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a
purpose, some grand design beyond his ability to perceive or
understand. He let his mind be consumed by the possibilities, and
he entered an almost dreamlike state; nothing around him seemed
real, as if he walked in a place somewhere between this life and
the great unknowable that lay beyond.
    Unaware of where he was going, he let his
feet follow a path of their own choosing, permitting his
unconscious mind--rather than his conscious mind--to guide the way.
It was one of the few lessons his father had taught him: sometimes
the spirit knows things the mind cannot; never ignore the urgings
of your spirit.
    When he reached the woods outside of town, he
barely recalled the walk. His feet continued to carry him into the
countryside, and he wondered--as he often did--if he was simply
fooling himself, assigning himself otherworldly powers rather than
admitting he shared his father's illness. In truth, that was the
crux of his life. Most seek answers to a myriad of questions, but
Nat was consumed by one question alone: Had his father been a true
prophet or a madman? As he found himself suddenly climbing over a
hedge of bramble, he was inclined to believe the latter, but then
the ground trembled and the air was split by a mighty thunderclap.
Leaping over the hedge, Nat moved with confidence and purpose,
suddenly trusting his instincts more than his senses. For the first
time in a very long time, he believed not only in his father, but
also in himself.
     
    * * *
     
    As the sun was sinking behind the mountains,
casting long shadows across the land, Catrin woke. She sat up
slowly, dizzy and disoriented, and put one hand out toward the
ground to steady herself; it found Osbourne's chest. He was
unconscious, his breathing shallow, but at least he looked no worse
than he had when she'd arrived. She hoped he was not seriously
injured. Her body ached as she moved, and she closed her eyes.
Drawing a deep breath, she tried to calm herself.
    Moans broke the eerie silence, and Catrin
heard someone behind her gasp. She turned to see who it was, and
only then did she behold the devastation that surrounded her. The
clearing was a good bit larger than when she'd entered it; every
blade of grass, bush, and tree within a hundred paces had been
leveled. She stood, unsteadily, at the center of a nearly perfect
circle of destruction. All the debris pointed away from her, as if
she had felled it with a giant sickle.
    Turning around slowly, she took in the awful
details. Supple stalks of grass had been so violently struck that
they were broken cleanly in half. In all her seventeen summers,
Catrin had never witnessed such a terrifying sight. Behind her
stood Nat Dersinger, a local fisherman who was thought to be
mentally unstable. He leaned on his ever-present staff, his jaw
slack, and made no move. The staff was taller than he was, half its
length shod in iron, which formed a sharp point. His wild, graying
hair stuck out in all directions, and his eyes were wide, making
him look every bit the madman some thought him to be. Though he was
of an age with Catrin's father, the lines on his face made him
appear much older.
    Peten's horse lay, unmoving, in a tangle of
downed trees. Horrified, Catrin saw Peten's boots sticking out from
under the animal, and she feared him dead, but she could not make
herself move.
    "Help, my leg is broken!" she heard Carter
shout, and she turned to see him struggling to get out from under
his own dead horse. Chad wandered aimlessly, followed by his
faithful mount, which limped badly.
    "Gods have mercy. I bear witness to the
coming of the Herald. The prophecy has been fulfilled, and Istra
shall return to the world of men." The words poured out of Nat and
struck fear into those who heard them.
    Townsfolk and farmers had begun to arrive,
having heard the blast and been guided by the shouting. They tended
the wounded, and word was sent to the Masters as well as the
parents of the students involved. People scrambled to help Peten
and