Inherited Danger

Chapter 23

Dressed as a peasant, Lissa watched as the parade of carriages prepared to leave Ravenhold, and she could barely contain the growl that threatened to escape her throat. An imposter, a usurper, and worse was riding in her place to Adderhold. Only days before, Lissa had returned to overhear tales of Catrin, the savior of Mundleboro. Unable to bear the taste, she spit.

How could her grandmother betray her in such a way? She had run away to prevent the marriage between the Mangst and Kyte families. Why would her grandmother send a stranger in her place?

"Pure madness," she muttered through clenched teeth. Torn, she tried to decide what to do next. If she let this Catrin go in her stead, all she had gone through would be for naught. Yet if she tried to stop it, she would reveal herself, and Morif would probably take her to Adderhold in chains.

Lissa did not relish the thought of their next meeting, certain he was furious with her for leaving. He was always going on about how her actions hurt Millie. Lissa didn't care about Millie at that moment, though, as the carriages began to roll. Her last chance to act was at hand and she stood, frozen. Unable to move or speak, she simply watched until the carriages disappeared from view.

The journey to Adderhold was only slightly less miserable than it would've been on foot. The carriage jostled constantly over the uneven roads, or it sat waiting for the crowds of people clogging the roads to disperse. Catrin was struck by the resentment her passing brought about. People cursed them, rotten vegetables were thrown at the carriages, and murderous looks followed them. These people had not been at the celebration, and they had no reason to love her. The dozen guards assigned by Catrin's grandmother did what they could to control the situation, and Catrin insisted none of them harm any of the people, but it was difficult for them to comply as many altercations broke out.

Her people's despair brought Catrin physical pain, and she found the yoke of responsibility terribly difficult to bear. She had almost grown accustomed to feeling responsible for the people of the Godfist. It was a natural role that any citizen would feel compelled to fill, but her responsibility for the people of the Greatland was suffocating. The entire known world's future depended on her actions, and it appeared many would die no matter what she did.

Shifting in her seat, she adjusted the folds and layers of her skirt, which seemed to bunch under her no matter how she sat.

Benjin scowled, as he had been wont to do of late.

"What are you thinking?" Catrin asked.

"Hmm. Well, I was just trying to understand the relative disappearance of Vestrana agents across the Greatland. Of the inns we have encountered, only two offered any indication of the Vestrana, and even those signals were mixed. I suppose the times are much more dangerous these days, and it may be that they have become more secretive because of infiltration. It's mostly unimportant now since we've secured our entrance to Adderhold."

Adderhold. Catrin imagined a place crawling with snakes and scorpions, a dark and evil place that waited to consume her. She knew it was foolish to let her imagination run wild, and the visions were probably far worse than what actually awaited her, but a contagious dour mood blanketed those around her. Millie rode in a carriage with two other serving women, but each time they were together, she seemed more nervous and fretful than the last. She feared everything from an ambush to poisoned food, and the fact that her fears were plausible put their entire party on edge.

Along the Inland Sea, the lands were clogged with ragged campsites, and a foul stench hung in the air. The roads impossibly jammed, their caravan was forced to move overland through a maze of disarray. The twined roses on the doors of their carriages became a liability as angry mobs, made up of those from Mundleboro and Lankland alike, left their bonfires to express their displeasure to the exposed nobility. Scuffles broke out between the mobs and her guards, but mostly cold iron kept the peace. As they neared the docks, though, the mass of people became denser, and the spaces between campsites were not wide enough to admit them passage.

A writhing mass of humanity stood between them and the road, which was as impassable as the clogged meadows, for it was jammed with people. They were only a short distance from the dock, but reaching it seemed impossible. One brave guard rode ahead to seek the officials at the docks; he was hard pressed, but he rode aggressively. Most moved out of his way; those who moved too slowly he pushed out of the way.

