In another she found a washbowl behind the ruins of another bed frame. The bowl was almost perfectly preserved, with the exception of one sizable chip out of the rim. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before. She bent down and wiped her finger across the surface to find under the dust that the bowl was shiny with elaborate designs below the glaze.
As she bent down to inspect it more closely, a clump of reddish clay caught her attention. It was wedged inside one of the bed frame's wooden joints, as if it had been hidden there when the bed was still whole. Drawn to the clump by some mysterious desire, she pried it away from the disintegrating wood, and a small shape revealed itself.
In the dwindling light of her torch, it appeared to be a carving of a fish, made from some kind of milky crystal, its surface porous and rough. She placed the little carving in her pocket and in that moment saw her torch was not far from burning out. She had been gone a while, and she figured Osbourne was probably worried. She turned back, eager to tell him what she had found.
Though she hoped not to use it, her spare torch was tucked into her belt. When the first torch sputtered out, she had to quickly decide if she wanted to light the spare while the first was still hot enough to ignite it. She decided to save it since she was not far from the opening, and her vision would eventually adjust to the darkness.
Shuffling along the smooth wall, she worked her way back to the pile of stone and poked her head through the hole. The raft waited below, and she was grateful it had not gotten loose. Looking across the water, she saw Osbourne's silhouette leaning against the wall near the cavern entrance. Sliding forward carefully, she was in a very awkward position when shuffling noises and deep voices shouting words she did not understand suddenly echoed in the cavern.
Twisting her neck and body so she could see across the water again, she saw three shadowy forms outlined against the light of the no-longer-shaded entrance. Helplessly, she watched as two large men tackled Osbourne and tied his hands and ankles behind his back. Two more forms entered the cavern, and she knew she needed to escape. Jerking herself back through the hole, she retreated into the dark corridor.
For a brief moment, she stopped to think; there was nothing she could do to help Osbourne, but horrifying visions of Osbourne as a captive tormented her. She was no match for two grown men, let alone four, especially not men as large as those, and she had no idea what her next move would be.
With four redfish in his sack, Strom stood and stretched his legs. A light rain fell, thoroughly soaking him, but at least he was outside. He had never been afraid of confined spaces, but the cavern made him feel like the world was closing in on him. Breathing in the fresh air, he started back toward the cold and dark of the cavern.
His fears returned as he got closer, and he wondered what would happen to Catrin next. It was as if the gods were toying with her. Thoughts of the gods had always seemed distant to him, but now he was overwhelmed by nagging questions. The rules of his world had suddenly changed, and he was no longer certain what was real.
It was almost too much for him to absorb, and he turned his mind to the task of getting back safely. Not far from the cavern entrance, he encountered Chase.
"Did you see anything?" he asked.
"There's an army coming from the north, and I thought I saw movements in the trees, so I came back to check on everyone."
"Did you hear that?" Strom asked. "That sounded like it came from the cavern."
Chase didn't bother to respond; instead, he took off at a run, Strom close on his heels.
When Benjin reached the farm, he sneaked back into the hayloft to retrieve the things he'd hidden there. Under the cover of darkness, he carried the sacks down from the loft and used a piece of rope to tie them together before he slung them over his shoulder. Then, knowing every moment he stayed only increased the danger, he made his way along the fence.
Morning would arrive soon, and Benjin knew the chances of his escaping were rapidly dwindling. Surely someone would find the man he'd stolen the uniform from, and it was obvious that men were searching the mountains for Catrin. Quickening his pace, he tried to cover as much ground as possible before sunrise.
When he reached the place where he'd first seen signs of soldiers in the mountains, he froze. Nearby the snap of a branch warned of imminent danger, but he couldn't pinpoint from what direction it had come. Not wanting to lead anyone to Catrin and the others, he began moving in the opposite direction. The sound of moving leather was all the warning Benjin received before a sword whistled by his ear. Reeling from his evasive maneuver, Benjin let go of the string that held the sacks over his shoulder and rolled away from them.
The soldier who stepped out from behind a nearby tree was a giant of a man with muscles like cords of thick rope. His face showed no fear or battle frenzy; instead what Benjin saw was the cautious confidence of a seasoned warrior. Benjin managed only a single swing of his sword. The ill-timed and out-of-practice attack proved to be a critical mistake. Even as he swung, Benjin saw the man raise his thick sword to meet his strike. On the bottom of the soldier's blade, just before the crosspiece, was a large notch. With the precision of a practiced movement, like a dancer spinning in time with the music, the soldier lodged Benjin's blade into that notch and used his strength, leverage, and a quick snap of his wrist to shatter Benjin's sword.
Left with only the handle and crosspiece of his sword, Benjin could only hope that a technique he'd learned long ago would allow him to use his opponent's size and strength against him.
Chapter 9
Mistakes are a necessary part of life, but they should never be repeated.
– -Wendel Volker, horse farmer
Shrouded in darkness, Catrin continued along the wall. Her hand glided over the smooth stone, and she slid her boots across the floor, testing each step as she went. Her fingers found another doorway. She peered inside but could see nothing in the darkness. There were side passages and doorways at irregular intervals but nothing to indicate a way out. Each junction tested her will. Could it lead to daylight? Her gut told her to continue straight and let any pursuers explore the rest of the place.
In the darkness, tactile imagery gave her a sense of her surroundings, but she felt lost without her sight. In her fear, she moved with exaggerated caution, anticipating unseen obstacles. When she heard muffled shouts, though, she became desperate to move with greater speed, and she stumbled several times in her rush to put distance between herself and those behind her. Her instincts screamed for her to run as fast as she could, but she made herself take it slowly for the sake of safe passage, knowing that even a minor injury could lead to her death in these circumstances.