Desperation and grief made the sunny day seem disrespectful. The sudden shock of icy cold water brought her fully alert, and she panicked, afraid she would drown while still attached to Kyrien by harness and saddle. Kyrien, though he did not communicate with her, obviously knew this and moved to the black sands. After unbuckling straps that were now cinched tightly took longer than Catrin would have thought, but she eventually wriggled free.
Light surf caressed the shoreline with more of a murmur than the roar Catrin recalled from the coast of the Godfist. A warm wind blew from the far side of the island, and the smell of brine was heavy in the air, its saltiness somehow refreshing despite its tang. Orange crabs with white bellies skittered along the black sands, holding their one massive claw up high, their pointed legs leaving scroll marks in the sand.
Along the horizon nothing could be seen but occasional whitecaps, and Catrin had no idea where they were. When she looked inland, Catrin saw steam rising from what looked like a giant wound in the landscape. Like claw marks, a series of glowing gashes marred the otherwise seamless black stone. The air above them shimmered, and jets of steam issued forth at regular intervals. Catrin backed away, unable to bear the waves of heat that radiated from the massive claw marks. Memories of an erupting volcano and the nagging feeling the gashes had been created by a giant monster made Catrin look over her shoulder more than once.
She found Kyrien sunning himself in a field of stone that looked almost liquid with its ridges and swirls. Catrin feared it would sink under her boots, but it proved solid. With his wings extended, Kyrien's many wounds were exposed. Seeing his flesh rent repeatedly and places where scales were missing brought tears to Catrin's eyes. Many new gashes ran alongside old scars, and some crisscrossed, making his hide look like old leather with only patches of scales.
Ignoring her own needs, Catrin laid her hands on Kyrien, hoping to ease his pain. The energy here felt pure and uncluttered, and Catrin drew deeply. Her vision swam, her legs trembled, and her knees buckled. She would have struck the stone hard had it not been for Kyrien, whose muzzle supported her. Many would have been terrified to be so close to his daggerlike, curved teeth, but Catrin knew he would never hurt her. He had once carried her in those jaws and had been as gentle as if she were his child. She had no fear of him, despite his looking like a giant snake made of moss-covered stone. His membranous wings and stout legs capped with claws that looked like they had been carved of solid marble added to his formidable appearance. His green-flecked gold eyes seemed incapable of conveying warmth, yet she could feel how much he cared for her.
Eat.
Kyrien's communication was clearly a command, and for some reason, it infuriated Catrin. "You haven't spoken to me in hours, and now all you can say is eat? What is it? What are you hiding? What don't you want me to know?" Her voice carried with it all her frustration, anger, and worry, and she instantly regretted her tone.
They can hear us.
That thought drove all suspicion from Catrin's mind and left guilt in its place. Of course there had been a reason. Someday she would learn to trust those around her, she reminded herself. It was not an easy thing to do when there were those who really were trying to kill her, her family, and her countrymen. Kyrien, though, was above such suspicion, and Catrin vowed to trust him from now on, no matter how strange his actions might be.
To speak to you I must speak loudly. They are coming. Eat.
"Will we go back?" Catrin persisted. "Will we save the people of the Godfist? Can we save them?"
Though Catrin sensed impatience from Kyrien, he raised his eyes to meet hers, and visions flowed across her consciousness, making it feel as if she were being drowned in a river of thought. What she saw made her want to weep. Such darkness and loss was overwhelming. Catrin knew now that much more than the fate of the Godfist was at stake. Even if she didn't know how the future would unfold, those terrifying glimpses were enough.
Eat. Rest. Prepare.
His words and emotion drove her back to the beach. There were no trees or vegetation to speak of, and Catrin knew that creating a fire would be impossible. She considered using Istra's energy to cook, but the thought nearly made her retch. Doing so would require more energy than the food would provide, and Catrin was weak enough. Along a rough section of the shoreline, she found a piece of black rock that had broken away from the rest of the flow. A deep ridge ran down the center of the slab, and it held a bit of water.
After chasing a few of the crabs, Catrin decided they were not worth the effort since she had worn herself out and not caught a single one. Instead she concentrated on the shellfish that clung to the rocks in pools. These at least could not run from her, though dislodging them was not always easy, she soon had enough for a decent meal.
Piling the dark-shelled muscles onto the indented slab, she carried them to the glowing gashes. After placing them near the edge of the gaping orifice, she backed away from the heat and waited for the shells to open. When they did, she rushed in and tried to pull the slab away, but it had become too hot for her to touch, even with her leather gloves on. Instead she used one of her knives to slide the muscles from the steaming slab.
Not waiting for them to cool, Catrin pulled the fleshy meal from within the delicate shells and was surprised by how good the muscles tasted. Soon all that remained was a pile of discarded shells. Part of Catrin wanted to go get more, but her eyes became heavy, and before she could form another thought, she slept.
Chapter 11
Adversity is often accompanied by opportunity.
Sinjin kicked at the still dirty floors in the hall known as the "false hall" since it went nowhere and seemed to serve no purpose. A few paces away, Brother Vaughn explained the mystery of the hall to Trinda, who seemed intrigued. Sinjin had heard it all before and knew that the mystery had very little to do with why they were there. Brother Vaughn had become convinced that forming a bond of friendship between Sinjin and Trinda was the way to mend the animosity between their families. At least he had not proposed they marry, Sinjin thought-at least not yet. He knew how these things worked, and he had no desire to find himself bound to the least pleasant person he'd ever met.
It wasn't that Trinda was mean or spiteful; that would have been easier to deal with since Sinjin could at least strike back. Instead she was almost always sad, her deep-set eyes seeming to hold the pain of ages, and any enthusiasm in the face of such anguish seemed trite at best. Though he had tried on several occasions to hold a conversation with Trinda, the most he ever received in return was a single-word response and most times just a nod.
"Look here," Brother Vaughn insisted. "Look at this corner, and tell me what you see."
Sinjin continued to drag the toe of his boot in the dust, knowing what it was Brother Vaughn wanted her to see. At times he wondered about the aging monk's sanity, for the strangest things would hold his attention.