An uproar rolled across the meadows, and many shook their fists in the air as a mounted detachment plowed through campsites on their way to the carriages. Men became bold and rocked the carriages back and forth, and one man was fatally kicked by one of the horses drawing Catrin's carriage. Visions of assassins closing in around her gave Catrin the chills, and she clutched her staff, ready to defend herself. Within the confines of the carriage, though, there was no room to maneuver. Catrin felt trapped. Benjin's short sword was cleared from its scabbard, and he'd already reached for the door at least a dozen times, but he remained within the carriage.

Surrounded by guards and dock officials, they began a painfully slow procession through scattered remains of campsites, and Catrin doubted these people would love her as those at her majority banquet had. How could she blame them? She'd always disliked those who thought themselves more important than she. Her passage was a necessity, though, and this affront was simply unavoidable. The gathered crowd booed loudly as Catrin and her guards were escorted onto a waiting ferry. No one else was allowed to board with them, and hundreds were forced to wait for the next ferry.

Glad to be gone from the unruly crowd, Catrin relaxed a bit. Through the overcast skies, she could feel the energy of the comets above her, and she knew the next time the night skies were clear, she would see them. The energy bolstered her strength, and she let it calm her stomach as the carriage rocked along with the ship. It was a strange feeling, to sit in a carriage while aboard a ship. The horses had been unhooked for safety's sake, and the carriage's tongue was firmly secured, yet she felt as if she were perched on a branch in high wind, as if the carriage would slide from the deck and into the sea.

"Can we take a walk on deck?" she asked, but Benjin shook his head.

"Can't risk an ambush. Nearby ships could harbor assassins, and given the family history, I'd be surprised if they didn't. Best to stay in here until we reach Adderhold."

"Lovely."

Benjin tried to make the time pass more quickly by quizzing Catrin on her etiquette and ceremonial duties. While it took her mind from the motion of the ferry, it also reminded her of what lay ahead. Her role in this wedding was small. She need only show up and say a few words. Under no circumstances was she to look a man, especially a Zjhon holy man, in the eye. The restrictions on her behavior were ridiculous and triggered deep-seated resentment. Even as a member of a royal family, she was forced to endure the rules of others. The thought of kissing the archmaster's ring made her want to retch; she hadn't forgotten about his letter:

"… My emissaries will remain on the Godfist until you have presented yourself to me personally. This matter must be settled between you and me. It would be a pity if your countrymen and mine suffered needlessly as a result of your selfishness. I beg you to put away your ego and do what you know is right…"

Even after so much time, his words rang in her memory and raised her fury. Belegra had caused hundreds to die then laid the blame at her feet. Trying to contain her rage was like standing before a flash flood, and despite her efforts, it threatened to consume her. Only the reason in Benjin's voice kept her from succumbing. His logic and planning gave her something to hold on to, something to believe in.

"After the exchange of names," he said, "you'll each carry a torch to a pile of kindling. You'll kneel and then light it with your torches. I'm guessing they'll place the kindling near the base of the statue for effect. That'll probably be your best chance to reach it," Benjin said.

"When I stand from the fire, toss me the staff. I still have no idea what I will do then, but I'll think of something… I hope."

Benjin seemed unable to formulate a proper response to that statement, and they spoke little more during the crossing. A tailwind drove the ferry toward the island that cradled Adderhold. The citadel rose on the horizon, and the closer they got, the more intimidating it became. The island was not small, yet Adderhold dominated it as if the man-made structure were larger than the land that held it.

Parapets reached so high into the sky that their tops were lost in the clouds, and the wall that snaked around the hold seemed impossibly thick. The buildings within were oddly shaped; nothing seemed squared or even at right angles. Instead, the city seemed to writhe, all curves and gentle sweeps. As they neared land, she saw that the structures, in many cases, were shaped like serpents, their fanged jaws forming entranceways and windows. The beaches resembled the far shores in many ways except that there was nowhere for the pilgrims to go. The island constricted them.

