^ I think I'll use this as a temporary cover for ES... What do you think?

Lessons

It was a miserable night. They stayed in the military compound, in the keep. She was allotted a room to herself, with a comfortable bed, thick blankets, and even a fireplace, but she could not sleep. Maybe it was the scent of the moorland coming through the window — home but not home, not in this particular place, this fenced-in, mile-wide military place. Close, but not close enough. She thought of her father, of the sorrow in his eyes when he found they could not speak. She wished he could come get her. When she finally dozed, she dreamt that he and three other Earth Tribe warriors snuck into the compound, swept her out of her room, and then ran the rest of the way back to the moor before dancing in euphoria at their freedom in the moonlight.

Yet, she knew that was impossible. She'd seen the walls. The gates. And the dozens of guards, all constantly alert. Sneaking in and out was impossible. When she woke up the next morning, still trapped in the compound, she wept.

Breakfast was held outside — more food and drink that she had no room for. Xander spoke to her, but she felt so dull and miserable that she did not comprehend most of what he said.

Most.

"You will return to the Northern Fortress with Camilla," Xander said. "I have to oversee fortifications here before I myself return to Windmire."

He wasn't coming. Thank gods. She couldn't stand being in his company a minute longer.

"Camilla, have you and Leo put together a curriculum for her yet?" Xander asked.

The vixen nodded as she sipped on her cider. "There're still some holes here or there, but we're more than ready to start. Leo's mapped out a slow but steady schedule for her to accomplish the basics of language. Intermittently, it's been decided that I'll oversee her on etiquette. Together, though, we'll both accomplish noble protocol."

"Good. Are there any supplies that you need sent to the fortress?"

"I think we can manage for now."

"Excellent." Xander glanced at Katonah and said, "General, you performed well yesterday, considering the temptations laid at your feet. I've decided to award you in terms of a mote of trust. I'll relax the amount of security around you at the castle. Also, Leo told me about your journey a few weeks ago for soil to help care for your tree. You may continue, if you wish, and you will be allowed to roam outside the castle with a minimum of two men escorting you."

That made her straighten. This was very sudden. And not proportionate to her performance, considering that all she'd done yesterday was stand by Xander and try not to cry... Still, the thoughts of being able to roam freely in the castle halls and outdoors cheered her up a little.

"Thank you," she said. She hated that she was grateful, after what had happened yesterday, but there it was. Xander was a master at pulling her strings.

(/\)

After breakfast, Camilla and Katonah returned to the Northern Fortress, along with their escort. It was painful to leave her homeland behind, almost as painful as it had been the first time. She felt the air change when they entered Nohr again: it became colder, less playful, sharp, and tasted like rock and cold water, not trees and sunlight. Even the sun seemed to grow paler, its warmth thinner.

Reaching the castle was an uneventful affair: they landed in the same stony field where Katonah had first seen the wyverns, and from there were ferried up into the mountain via covered carriage. Leo was waiting for them, eager for a report. Before Camilla could give him the details, Katonah asked if she could go and visit Iseabail and the other prisoners. Camilla kindly reminded her that she did not have to ask for permission anymore and sent her on her way.

However, Katonah found that just because Xander had decided to give her some freedom did not mean that he would not have people watching her — the soldier guarding the door to the dungeon accompanied her down to the cells, and stood off to the side, stiff and silent, while she spoke to the four remaining prisoners.

"I'm glad he got back safely," one of the warriors said. "Even more so that Lord Xander decided to keep his word."

Katonah nodded in thoughtful agreement. "He had every opportunity not to, too," she said. "We were out on a bare hillside. Father and the others were completely exposed. And yet..." She gestured to the empty cell beside Iseabail, attesting to the fact that Emmet was safely back home.

"You look as surprised as we do," a warrior commented.

She nodded. "I kept expecting for something bad to happen," she admitted. "It seemed almost inevitable, with how unfair the situation was, and my father's temper."

"Do you think we can trust Lord Xander?" another said unexpectedly.

Katonah hesitated. To trust or not to trust Lord Xander...it was a very hard question, because the king of Nohr was so difficult to read. She wouldn't describe him as kind or merciful, and yet his actions so far, ironically, defined him as such — he hadn't had to let one of the prisoners free. He hadn't had to let the Earth Tribe go, with the exception of Katonah. He didn't have to treat her civilly, feed her and clothe her. Yet he had, and they were all alive because of it. He was the enemy, but he was an enemy with honor, with respect for human life and well-being — that they could trust in.

