no desire to destroy anyone. I want only peace," Catrin replied.

"Then I think we must regard the prophecies of the Herald of Istra to be nothing more than self-fulfilling prophecies and glorified predictions. The writer knew Istra's return would surely result in some individuals displaying unusual powers, just as they did during the last Istran phase."

"But why am I the only one to have these mysterious powers?"

"You are not," Mother Gwendolin responded. "Others across the Greatland, and I presume on the Godfist, have experienced changes as well, but most have been subtle. The trauma of your near-death experience shattered barriers within your mind, whereas others have only caught a glimpse of what lies beyond. Healers have seen their treatments become more effective, animal trainers have found their innate ability to communicate with animals strengthened, along with a host of other subtle occurrences.

"One extreme case was reported in the Southland. Witnesses say a young man caused a huge explosion when bandits attacked him. The explosion killed the bandits. Unfortunately, the resulting rockslide killed the young man as well. All these occurrences, in and of themselves, are not that remarkable and can be easily dismissed as exaggerations. You, on the other hand, lived on the Godfist and wielded considerable power. You were not chosen by Istra to be her Herald; you were chosen by the Zjhon. The prophecies created the image of a great destroyer, and you fit the painting."

Catrin swayed as she digested Mother Gwendolin's explanation. Could it be that simple? Could it be a huge coincidence or, as Mother Gwendolin put it, the self-fulfillment of a prophecy that was based on probable predictions? It seemed a cruel and cold explanation, and one that provided no real indication as to how she should handle it. If she was only the Herald because of what the Zjhon believed, then how could she possibly remedy the situation? How could she make the Zjhon believe she was not born to destroy them? She did not voice the questions, fearing she already knew what the answers would be.

"Your survival may be all you can hope to achieve," Mother Gwendolin said, as if reading her thoughts. "The Zjhon are devout in their beliefs, and they will not easily give up their search for you. Perhaps you will be able to create peace among the nations, but it is impossible to say. In my reality, the future is undetermined; therefore, endless possibilities exist. In such a reality, one can achieve incredible things with effort and determination, or they can lose everything by making bad decisions. It is a magical and tenuous existence. It is up to you to decide what is in your reality."

Catrin was not sure if she should be encouraged or depressed, and she tried to find her center. The revelations of the day befuddled her, despite the clarity she felt as a result of the purification, and she struggled to focus. She traveled in her mind to the Grove of the Elders and located her visual representation of her center. It was smaller than when she left it, and she took a moment to expand it. This simple exercise in self-control helped her tremendously, and she found her confidence along with her center. "I accept your counsel on the matter of prophecies, and I thank you for the imparted wisdom. I've adjusted my perception of reality and will continue to do so. Can you teach me to control my powers?" she asked.

Mother Gwendolin exchanged a glance with the other monks.

"She's definitely not one for asking easy questions, Mother," Sister Velona said. "I've searched for many years, but I'm afraid I can tell you very little of how to control your powers, as it seems to be different for each individual. I can, however, tell you some things you should avoid at all cost. Are you familiar with the stories of Enoch Giest and the Sleepless Ones?"

"I've heard stories, but I don't remember all the details."

"During the wars between the Zjhon and the Varics, there were many gruesome battles, and both nations lost many men and women. Enoch Giest was a captain in the Varic army, and he was determined to defeat the Zjhon. During a relatively minor skirmish, he was wounded and lay dying on the battlefield. He'd always thought himself gifted but had never been able to use Istra's power," Sister Velona said.

"As his lifeblood flowed from his body, he knew he was dying. He hoped and prayed he would somehow survive, and then, as the result of some epiphany, he tried to heal himself with Istra's power. He'd never succeeded at anything else with the power, and he had no reason to believe it would work, but given no other options, he applied his will to the task. Somehow, he broke down the barrier between his conscious mind and his subconscious mind.

"It's the subconscious mind that controls the beating of our hearts, our breathing, growth, healing, aging, and more. Under normal circumstances, our conscious minds have very limited control over these functions. For example, you can affect your rate of breathing and even hold your breath, but you cannot kill yourself by deciding to stop breathing. If you hold your breath long enough, you will only pass out, as your subconscious mind takes over.

"We're not certain how, but Enoch took control of his bodily functions. He stopped the bleeding and, afterward, found it easier to continue healing himself. He communicated directly with his formerly subconscious mind, which then became his alter-consciousness. He learned exactly what his body needed to repair itself, and working in concert with his alter-consciousness, he made himself anew," she continued.