Alerted of their coming, Adderhold's guards created a narrow avenue through the knot of pilgrims. Those on the island were more subdued than those on the far banks; here there was no place to hide, and cross words could get them killed. Still they cast venomous glances toward the lace curtains that were pulled over the windows of the carriage. Fear was not all-powerful, though, and one man had the courage to throw a rock at them. His aim was uncanny, and the window shattered, the rock landing on Catrin's lap. The residue of the angry energy still clung to the rock, and she flung it to the floor. After brushing the reddish slivers of broken glass from her dress, she sat in a state of readiness, prepared for whatever assault might come next.

Amazingly lifelike carvings of serpent heads protruded from the walls that surrounded Adderhold, and the largest ones guarded a towering archway. No gates barred the entrance. A large structure stood atop the arch, looming above the massive tunnel. Darkness enshrouded the carriage as they entered, and a deep chill set into Catrin's bones before they emerged from the other side.

Adderhold was a bizarre mixture of the hideous and exquisite. Lush gardens were inhabited by ghoulish statuary and serpentine themes. The way they were crafted made them appear as if they would reach out and strike anyone foolish enough to come close. The buildings were constructed of a grainy, white, stonelike material that Catrin had never seen before. It sparkled even in the dim light, and it had allowed the architects to create wonderfully flowing lines.

Beyond the shops and homes that ringed the city stood the keep. Carved from the side of a mountain, it looked as if it would consume the city, so aggressive was its stance. Coiled and focused, the keep was formed to resemble a single serpent of such stature and ferocity that most could not enter without fear of being devoured. Elite guards lined the cobbled boulevard that led to the keep, and their embossed plate gleamed. Their helmets were fashioned in the likeness of pit vipers, giving them an inhuman appearance.

No one spoke, and no trumpets blared. Catrin's party entered the gaping maw with no welcome waiting within. Stables stood to their left, and they moved in that direction. Benjin disembarked first, checking for danger, then helped Catrin from the carriage. As her feet touched the reed-covered flagstone, a hooded man approached in a steady, measured pace. He seemed to be trying for the gliding effect mastered by the Cathuran monks, but he could not complete the illusion.

He said nothing when he stood before them. He just nodded and turned back the way he came, departing with the same unvarying gait. Catrin and her attendants followed him, and it seemed to her that the mood was more suited to a funeral than a wedding; anxious tension thickened the air. Atop a grand stairway stood another facade with bas-reliefs in the form of Istra and Vestra. The archway was unguarded, and the halls were empty. Their boots echoed loudly, and she felt as if the oppressive stone would close in upon her and grind her to dust.

Slender windows filled with multicolored glass provided meager light, which was supplemented by firepots that hung from ornate chains. The polished flagstone ended at a recessed stair, which was guarded by the most fearsome serpent carving yet. This one struck a primal fear in Catrin, for this was no glorified snake. Furrowed ridges protruded over the eyes and emerged from flesh as horns, which gave it an air of intelligence, and one other feature distinguished this beast: wings.

So cleverly had the carving been created that the feral stare seemed to follow Catrin, stalking her every move. Recalling the skeletal remains found near the statue, she needed little more evidence to believe the old tales. Dragons had once roamed the land and flown the skies. Atop all her other problems, it seemed a bad omen, and dread filled her as they moved deeper within the keep. The place seemed designed to take the spirit from all who entered, and the builders had done their job well. Each step seemed to take her closer to her death.

The robed man abruptly stopped in front of an archway that opened into what appeared to be a temple since it contained nothing but rows of bare benches. More colorful windows adorned the far wall, and one window in particular drew Catrin's eye. Beyond it was the glowing silhouette of Istra, Goddess of the Night. Only part of her visage was visible through the slender opening, but it was exactly as she had seen it during her astral travels; only now, it glowed more brightly.

The somber procession filed into the room. They tried to make themselves comfortable on the unforgiving benches, but it was impossible.

"These accommodations are an insult," Millie said with her hands on her hips, but their guide simply turned and left the room.

"This will be fine, Millie," Catrin said, hoping to lessen the tension. "I've no desire to stay here long. We'll do what we came here to do, and then we'll leave. Until then, we'll just have to accept whatever hospitality is offered."

