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It was proof. No one could argue it or claim that it was
a creation of his deranged mind. This was real and undeniable. For
the first time in more than a decade, he did not question
himself.
    When he looked back to the sky, he believed
completely. His father had been right all along. There was little
consolation in this knowledge, for it foretold a difficult and
perilous future for all, but it was vindicating for Nat
nonetheless. As his thoughts wandered, he felt himself drifting
into a different state of awareness, his eyes fixed on the sky yet
focused on nothing. He felt himself being drawn upward, lifted to
the heavens. His eyes felt as if they would be pulled from their
sockets, so strongly did the sky seem to reach for them, longingly
and insistent. The vision began more as a feeling than images in
his mind; he felt small and afraid in the face of a coming storm.
Lightning flashed across his consciousness, and thunder rattled his
soul. From the skies came a rain of fire and blood, and the land
was rent beneath his feet. A single, silhouetted figure stood
between him and the approaching inferno. Nat reached out, his hands
clawing toward salvation, but his only hope faded along with the
vision.
    Lying faceup at the center of the grove, just
as Catrin had found herself, Nat drew a ragged breath. Sweat ran
into his eyes, and his heart beat so fast and hard that he thought
it might burst. He realized then that it might be better if he were
truly mad.

Chapter 2
     
    If peace cannot be made, then peace shall be
seized.
    --Von of the Elsics
     
    * * *
     
    As daylight streamed in through the open
window, Catrin woke from a restless sleep, and she struggled to
bring herself fully awake. Nightmarish visions plagued her slumber.
Twisted dreams were so vivid that she had trouble distinguishing
which events were real and which were nightmares. She pulled
herself from her sweat-soaked linens, hoping the attack on Osbourne
had been nothing but a dream. Sleep still filled her eyes and
muddled her thoughts as she padded into the small common room she
shared with her father.
    He had left water in the washbasin for her,
but that had been some time ago, and the water was no longer warm.
Catrin tried to wash away the sweat from her fevered dreams,
wishing that she could scrub away the horrors she felt closing
around her, waiting to strike. The cold water helped clear the haze
from her mind, allowing her to separate fantasy from reality. Her
aching body brought her to a chilling realization.
    It was real. The attack, the explosion, the
strange way she was treated were all real!
    On shaking legs, she dressed in her leathers
and homespun, tears welling in her eyes as she imagined the
consequences. Her life would be forever changed, and depression
overwhelmed her. In an effort to feel normal, she got ready to do
her chores. She donned her heavy boots and worn leather jacket,
which had been left by the fire to dry. The jacket was covered in
creosote stains and had a host of minor rips and tears, but she
insisted on wearing it until it fell apart completely. Like a
cherished companion, it had been with her on many an adventure, and
she was loath to abandon it.
    After she strapped on her belt knife, she
gathered her laundry, a washboard, and some bits of soap. If she
wished to have something comfortable to sleep in, she would need to
get her things hung to dry. Not even raising her head as she
stepped from the cottage into the barnyard, she let her feet carry
her across the familiar distance. It was a short walk to the river,
and she had a well-worn path to follow.
    Turbulent thoughts rattled her mind, and when
she reached the river's edge, she did not recall most of the walk.
Kneeling on the shore, she dipped her nightclothes into the clear,
frigid water, which numbed her fingers. She applied a bit of soap
to the garments and scrubbed them vigorously on the washboard, but
then she heard shouts coming from the barn. Throwing her garments
into the