"Enoch was so excited about his discovery that he explored ways to pass along his ability to his countrymen. Most could not duplicate the feat; only two others managed to break down their barriers with his guidance and assistance. Discouraged by his failures, he roamed the battlefields, searching for those mortally wounded, and his success rate increased dramatically. Word of his exploits spread, and his appearance on the battlefield drove men to discard their fear. They fought with wild abandon, winning many victories, and Enoch passed his ability to many dying men. But he could not bring back the dead, and hundreds died despite his efforts.

"Within a decade, almost every Varic man still alive had gained the ability to heal themselves. The Varics were not far from conquering the Zjhon, and the Elsics believed they would be next, but that is another story. The Varic nation began to thrive again with the aid of Enoch's imparted healing powers. There were times, it was said, that every Varic woman alive was pregnant. But the next generation of Varics proved to have very little aptitude with the power of Istra, and almost none attained healing powers.

"The passing of traits from one generation to the next is a mysterious process, and it was not until the grandchildren of Enoch's generation were born that the unexpected aftereffects manifested. The second generation since the time of Enoch's discovery was decimated; most did not live past birth. Of those that survived birth, the majority died soon after. They would simply fall asleep and never wake. Enoch watched in horror as his nation's death knell rung, and it was far too late to effect any change.

"By this time, many of the first generation of healers had gone to their graves from either old age or deadly wounds they were unable to heal. Despite the ability to heal themselves, they were unable to heal others. If a self-healer took a wound that rendered them unconscious, they usually perished. Enoch saw the healers dwindling in number and waited in horror for his own grandchild to be born.

"Determined to save the life of his grandchild, even at the cost of his own, he assembled everyone adept with Istra's power and gathered them around his son's wife, Alia, to await the birth. Alia's labors produced a baby boy in apparent good health, but Enoch knew his grandchild would most likely die if he ever fell asleep. He used every conceivable technique to keep the infant from sleep, but it soon became apparent the child would eventually succumb to exhaustion.

"Driven by desperation, he used his powers to reach into the infant's mind and establish a mental link. He smashed the feeble barriers of the impressionable mind and used his alter-consciousness to supplant that of the child. In this way, Enoch was able to control the child's breathing and other body functions, keeping him alive. He hoped to break the link once the child grew stronger, but it was not to be. The boy, Ain, was wholly dependent on Enoch for the maintenance of his bodily functions. The two had to remain together always and could not even go into separate rooms without both becoming violently ill.

"Legends say other Sleepless Ones survived, but those instances were rare. The stories of Enoch and Ain say that, together, they were able to stall the aging process and gain longevity. It was said they committed themselves to preventing the same thing from happening during the next Istran phase, but then the madness set in. Both Enoch and Ain were faced with situations no other mortal would encounter, and their beliefs crumbled around them. The ancient writings say they went mad, but I often wonder if they actually entered a new reality. Either way, they disappeared from the writings of men. I've told this tale so you will clearly understand the gravity of the situation and the seriousness of my warning. Do not try to heal yourself," Sister Velona concluded.

Catrin needed a moment to absorb and store all the details; then she nodded and thanked Sister Velona. "If the Herald prophecy is false, then perhaps I should just go home. I don't need magic or power in my life, and I can just go back to being normal."

"I'm sorry, dear. This has gone too far for you to disappear now. Too many people are focused on finding you and destroying you. Your only choice in this matter is to fight or die. There will be no going back to normal."

Despair was starting to settle on Catrin when Mother Gwendolin interrupted her thoughts. "Perhaps this would be a good time for you to tell us a bit more of your story. It may answer some of our questions and raise new ones in your mind. I know it may be painful, but would you tell us of your mother and the circumstances of her death?"

Catrin did not object to telling what she knew; the pain was old and did not cut as deeply as it once had. She told them of the days preceding her mother's death, or at least what she knew of them. She did not remember much of the events herself, but she remembered very clearly the things she had overheard when she was older-things not intended for her ears. She told of her mother and aunt going to market to get the ingredients for a special meal. Catrin did not know what they had been celebrating. Whatever it was, it no longer mattered.

She told of the glorious meal, some of which she remembered for herself. She recalled how excited her mother had been to let her try a sweet bun, but Catrin had not liked the taste and spat out the only bite she took. She remembered everyone else laughing while they enjoyed their buns; it was a memory that still stung, which surprised Catrin.

When she began to describe the symptoms her aunt and mother developed, Mother Gwendolin went pale and sat with her hand over her mouth, but she let Catrin finish her description. By the time Catrin finished telling the details she had overheard from her father and Benjin over the years, Mother Gwendolin had tears in her eyes and she looked as if she would be ill. The usually serene woman appeared absolutely stricken, and she let out an awful wail. Catrin watched in confusion as she writhed in anguish.

"Oh, Catrin," she sobbed, pounding the soil with her fists. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. I could have saved them; I should have. How could I have been so selfish and blind?"