Benjin nodded his agreement, and Millie mumbled something unintelligible that Catrin doubted was complimentary toward the Zjhon. As evening came, the skies were afire with color, and the eerie, greenish light of the statue grew brighter yet. Sleep was impossible, and Catrin ignored Millie's protests that she couldn't be married with sagging eyes. The wedding was a farce, and everyone knew it, bride and groom included.

For two days, they were left with little more than broth to sustain them. Millie paced the floors, casting furious glances at anyone who crossed her path. The waiting was dreadful, and no matter how hard she tried, Catrin could not make the days fly by any faster than they would. Even Benjin became snappish.

Atop Limin's Spire, the winds gusted, and even within the shelter of the stone walls, it was painfully cold. The structure's lack of a roof helped not at all. But the skies were clear, and Milo was convinced he had the focusing mechanism working properly.

"I have only a few more parts left to assemble," Milo said. "Then we will see things no one has seen in thousands of years."

Strom and Osbourne watched, waited, and shivered.

"I just want to get this done and get down from here. Heights make my head spin," Strom said.

"The view is incredible, don't you think?"

"I try not to look at it."

"That's it," Milo said. "We're ready."

Strom and Osbourne wasted no time. After wrapping the looking glass in leather, they picked it up and began climbing to the top of the pedestal. There was no railing; nothing stood between them and a terrifying drop. Tears streamed down Strom's cheeks from more than the wind stinging his eyes; he feared that same wind would blow him from the spiral stairway.

Not long after they passed what Strom considered the halfway point, his arms began to quiver from the exertion, but he was determined to keep going, and he gritted his teeth.

"I'm not going to make it," Osbourne said. "I need to put it down now."

Frustrated, Strom eased his end of the looking glass down. Leaning against the pedestal, he closed his eyes and waited for his arms to stop tingling. Osbourne moved around him, walking up and down stairs. It made Strom want to scream. How could he not realize how close they were to falling into an abyss? Milo, at least, had the sense to remain still.

When Osbourne announced he was ready, Strom stood, planted his feet, and opened his eyes. After a deep breath, he bent down and picked up his end of the looking glass. As they neared the top, the climb seemed a bit easier, and they soon reached the mounting bracket. With one final effort, they lifted the looking glass and gently set it in the bracket. Milo slid the pins into place, and finally Strom and Osbourne could relax.

"This thing better work," Strom said.

"That's what you said last time," Osbourne said.

"Yeah. I know."

Milo aimed the looking glass away from the morning sun and began turning the large ring he said would focus the lenses, but his arms weren't long enough to reach the ring while looking in the eyepiece. "Osbourne, my boy, I need you to turn the adjuster while I look through the glass."

With slow and tentative movements, Osbourne turned the adjuster and, by the look on his face, feared the whole thing would come apart in his hands.

"Wait. Stop," Milo said. "Go back. Stop! That's it!"

"It really works?" Strom asked, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Strom, come here. You're eyes are better than mine. Help Osbourne adjust it."

His excitement finally overcoming his fears, Strom gazed into the eyepiece, but all he saw was the blue of the midmorning sky, and there was nothing to focus on.

"It will be easier at night, but do the best you can. This is important," Milo said as Gustad arrived with a leather satchel. "I'll be back." Both Gustad and Milo climbed down, wanting to look at their books and calculations somewhere more sheltered from the wind.

"Turn it some," Strom said, and the image grew fuzzy. "Go back the other way." This time the image became clearer, but then it grew fuzzy again. "Go back just a bit. There. Stop. That's the best I can do without something to look at. Let's swing this around and see if we can find anything."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Come on, Osbo. We did most of the work on this thing. I think we've earned the right to take a look around. Besides, Milo and Gustad are hiding something. Look at them down there. Did either of them tell you what this was all about?"

"No."

"Then let's find out. We just push here, and it should swing right around."

"Don't look at the sun!" Osbourne yelled.

