banquet, but he knew it for what it was: a trap. Soon the nobles would arrive, dressed in finery and expecting to be treated as honored guests, and so some would be, but for others, there awaited a surprise.
Keeping to the shadows, the nameless boy watched and waited, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it; there was nothing he could do to gain his freedom or to preserve the freedom of others. He was powerless, a slave, capable of little more than serving his master, and to this fate he resigned himself. There was no one who cared for him; no one would come to rescue him from this prison of flesh and bone. He was alone-now and for the rest of his days.
With a sigh, he moved through the dark corridors known to only a few and made his way to the banquet hall. Standing behind scarlet curtains with gilded trim, he hid, hoping no one would remember he existed. Once he had been brash and proud, but now all he wanted was to be left alone, to be forgotten.
As the guests began to arrive, he watched, waiting to see who would show the signs. His heart beating faster with every arriving noble, he almost dared to hope, almost convinced himself that none would have real power. When the nobles began to take their seats and servants served the first dishes, it seemed his wishes had been granted, but he knew better. Nothing he had ever wished for had really come true, and he had no reason to believe things would change now.
When servants rushed to escort a late arrival to the hall, he was not surprised to see a nimbus of power around the man they led. Dressed in lavish colors and bejeweled raiment, the man stood tall and proud. This was a man accustomed to power, both physical and political, but it was obvious he knew nothing of his real power, the very thing that made him, in this case, most vulnerable.
With a shuddering sigh, the nameless boy retreated, not needing to see any more. He knew what was to come, and he could only lament. He was powerless-a slave.
That night Catrin was led to a large room, most of which was taken up by a huge stone basin filled near to capacity with a colorful array of rounded and polished stones. Two pitchers of water and a jar for drinking were also present in the room, along with a few other amenities. On the edge of the rock basin was a single red rose. Her guides gave her no indication why it was there. Instead, as they left, they wordlessly instructed her to sleep in the stone basin.
Her thirst unquenchable, Catrin drained one of the jars before approaching the basin. The rose drew her closer, and she inhaled its fragrance, felt the texture of the petals with her lips, and marveled over the bead of moisture hidden within its folds. It was surprising how enamored she could become with a rose, something she had walked by a hundred times without really noticing, but here, in her isolation, taken out of its context, the rose was a magnificent work of art. Soft, red petals stood out in contrast to the emerald stem with its brownish thorns; it seemed a magical thing.
As she climbed into the strange basin, the stones were cool against her skin. The more she moved, the deeper she became submerged in the rainbow of spheres. She saw topaz, turquoise, black onyx, and a host of others she could not identify. The energy of the stones surrounded her, and she basked in it. Each type had its own unique energy, much in the same way that each type of living creature had its own signature.
Turning the basin into a game of sorts, Catrin wiggled her feet through the stones, grabbing at random with her toes. Then, using only her impression of the stone and her physical contact with it, she tried to identify what kind it was. For those types whose names she did not know, she made up names such as 'Pretty Red' and 'Purple Swirly.' Within a short time, she could correctly identify four out of five stones without looking at them. As enjoyable as she found her little game, she paused and took time to simply bask in their energy. Within moments of quieting her mind, she slept.
'Please, Lord Jaharadin, do come in and sit with me,' Archmaster Belegra said.
'Thank you, Archmaster. You honor me,' Icari Jaharadin replied as he eased himself into one of the chairs near the fire. The upholstery was far too gaudy for his taste, but the deep cushions were softer than they appeared, and the chair seemed to suck him in, as if it were consuming him alive. It was a feeling that left him on edge.
While an audience with the archmaster was indeed an honor, Icari couldn't shake the feeling that he was in grave danger. Still, he could not resist the opportunity to bring greater standing and wealth to his family, not that declining was an option; to do so would be too great an insult. He had seen what happened to families that displeased the archmaster, and he had no wish to find himself working in the fields or rotting in a dungeon. 'My mother sends her respects and asked that I extend an invitation to our humble-'
'Yes, of course she did,' Archmaster Belegra said, his eyes narrowing and a feral grin crossing his face. 'Your mother is a weathered hag, and I'd sooner wallow with the pigs than dine in your hall. You are here for a reason, Icari, and that reason is not to flatter me.'
Icari could not have been more shocked, though he did what he could to conceal his reaction.
Still, Archmaster Belegra chuckled and leveled a finger at him. 'What would you do for me, Icari? Tell me. What would you do?'
Squirming in the chair that now seemed a prison, Icari wanted to flee, but his limbs would not respond. Trying desperately to find words, he found his mouth worked of its own accord. 'I would die for you,' he said involuntarily.
Tilting his head back, Archmaster Belegra erupted in laughter that held no joy. 'Of course you would, my servant. Of course you would.'
It was an unusual awakening as stones fell from Catrin's face and cheeks when she raised her head. Some defied gravity for a moment, clinging to her skin, as if they had become embedded in her flesh. Standing slowly, she brushed off the few tenacious stones that still adhered to her and laughed at the strange patterns left on her skin by the stones. She looked almost reptilian, as if she had scales. The effect did not last long, though, and her skin returned to its normal state.
Wondering how soon the monks would arrive, she climbed free of the basin. When she went for a mug of water, she noticed that the pitchers had been refilled, and she wondered if this were a subtle hint. It became obvious later that the monks would not return for her that day, and she decided to spend her day napping and amusing herself. One of her naps ran into the next morning.
Oily, black smoke rolled from the lamps that lit the Watering Hole, and Miss Mariss wiped the tears from her eyes. The smoke from the makeshift lamp oil was only part of the reason she cried; what had once been a joyful existence had turned into constant struggle. Everything was in short supply these days, especially good humor. Without decent food and drink, business was slow, and she spent much of her time simply trying to survive. Scrubbing the soot from the walls, she did what she could to keep her inn clean, but it was a battle she always lost, and she began, once again, to despair.
Many of the people she held dear were in the Chinawpa Valley, beyond the atrocity known as Edling's Wall. Construction of the wall sapped the Pinook of resources when they were needed most. Miss Mariss could not understand how people could spend their time building a barrier between themselves and their countrymen when there was not enough food to go around. Fools they were, the lot of them, she thought.
Looking around, she wondered why she stayed, why she didn't just join those in the Chinawpa Valley, those with good sense. But just like every other time the thought had occurred to her, she realized she could not leave behind her inn-the place that had been her mother's life and her grandmother's before that. No. She would stay and try to make the Masters see that they were wrong to divide the Godfist. Knowing they would never change their minds or their greedy ways, she returned to scrubbing, her tears running anew.