"I would say trust in his word," she said, "and his mercy. But don't become comfortable with him or friendly around him. He still holds our lives in his palm, and I feel that if he needs to use that leverage against us, he will."

The warriors nodded, murmuring in agreement — Iseabail looked upon her advice in approval.

Then, the old woman said, "How is your father?"

Katonah looked away. "He looked fine," she said.

Iseabail's eyes narrowed. There was no fooling her. "Looked? Were you able to speak with him?"

"No. Xander didn't allow it."

To her surprise, the old woman nodded. "Makes sense," she said. "Any conversation between you two could be seen as collusion. Most likely Lord Xander didn't even want to make it a possibility."

Katonah considered. "It wasn't just that," she said. "He also said it was because he was testing me and Father. He...he wanted to see how far we would go to be together. He said that if he could make us cower even when we were an arm's length apart, that was proof that he had control over all three of us: me, father, and the Earth Tribe."

The wrinkles in Iseabail's face tightened. She could hear Xander's calculation in Katonah's words. "He's a devious young man," she said. "Take your own advice, lass, and be careful around him."

(/\)

After leaving the dungeon, dinner, the midday meal, was ready. Finally Katonah was hungry — she devoured the roasted duck and seasoned leeks, along with several pieces of bread and two large glasses of ale.

After the meal, Katonah went outside to check on the tree. She nearly tripped over her own feet when she saw that Ch'idzigyak, in the middle of winter, had burst into full bloom, her canopy thick and green. The severed ends of her roots had regrown into long, nimble fingers that dipped into the soil pits, and her trunk was flushed with healthy color, a dark, strong brown that spoke of hydration and the absorption of plenty of nutrients. When Katonah touched her trunk, her heartbeat was strong, steady.

Sliding down and placing her hand on the knob on Ch'idzigyak's lower trunk, she closed her eyes, lapsing into the rhythmic, meditative pace set by the tree's heartbeat. When she was deep enough, she said, Ch'idzigyak?

Hello, dearest. The answer was immediate. Welcome back.

Katonah had to laugh. You are a sight for sore eyes, my friend. And just look at you! What have you been eating while I've been gone?

Only what you've given me, Katonah. That soil has worked wonders on me. Where did you get it from?

It came from a Dragon Vein, one nearby.

Well, no wonder. I feel a thousand years younger.

Katonah was curious. Just how strong are you?

I feel at full strength. Do you still wish to speak with your father?

She felt her throat tighten — hope, frustration, longing, anger, all of what she'd felt on the moorland rose up inside her, exerting a nasty pressure on her full stomach. Yes, please.

Ch'idzigyak studied the toxic swirl of emotion coming from her end of the meditative bond. I had heard that you went to the moorland, the tree said. But I wasn't yet strong enough to fully see. Did you see your father? What happened?

Katonah let her see, wresting a hold of her emotions enough to carefully open her heart, and allow the tree to experience the memories for herself. It took less than a second, and yet, it was hard to gauge time in this void, one where both, and neither of them, existed, where there was no time to be gauged.

I see. Ch'idzigyak's voice was calm. I am sorry, Katonah. That entire experience must have been difficult.

It was.

But I am glad that your father didn't act on his base desire to speak to you. I have no doubt that Xander would have followed through with his threat of the archers, and that would have been a waste of life, seeing as you now have the means to speak with him without interruption.

I was so afraid that he would. You should have seen the anger in his eyes, Ch'idzigyak. If he hadn't looked at me, I don't think that anything would have stopped him from lunging at Xander.

Then it seems to me that what he needs most is to talk more with his daughter, the one person who can placate him in a matter so bitter. Sleep, dear Katonah. Sleep and speak with your Father.

Katonah felt herself grow drowsy — Ch'idzigyak was drawing her consciousness fully into her, leaving her body a hollow, sleepy cavity. She felt herself tense a little, struggle to hold onto her physical self — it was reflexive, that tension, an automatic reaction to a deeper synchronization with a tree during Communion. She forced herself to breathe and let go, and go she did, like a creek moving away from a lake, branching out and away from its source.

