Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (11 page)

“Tell me!” Aedan blurted, raising himself up in
spite of the pain, peering into Nulty’s face for just a glimmer of hope.

Nulty dropped his head and spoke at the floor. “A
parcel arrived. It contained a note. Quin said the sacrifice and burial would
take place on the middle day of summer, and in order to give closure, he had
sent a pouch containing her hair which he shaved off before setting sail. According
to the Lekran calendar, the first of Horth was a week ago, the middle day of
summer. I checked my compendium of foreign cultures, and it seems that for once
Quin was telling the truth – that is the day when the rituals are known to take
place. The ship would have made it to Ulnoi by then with weeks to spare. Of
what followed there can be no doubt. This morning the pouch was buried in a
grave beside her mother’s. I am sorry, Aedan. I am so sorry.”

Aedan could say no more. He turned his head away and
sobbed, deaf to Nulty’s quiet departure.

When his eyes were dry, the sorrow deepened into a hollow,
voiceless pain beside which his physical wounds were pale things. The night
brought no sleep. Exhaustion finally overwhelmed him at daybreak.

During the afternoon, Thomas and Dara came to visit.
He had to clear the gunge from his eyes before he could make them out. Dara burst
into tears when she saw how his withered frame was trussed to splints and cut
to shreds. Thomas was clearly struggling with a lump that interfered with his voice.
Wordlessly, he placed a small leather case in Aedan’s free hand. Aedan held it
up and looked at the design on the cover – a little oak sapling growing beside
a large toadstool. He realised what it was and his eyes grew large.

“Thomas!” he gasped. “How did you get this?”

“Don’t you worry about that. You just hold onto
it.”

There was no need for this last suggestion – Aedan
was clutching it so that his nails were white. When he was able to peel his
eyes away, he held it against his chest, his fingers as tight as the knots on a
barge rope.

When Thomas was able to speak more easily, he
said, “We knew it was all lies, all that filth about you working with Quin and
killing the sheriff. We heard Nulty’s side of the story, and though Dresbourn told
us not to spread it at the farm, me and Dara know it’s the truth.”

“I knew you would,” Aedan said quietly.

“Nulty says you ran with bare feet till they were
a bloody pulp and then you jumped off a cliff seven times higher than our
bridge to try save her.”

“None of that matters. I never should have left
her alone at the clearing. Nulty told me to stay with her and I didn’t. If I
hadn’t gone to fetch my shoes, she’d still be here. Shoes! I put my shoes ahead
of her. I failed her.”

“You did not!” Dara snapped. She fixed Aedan with
a look of such fire that it quelled all argument. “Her father was the one that
failed her and failed all of us just because he didn’t want people thinking you
are cleverer than him. You gave everything you could for her. Kalry always
loved you, and now she knows how much you loved her back. We all know.” She
dropped onto the stool and covered her face.

“Dara’s right,” Thomas said, massaging his throat.
“You couldn’t have given more to save her. What you tried was so terrifying
that almost nobody believes it.”

“But
we
do,” said the little girl, lifting
her head, big dark eyes blinking. “And we are going to tell all the people we
can, no matter what Dresbourn says.”

Aedan offered a grateful smile, but he knew the
weight of the nobleman’s word. Facts would not be determined by truth but by power.
Without the sheriff, Dresbourn had more of that than children could hope to
oppose.

There was something that Thomas wasn’t saying
though. Aedan knew the way his friend looked when holding something back.

“What are you not telling me?” he asked.

Thomas glanced at Dara. He sighed and looked out
the window. “There’s a lot of bad talk, talk of burning your home and banishing
your family, even talk of hanging. Tulia and our parents are getting worried
for you. We’ve seen people snooping around here like crows. They talk about law
and justice, but they are all the ones that used to slip around the corner when
the sheriff came their way, like one-eye Kennan and his two friends that were
always in the stocks for thieving.”

“Does my father know?”

“Yes. It’s because of him that we heard about it.
He came to Badgerfields to tell Dresbourn what was happening, and ask for men to
help keep the law. Dresbourn said …” Thomas trailed off.

“What did he say?” Aedan asked.

“I – I don’t want to repeat it.”

“I want to know.”

Thomas looked out the window again before speaking.
“He said he would let nature do its worst – or something like that – to this
low-blood and his coward-fool of a son. Your father looked like he was going to
hit him and Dresbourn looked like Emroy that time he teased William’s dog and
then realised its rope was untied. But your father didn’t hit. He just walked up
to him and said something that was loud enough for us all to hear. Dara liked
it so much she wrote it down. Tulia helped us remember some of the difficult
bits. Thomas didn’t bother trying to read it and simply handed Aedan the page,
but Aedan’s free arm was too weak to hold it up for long enough.

“Dara,” he asked. “Would you read it to me?”

The little girl rubbed her face and took the page
with a shy smile. Her voice was small, but it trembled with strong emotion as
she read:

“I’ll respect that you were man enough to accuse me
to my face, but if you think my son either a coward or a fool then your wits
are beyond the reach of the thrashing you deserve. The only man in this town to
match my son for courage was Lanor, and the only folly Aedan knew was to love
your daughter more than his own life.”

She handed the note back to Aedan and added, “People on the
farm have been talking about it ever since.”

