From: prauda@dol-guldur.hut.fi (Kristiina Prauda)
Subject: Castle: KATHREA'S STORY (PART 5)
Organization: Helsinki University, Finland
Date: 13 Oct 92 20:16:20



The culmination of the conflict came on the day of the Spring 
Carneval, a day of masquerades and dances to celebrate the coming
of summer, warmth and new life. We had been living in relative calm
for some time, so I was lulled into the false belief that we were
finally adjusting. I wanted us to spend the day together - to go 
down to the Fair dressed up, have fun and be like any other young
people. Ywarin was eager to comply - as he always was - but Soron 
grumbled. In the end, however, he agreed. 

It is strange how clearly that day still stands out in my memory, 
through all the dirt of the years - not the things that we ourselves
did, but the little details around us. The bright colours, the tunes
played by the bards, the smells and tastes of the Fair, even the
little yellow flowers of a tree overhanging a square... I had a
masquerade dress I had created to look like a fire spirit of the
legends, and I remember being childishly proud of it. The fact that 
I had magicked it out of an old dress and thin air just added to my 
pride (it is difficult to change matter into something else, and even 
more difficult to create it, but there was no time for sewing). But 
most of our words and deeds are mercifully lost into the darkness of 
the ages, and perhaps it would be needless to describe them, too.

I do remember the growing tension throughout the day. I was nervous
and agitated, which showed in overly reckless mirth and sudden 
sharp words; Soron was as cold and rejecting as could be, and my
desperate attempts at breaking his withdrawal resulted into 
arguments all the time. And poor Ywarin, confused and afraid in the
middle of our bickering, hid his embarrasment behind that ironic 
half-smile that he always wore in such situations. That, in turn, 
fed Soron's anger and frustration - he had always disliked that
smile and found it smug (which it wasn't), an indication of 
something that he, Soron, was not aware of; something that made him
just a plaything in a game that Ywarin and I knew. That was not 
true, of course. We were all just as much victims - victims of my
needs and emotions. 

The rest is a dark, hazy abyss of impressions. An argument - at the
end of the day, when we were already tired and vulnerable, so that 
the tension could break out - that didn't smooth itself out as the
other arguments had done, but got worse and worse. It was my fault, 
I believe... maybe I wanted something that they didn't and was not
willing to compromise. We just kept arguing, me getting more and 
more desperate, Soron getting more and more enraged behind his 
adamant wall of refusal. And poor Ywarin - again I say: poor Ywarin, 
for to him it was even more horrific. Torn between conflicting
emotions, he had to watch how Soron and I proceeded into insults,
the cruelty of which was altogether new and terrifying for him. 
Through our years together, we had become adept at ripping each
other's souls into shreds without so much as an eyeblink, and now
each word struck into him even more painfully than into either of
us. And all the time, our powers rose with the storms that were 
growing inside us: Soron, rage and indignation, Ywarin, confusion 
and horror and conflict, me, despair and need and fear. All gathering 
towards a boiling point, unrealized and unheeded by us...

Finally Soron threatened to leave then and there, saying that he
was past his endurance and just could not take it any longer. I was
not prepared to give up - not in this, not ever - and since no 
amount of begging seemed to help, I finally broke and collapsed
down in a fit of crying. I was losing all the little sense I had
ever had. But Soron was still not moved: he was too enraged and
afraid also. Ywarin was wordless, even though just a while earlier
he had scolded Soron for his rudeness towards me. I had no other 
choice, no other help available. I called for my magic to prevent
Soron from leaving. 

That was the final act that doomed us, for that kind of a thing just
is not done. It made Soron even angrier, and he pushed my crude and
violent attempt away with an explosion of his own powers. But I did
not yield so easily: I went on trying - and the tension was too much
for Ywarin, who also erupted in rage and magic, whether to stop 
Soron or me, I do not know. Still I pushed, past reason and sense,
and still Soron rejected me, past compassion, past anything except
his fear, and still Ywarin fought to choose one or the other. 

No-one had told us about the critical amount of clashing energies.
No-one had warned us of the explosiveness of emotion-bound magic -
for indeed no-one had ever known it in such a magnitude. No-one
even knew that the capital of my land and the central plain around
it were a geologically unstable area because of an old rift deep in 
the earth. And afterwards, there was no-one left to tell.

The explosion leveled the city. All of it. There was nothing else
left except charred plain - and the shocks still traversing the
earth. The mountains trembled, and we awoke into the horror of what
we had caused and what was continuing around us. The whole land 
seemed to be caving in, turning around, mountains to plains, valleys
to mountains.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust... 

We were stunned - helpless - sickened. We realized almost instantly
that whatever had happened was beyond our control now, for the force
of the explosion had been far too great to reverse or restrict. Also, 
the explosion had momentarily drained much of our own physical 
abilities to use our powers. What could we do? What were we supposed
to do in something as incomprehensible as this? 

What is there to do in a nightmare from which there is no waking?

I remember. I remember flying above the land in a mindless daze of 
unbelieving terror and agony and seeing the continuing destruction in 
all its entirety: a tortured, twisted earth, still twisting and heaving,
every landmark so changed that there was nothing recognizable any more.
There were no towns left - they had either been swallowed by the earth 
or been completely ruined. I remember - I still remember - turning just 
in time to see the Academy of Wizardry - toppling into the deep - and 
in less than a heartbeat there was nothing except a new gulf of the 
sea...

I remember - rushing towards a still-standing half of a church - which 
or where, I have no idea. I remember throwing myself on the floor in 
front of the altar and crying - screaming - for God to make it stop; 
to forgive us and make it stop, make it well, make it be a dream... 
But there was no answer, for God does not meddle with things that man 
has inflicted upon himself out of his own stupidity. I remember Soron 
and Ywarin rushing after me and pulling me away just in time before 
the rest of the church collapsed.

Then - finally and mercifully - I remember nothing. 


When I awoke, the trembling of the earth had stopped. We were high on 
a mountainside to the west of the former central plain, so far that 
the reverberations had caused only minor earthquakes and landslides 
here. Soron and Ywarin had used their last strength to fly this far 
and to carry me unconscious between them. We were on a green meadow
under tall pine trees; I had had my back propped against one of them, 
and the boys were resting against the trunks of other trees, apparently 
in deep but restless sleep. It was early evening, and the russet light 
of the setting sun was shining through the mountain passes, 
illuminating the tops of the pines. 

I stood up, thinking that I had indeed woken from a nightmare, but 
then the reality attacked upon me and I remembered. I collapsed down
and vomited, and then, weakly, I lay back on the mossy ground and wept
silently for a long time. 






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