She only had the faintest sensation of Ch'idzigyak gathering her consciousness and thrusting it away, sending it through roots, through stone, through mountains, through thirsty wastelands, until it hit the moorland. Then, her senses returned in a sharp jolt, causing her ears to ache and her eyes to water. She was standing at the foot of the Earth Tribe's valley, near the banks of the river she'd seen from up the hill a day ago. The sun was beginning to set now, sending bands of rich color rippling across the surface of the churning river, casting long shadows from high up on the opposite slope; she glanced up to see that the watchtowers were setting up lanterns, and now resembled massive candles from down here in the valley's trough.

Tormod was kneeling a ways away, plucking cattails from the river's weedy edge — Katonah knew that they were what the tribe women used to weave baskets. Katonah called out to him, and he, stunned, dropped his load — the cattails went swirling off downstream, but he didn't seem to see nor care.

"Kitten!" He rushed towards her, his chiseled face abruptly ageless with joy. He then paused, eyes widening. "You're Communing," he gasped.

She glanced down at herself and saw that she was pale and indistinct, a lime-colored ghost. Yet she could still feel the wetness of the riverbank, smell the smoky scent of campfires coming from the mounds further up the slope. "Yes, Father," she said, smiling. She couldn't help it — the shock and delight on her father's face was infectious.

He moved closer, towering over her. "Are you all right?" he demanded.

She nodded. "Yes, I'm fine."

"How are you Communing?"

"In the castle where they put me, there's an old tree in the rear courtyard. They've allowed me to tend to it, and I'm using it to Commune with you now."

He nodded, reaching out towards her. He tried to stroke her face, but his fingers passed right through her skin. "I am so glad to see you," he said, his voice low and terribly vulnerable.

Suddenly, the bittersweetness of seeing him was too much for Katonah — she fell to her knees and wept. Gods, why was life so unfair? Here she was, home, with her father, and yet it was all a dream — she was the dream. The scents, the sights, the feeling of rightness, of being where she was always meant to be...none of it was real. She wasn't really there. The freedom, just as it had been yesterday, was an illusion. It was a trick.

And yet, she rejoiced in it. Being here, now, meant everything.

Tormod knelt to the ground with her, his face ashen with pain — he reached out again, as though to comfort her, yet he could not, though she so badly wanted his touch to be real. But he could do nothing but sit before her, waiting for her to exhaust her supply of tears.

"I'm sorry, Father," she sniffed when she finally finished sobbing. "I didn't mean to waste your time with my tears."

"You are not and will never be a waste of my time, daughter," Tormod said. His mouth turned up into a smile. "I am proud of you."

It was such an odd thing to say — especially since she had done nothing to deserve it. "What are you proud of, Father? Siring a coward? A child too weak to stand up for herself? Too incompetent to save and serve her tribe?"

"What are you saying? You are not weak, Kitten."

She hated his platitudes, especially since she knew that he could not possibly mean them. "All I have done, since you appointed me General," she whimpered, "is fail. Our people depended on me to lead them to victory, to safety, and all I've done is pass them from one hardship to the next. My spinelessness has caused them pain and suffering and—"

"Stop." Tormod lifted a hand. "The only thing you're guilty of so far, daughter, is wallowing in self-pity. You did not fail anyone. You walked into a trap, it is as simple as that — a trap set by Nohrians with the worst of intentions. When you were taken to the fortress, you took a chance at surrender without further bloodshed — you had no other choice. A lesser woman would not have thought of her people's livelihoods first, and you did."

Some part of her knew that her father was right, but self-hatred festered inside her, refusing to believe that the lives that had been lost were not somehow her fault. "But I did worse than that, Father," she said, closing her eyes. Her next words, as she said them, soured her tongue, yet she couldn't stand her Father not knowing about the interrogation in Xander's keep — of him not knowing the depths of her failure. "While I was in the fort, I told Xander things, Father. Things about the Earth Tribe. Things he could use against you. I told him about your plan of attack. About how you fight. About the weaknesses he could use to exploit you." A tear went down her cheek. "I betrayed you. All of you."

Tormod didn't respond, and it took all of Katonah's strength to look up and study his face. For a moment, the lines on his cheeks were set stiffly, impassively — he wore Xander's mask of impartiality, neither angry nor sad, disappointed or annoyed.

Then he said, "That was the right choice to make."