Strom aimed lower, closer to the horizon, looking for something and not knowing what. But then he saw something strange and stopped. "Turn the ring," he said. "Back the other way. Stop!" Unable to believe what he saw, Strom just stared in silent awe for a moment. "By the gods. What is that?"

"What is what?" Osbourne asked as Milo and Gustad started climbing back to the top of the pedestal. Strom stepped back and let Osbourne look for himself. He didn't need to look again, the image was imprinted in his memory.

"… should be visible by now," Gustad said as they reached the top, but then he looked Strom in the eyes and ran to the looking glass. Osbourne stepped away, bereft of speech.

"The charts we found in the lost library are real," Gustad said as he stepped away from the looking glass. Milo rushed in for his chance to see. "Istra has arrived."

Catrin and all the others stood when a soldier entered the hall. Millie blocked his path and looked him in the eye.

"Be ready by midday," he said, casting a cold and disinterested glance around the room.

Millie controlled her anger enough to nod and only turned her back on the man. She fussed over Catrin's hair for an impossible amount of time, most of which Catrin spent staring out the rose and chartreuse windowpanes. The sky beyond was clear, but she could feel the comets coming; they were close. She felt as if she could reach out and touch them. Though there was little evidence to support her feelings, a cloudbank on the eastern horizon seemed strange to her-unnatural.

She was to wed this day, and she'd never even seen the face of the man who would be her husband. When she turned her thoughts to the wedding, her anxieties brought their full weight to bear. She didn't even know if she'd be able to gain access to the statue, let alone destroy it. Feeling like a prisoner, she doubted she'd be free to do anything beyond take the vows. As her mind went in circles, she resigned herself to the uncertainty. She'd know what to do when the time came-she hoped.

As the sun moved toward its zenith, when Vestra was at the height of his power, a dozen robed men arrived to escort the bride. Benjin took his place behind Catrin as she followed her guards from their cell, as she had come to think of it. Like a funeral procession, they walked in silence, and a pall of sadness hung over them, one and all. Tears were shed, but none were tears of joy. Catrin missed her father dearly on this day, a day he should have shared with her, and she wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her flowing dress. Millie cast her a sideways glance but said nothing.

At the turn of a corner, the sound of a large crowd carried through the halls, and a sunlit field became visible in the distance. At its center stood the Statue of Terhilian. Though only its base was visible from their current vantage point, there was no doubt as to what they saw. The land surrounding the level field angled upward in all directions, like a giant bowl, and ascending rows of stone seats had been carved from the mountainside. In only a few places was the stone still visible; most seats were already taken, and the rest were filling quickly.

Primal fear struck Catrin's heart. Not only must she face her new husband and the Statue of Terhilian, she must do it in front of the largest assemblage she'd ever witnessed. Only one thing consoled her, and that was the location of the altar, which was scant paces from the base of the statue. Her guts twisted into knots when she saw another procession coming from the opposite direction. In the lead came a proud young man who walked with his chest out and his head tilted slightly back.

It was not his physical features that intrigued her, though; it was the nimbus that surrounded him. Unlike the auras described in the old tales, it had no color and was only clearly visible when she squinted. But when she did, she could see an area around him that distorted whatever was behind him, like the heat of a fire only less fluid.

He ignored Catrin completely, and she felt her face flush. Surely he must be curious about his new bride. How could he not even try to see what she looked like? Perhaps, she thought, he had already decided she was a monster, a hideous and undesirable wretch not worthy of his blood.

In a moment of sudden clarity, she realized she had done the same to him. No matter how kind or polite he was, he'd always be a Kyte, one of the people responsible for the deaths of her mother and aunts, and who knew how many others. She made herself look anywhere but at him, knowing he would sense her stare. She looked beyond the statue to the towering archway that dominated the eastern end of the arena. It was twice as large as the one at the main entrance, and Catrin guessed it was the only opening large enough to admit the statue.