Katonah shook her head.

"Think, Katonah, daughter. Was there another option you could have taken? One that didn't result in a bloody retaliation? In lives being lost just so that boy could assert his authority? Ask yourself what might have happened if you had tried to emulate me. To spit in the face of authority to demonstrate the pride of your tribe. What would he have done?"

She closed her eyes. He would have killed them, she knew — signaled to Leo and had him slaughter an Earth Tribe warrior, maybe two, and had her watch. Then, he would have asked her to cooperate again, and when she refused, he would have killed five warriors. Then ten. Then twenty. Then all of them. And then, he would have killed her, and that would have been the end of it.

"You are not a coward, Katonah," Tormod said, his voice firm. "You refuse to see it so, but you are not. A coward thinks only of himself. A coward does not consider the consequences of his actions. A coward is enamored with his own image, his own dignity. You are rational, sweet Katonah. You think before you act, before you speak, and you are selfless enough to be aware of the responsibility on your shoulders when you are given a position of authority. That is why I made you General of my forces — because I knew that, even under duress, you would make decisions that would save our people in a bind rather than sacrifice them. Because you would put them first, instead of yourself."

He reached out, put his hand over her ghostly one, and she tried to believe him, believe in what he was saying. But it was so hard, especially when she thought of Xander, and how easily he made her bow to his will.

"But I've never had a backbone when it really counted, Father," she said helplessly.

"Then you have not yet been in a situation when it has truly counted," Tormod said.

"And when will that be?"

"Only the Earth Dragon knows," Tormod said. "But trust me when I say that when you find yourself there, at that time, you will have all the strength you need to fight back."

She wiped at her cheeks and sighed. "The Earth Dragon expects too much of me," she said.

"No — you don't expect enough of yourself, Kitten."

"You're right." She shook her head. "It just seems so absurd to think that I will one day 'sing the Earth's song'. Surely there is a better candidate to carry out the Mother Dragon's divine will."

"There is only you, I'm afraid." Tormod gave her a playful smile now. "Congratulations."

Katonah gazed at him, suddenly aware of this unexpected opportunity. "Father, I only just remembered about your prophecy very recently," she said. "And I realize that we've never truly discussed it."

"You're right. I've always meant to, of course — in fact, I meant to talk to you about it on the eve of your eighteenth birthday. It saddens me that we're finally discussing it during such a frustrating time."

"When did you first hear it?"

"Several days after you were born."

Katonah's breath caught. "You mean, after I was born and mother...?"

Tormod nodded dismally, that hard, deep pain overcoming his eyes, as it always did when he spoke of Sorcha. "It was two days since we'd buried her. Some of the village women cared for you in her stead. And I..." He shook his head. "I was nearly mute with shock. It was almost as though I was disconnected from my body. My arms, my legs, my mouth, my eyes, my ears...they all still worked, but there was nearly no soul left to drive my body as a whole. My thoughts were with Sorcha, always with Sorcha. For hours I would sit at her grave, empty and desolate, or weeping when I could feel anything at all."

Katonah struggled to breathe. She had never heard this stretch of her father's history before. Generally, any talk of Sorcha or the agonizing period immediately after her mother's death was heavily taboo, nearly forbidden to speak about. And she could see why — the pain in her father's voice was so great that she knew that twenty-two years had not healed her father's loss of her mother. The wound might never heal — not until her father passed on himself and went to be with Sorcha in the Dragons' Realm.

"It was like that one day when Iseabail came to speak to me," Tormod continued. "The wise woman came to me with a canteen. I needed it — it was the summer months, and I had been sitting out in in the sun at Sorcha's grave for nearly five hours. The water was cold, sharp — it helped focus me a bit, bring some of me back, enough to focus on Iseabail. I remember noticing the smile on her face. I remembered thinking how odd that was, seeing a smile, because Sorcha had just died and the village was in mourning. But there wasn't enough of me back yet to feel angry about it. Or even annoyed. I just...noticed the smile, the joy in her eyes. And then she spoke."

"The prophecy?" Katonah asked.

Tormod nodded. " 'Rejoice, Tormod,' she said. 'Your Sorcha is gone, but your daughter is alive and healthy, and has had a great destiny bestowed upon her.' I asked her what she meant, and she said, 'The Earth Dragon has chosen her. Our Matron is strong within her. She is in her heart, in her eyes. The Matron's words will come from her mouth, and your daughter will sing the earth's song, to those that cannot carry its tune. And the Matron will be with her, and the Matron will know her, and the Matron will love her.'"

The hairs on Katonah's neck and arms rose as a sudden chill passed over her like a freezing winter wind. It was followed by an acute dizziness as she recalled Ch'idzigyak's words: And to reach this enlightenment, that is what you must do. You must go to it. You must go be in the earth. Go love the earth. Your ancestors understood this — they went to the earth, went in it and loved it, and the earth loved them.

What could this mean? The prophecy? Ch'idzigyak's words? Had the tree actually given her the means to fulfill the prophecy? Was she meant to come to know the Earth Dragon by doing as Ch'idzigyak had counseled and going and respecting the earth? The endless line of questions made her head spin, and her father noticed.

"What is it, Kitten? Do you know something about the prophecy?"

"No, but..." Katonah tried to breathe. "I just... Do you know of Dragon Veins, Father?"

She quickly explained to him the power she'd used at the border town ambush, and how she'd located a second Dragon Vein in the mountains of Nohr, and used it to revive the tree that had told her about the ultimate enlightenment, respecting the earth and becoming one with it. Tormod rubbed at his beard as she spoke, looking excited and awed.

"There is no doubt that you channel the Matron's power," he said.

"How can you be sure?"

"There is no other way you could have utilized the power of a Dragon Vein," he replied. "I have heard of them, mostly from Iseabail — they, indeed, are veins, conduits to the divine strengths of the dragons, and have been sung of in ancient war ballads, said to move mountains and set seas aflame."

Katonah remembered how the Dragon Vein had split the earth in half back at the border skirmish and could believe it.

"Listening to you speak of Dragon Veins makes me feel as though you were granted a close connection with the Earth Dragon at birth," Tormod continued. "You said that boy claimed you were not dragonkin, and you are not. You simply channel the Earth Dragon's power. That's what allowed you to activate the Dragon Vein on the moor."

She'd never thought of that angle before, and it made absolute sense, if the prophecy was to be believed. "What about what Ch'idzigyak said?" she asked, spitting a little — saying the tree's name aloud was harder than she thought. "About this ultimate enlightenment?"

"I've never heard of this divine nirvana before," Tormod said, "but I'm not surprised. Trees know many things that we don't."

"So you don't believe her?"

"No, I do. In fact, hearing you speak of it right now in relation to the prophecy makes me feel that reaching this nirvana is part of the path the Earth Dragon has put you on. It will be part of realizing your destiny."

"But I don't know how to do it."

"You don't need to know how."

"What do you mean?"

Tormod's eyes glowed. "Destiny can't be rushed, Kitten. Much as some people believe, you cannot take it into your own hands and go about it your own way. Each step you take is guided, softly enough that it leads to where you need to go, and you have no hand in it, whether you are aware of that fact or not. If this enlightenment is indeed integral to the prophecy, you don't need to go find it — when the time is right, the nirvana will come find you."

She looked away. "How can you be so sure?"

"I am not. But destiny is not concerned with whether or not we are sure. It takes its course with or without our consent."

She wished she could take comfort in the surety of his words, but so many doubts assailed her. She wasn't as spiritual as a woman of her station should be in the first place, and now she had to believe that the Earth Dragon had some great destiny for her? It seemed like wishful thinking. Especially since her twenty-two years of life had been nothing but normalcy and, in these past few months, suffering.

(/\)

They spoke for a long time, several hours. During this time period, Tormod gradually shifted back into the business-like role of laird of the Earth Tribe. He surprised Katonah by warning her not to lapse into complacency. The Earth Tribe may have looked to have been brought to heel, but it was a front — behind the veil, they were preparing for war once again.

"But Father," Katonah gasped, shocked at the news. "Is that really wise?" After the disastrous first attempt at rebellion, Katonah could not believe that her father was ready to jump back into the fire.

Tormod's face was like roughly hewn stone. "It may not seem wise, Kitten, and perhaps it's not. But I do know that it is necessary. I wish that there was a way to go back to the way things were, with our people and Nohr keeping to ourselves, but with you in that boy's hands, Nohr has all but taken away our autonomy. I fear that it won't be long before they begin encroaching on tribe land, and beating us into submission when we try to protest."