In the skies beyond, the strange thunderhead grew larger and uncharacteristically bright, as if illuminated from within. But Catrin soon reached the raised dais, and the statue blotted out the rest of her world. The energy radiating from it felt unclean, nothing like the waves of energy that descended from the skies. Like a kernel of hard corn held over a fire, its inside boiled, and at any moment, it could release all its energy in a single, devastating flash. Standing before it took much of her willpower, and her knees felt untrustworthy, as if they would buckle in the slightest breeze.

When the groom stood directly across from her, she looked skyward once again, and the heavens were aglow. The storm was no storm. It was a comet scudding across the skies. Grinding against the air, it erupted into a conflagration the likes of which had not been seen in thousands of years. Its energy slammed into Catrin, and combined with the noxious charge from the statue, it was more than she could handle. She swayed on her feet, and Benjin supported her from behind. As he held her, her staff pressed against her bare forearm. The feel of the polished wood was comforting, and she took solace from it.

"Behold, the eye of Istra," a voice boomed, startling Catrin. She had no doubt it was Archmaster Belegra who spoke, but she could not make herself look at him, afraid of what she might see. "This day she has come to witness the union of Lankland and Mundleboro under her light and likeness. Vestra joins her, high in the skies, and we ask for their blessings. Give us a sign, and we'll rejoice!"

Catrin waited along with everyone else for some sign, and none were disappointed when red lightning spanned the eastern horizon, cast out in all directions from the raging comet. The distant rumbling did not fade like natural thunder; instead it grew steadily, intensifying, but no one was prepared for the blast that knocked them from their feet and seats alike. A wave of fetid air roared from the west, and the ground shook.

The western horizon took on its own eerie glow, one that matched the light of the statue. And Catrin knew, in that instant, without any doubt, the Statue of Terhilian that had been found in the west had just detonated, and she shrank away from the realization that tens of thousands had just perished in an instant. A new cataclysm had begun, and the next component of destruction stood within throwing distance of her. Zjhon guards formed a ring around the dais and effectively barred her path.

Most people had regained their feet, though the moans of the injured could still be heard, and angry voices protested from the crowd.

"The other statue has exploded!" someone shouted, and many looked about to see who it was, but no one laid claim to the statement.

"The Herald Witch has attacked the Westland," a woman shrieked, and Archmaster Belegra jumped on the opportunity.

"Friends, we are besieged. The Herald Witch has brought war to the Greatland, and we are all in dire peril. We must stand together and face our common foe as one unified nation. If we remain separate, surely we will perish," he bellowed, and the acoustics of the arena carried his words to even those in the highest rows. Ragged cheers broke out, but many within the crowd seemed unsure, as if their faith had been something of little consequence in the past but was now coming to haunt them. They would need to quickly decide what they believed, for now their lives depended on it.

"Can the Herald travel a third of the Greatland in the span of just one breath?" a familiar voice asked, and Catrin searched for the speaker without success.

"Of course not," Archmaster Belegra replied, seemingly outraged by the notion. "No one can do such a thing. The Herald Witch is powerful, but she's not unstoppable. We have but to join with one another, and we can defeat her. We must do this before she brings any more evil into our world." He seemed pleased with his words.

"Could the Herald cause such destruction in the Westland if she was here, within Adderhold?" the same voice shouted from the crowd, and the speaker became easy to locate, as just about everyone in his vicinity moved away. He stood proud and defiant, and Catrin could hardly believe the cruelty of fate when she recognized him: Rolph Tillerman, one of the few people in the Greatland who might guess her identity. She cursed herself for her own stupidity. She should never have let her tongue slip, but the damage was already done, and all she could do was wait to see how dire the consequences would be.

"There's no way the Herald Witch could cause such damage from a great distance. We are safe here," Archmaster Belegra replied.

"Then the attack on the Westland could not have been committed by the Herald," Rolph bellowed triumphantly.

"How could you know such a thing?" Archmaster Belegra asked, clearly confident that Rolph would only prove himself witless, but Rolph's response stirred the frightened crowd into frenzy.

"I know this for certain, since the Herald of Istra stands before you," he said, and Catrin leaned heavily on Benjin as Rolph's eyes turned to her. "In a wedding dress."