Katonah's fingers fisted the grass; her stomach curdled. What a horrible, sickening thought. Yet, she could see it, all too clearly: Xander ordering his troops over the border on a whim, using his military to secure clusters of tribe land and then dangling the threat of harm coming to Katonah when the Earth Tribe did not comply. She felt ill. Would Xander do such a thing, despite insinuating that his indirect control over Tormod did not warrant a military occupation?

She did not know — that scared her.

Tormod nodded at her bleached cheeks. "You see why it's necessary," he said morosely. "Xander may claim suzerainty over us, but we must show him that we will not be made to so easily submit."

This time, however, it was going to be a well-planned, more-coordinated affair. The groundwork was already in place: the military compound over the hill had been watching them for months, and no doubt their repeated reports of Earth Tribe civility was coaxing the soldiers into a lazy contentment. Cormac, his second in command, had a few weeks ago suggested the idea of establishing trade with the compound — no doubt getting fresh food from a city in Nohr would be such a chore from out here on the border. In this way, they would establish a friendly rapport with their former enemies, lowering hackles even further.

But even more surprising was Tormod's mention of an inside contact: a Nohrian who claimed that they could help the Earth Tribe in its plans for declaring war on Nohr.

"Who is this person?" Katonah asked curiously.

"That is not for you to know," Tormod said. "It is a man, though his name and position are too delicate for too many outside ears to know. Just be aware that he's been in regular contact and has offered assistance with an inner assault that will be compounded with our outer assault."

That threw Katonah. "You mean he's willing to strike out against Xander?"

"And little wonder," Tormod snorted. "Hasn't he told you, Kitten? Nohr is breaking apart from the inside. Financial cracks are everywhere — their last war depleted their finances, and though Hoshido has been helping, it hasn't been enough. Food is scarce, and the discontent is growing like a cancer. That boy has tried enforcing policies to pull them out of the rut, but they've all failed, one after the other, at the common man's expense. He's starting to be seen as a threat to the nation's livelihood, and those that want him out the throne are not a minority, but a growing majority. It's no wonder our contact is so willing to support our cause."

This was all news to Katonah. Xander had once mentioned Nohr's growing instability, as well as rebels that were giving him trouble, but she'd never thought that the situation was this extreme, or as extreme as her father painted it. She had to remember that she'd never actually been to a city to see for herself — Xander had kept her totally insulated from national problems out in the Northern Fortress. Perhaps he hadn't wanted her to see what a horrible job he was doing at running the country. She took a little pleasure at the fact.

"When will your first offensive be?" she asked him.

"Soon," he said. "We're trying to plan this out more efficiently than the last rebellion — if we don't act decisively, there won't be enough Earth Tribe left for a third. We have to strike hard and overwhelm the lad before he can retaliate. Hopefully, our contact will propose some strategies on how."

By then, Katonah was growing desperately tired — being away from her body for so long was taking its toll. Her father told her to stay safe and keep in regular contact. But most importantly, he said, he wanted her to earn the Nohrians' trust. If they found out what the Earth Tribe was planning, he wanted her to appear totally innocent and unknowing of their plans. But he also wanted information, and she had to have their trust to receive it.

She promised him that she would do her best and then closed her eyes, breathing slowly, allowing her hold on the moorland to ease. It was hard, letting go of her home and her father, but eventually, Tormod and the riverbank blurred out into darkness, and she felt herself being pulled away, across hundreds of miles, into the black void where there was nothing save for the beat of Ch'idzigyak's heart.

There you are. The tree's voice was kind. Was your father well?

Slowly, she came to — her eyes opened, terribly heavy from a deep, black sleep. She was back in the courtyard. It was growing dark, and the wind was beginning to pick up, slashing across the cliff side. If Ch'idzigyak noticed the cold, she didn't show it.

Yes, Katonah said tiredly, he was fine.

It was hard to fall asleep that night. When she finally did, it was to dreams of a failed destiny — of her standing before a multitude of people, singing the Earth Dragon's song, but no one appeared to be listening.

--

This chapter was REALLY long (34 MS Word pages) so I decided to split it up into two parts. I'll post part two on Thursday or Friday.

Still working on the mess that is Chapter 13. The newest draft is coming closer to what I want, so that's something!