Long after they had gone, Aedan pressed the note to
his chest, remembering his father’s words. When it came to honouring or
complimenting, Clauman was usually silent while his wife spoke. Anything that
even approached sentimentality usually locked his jaw like a trap. Aedan had
begun to suspect that his father was simply embarrassed by such things.

He also suspected that if he had been there, his
father would not have spoken as he had, but there was no doubt in his mind that
all of it had been sincere. The words had come indirectly, but they were his to
treasure.

Aedan awoke to a strange sensation. It was almost as if he
were floating, or rather, as if his bed were floating. He opened sleepy eyes
and looked around. The dim, candle-lit walls were drifting past him. There
seemed to be someone walking in front of his bed and he could hear breathing from
behind him. As he glided into the chill darkness of the night his head cleared.
A sudden fear seized him and he tensed.

“Easy, Aedan,” his mother’s voice soothed. “You just
lie still.”

He relaxed, recognising the tall, nimble form of
his father carrying the other end, walking with the long, steady strides of a
forester. They lifted him up onto the fully loaded wagon and tied his pallet
down.

“That’s everything.” It was his father’s voice.
“Open the doors to the goose and chicken houses. I’ll untether the cow and
mules. Let’s not have them dying in their pens when the water runs out.” Rough
as he could be with his own, Clauman often demonstrated the most peculiar
tenderness with animals.

In the darkness, Aedan waited, listening to the
stamp of hooves, the creak of gates, the rustling of wind through the poplars.

He thought back over the past days, how the
jeering had grown louder, how the idlers had gathered. Emroy – who was
apparently now hailed as a hero – was in the crowd always. There had been stones,
and thieving, and then a spear wrapped in a burning cloth that sank into the
thatch, angling down over Aedan’s bed. Clauman had doused the flames and done
all he could to protect his property, but the following day there had been
three burning spears.

This was it then. They were leaving. It would
probably be seen as flight, an admission of guilt, but what choice was left to
them?

His parents returned and he felt the wagon tip slightly
one way, then the other as they climbed onto the driver’s bench. There was a
gentle slap of reigns and the wagon lurched.

“You still haven’t told us where we are going,” he
heard his mother say.

“Quite true,” his father replied.

There was a short silence. She tried again, “I
know you’ve been looking at the maps of DinEilan. Please tell me you aren’t –”

“I looked at many maps and the only thing I’m
going to tell you is to hold your tongue. Homesteads are approaching. Be quiet
now.”

DinEilan. The name echoed in Aedan’s mind like a
warning. Once it had been sparsely inhabited, but no longer. Bold travellers attempted
to pass through it from time to time and most of them disappeared. The few that
returned told of creatures attacking their horses in the night, of trees that
moved without wind, of hair-raising calls echoing down the ravines – deep,
earth-shaking calls, hollow and savage that had caused them to huddle round
their fires and pray for daylight.

DinEilan was an untamed place with a murky history.

The only part of it that was charted was the wild hinterland
west of the mountain spine. Beyond the mountains was a region said to be a
turmoil of rocky crests and deep ravines choked with impenetrable forest.

Aedan ran his thoughts back over the rumours that
had been peppering country talk. There was always bad talk of DinEilan, but it
had been growing worse, and stranger. Many travellers had seen things over the
mountains – unusual storms, weird and sometimes impossible shapes in the heavy
clouds. It was always from a great distance, so nobody was certain unless deep
into the ale. Many scoffed at the stories, but Aedan was unable to dismiss them
after what he had once seen.

Though he had never told the adults, the
descriptions matched the storm he had witnessed earlier in the year over Nymliss.
Nobody had paid it much attention for rough weather was common in the north,
but he had watched, and for just an instant, he had glimpsed the impossible.

The forest had been different since then. Though
he was never able to say exactly what, something had changed, something that
thrilled and frightened him at once. That was after only one of these storms. DinEilan
had seen many.

But whether or not anyone believed the new rumours,
the fact remained that those who travelled or explored near those mountains
seldom returned. The sensible explanations involved wolves, bears and the wildness
of the land itself. But Aedan wondered if there was more.

While he could understand his mother’s alarm, he knew
his father was no fool. Clauman would never take that road, but like any wise
traveller or tracker, he was carrying in his mind a far bigger map than the
actual journey required. Keeping his plans from everyone else was just his way.

As Aedan stared up into the fields of stars above
him, he began for the first time in weeks to turn his thoughts forward. As
children they had talked often of journeying and exploring the outer reaches of
Thirna and beyond. They had imagined and drawn pictures of the places they most
wanted to see – the great fortress of Tullenroe, Castath and its famous
academy, treacherous Kultûhm lost in mystery, Mount Lorfen – Kalry had always
wanted … The thought fell to ground like a swallow dying in mid-flight. The
stars blurred and wouldn’t clear again.

Could she see him?

For a long time he stared up. Remembering. Aching.

The track wound down the hill, skirted the palisaded town
centre and joined the main road. Though it hurt, Aedan propped himself on his
elbows to catch a last look at the village. It slept quietly in the pre-dawn,
wrapped in blankets of mist that drifted continuously down the valley – peaceful,
perfect.

How could a place so good, with people so
neighbourly have turned on him so unfairly? Not long ago these same people had
ridden with him through the night to defend Badgerfields, had followed his
trail through the dreaded forest to rescue their neighbours. And some had even
run with him in pursuit of Quin.

As betrayed and angry as he felt, he knew the feelings
were short-sighted – he had often seen sheep turned, panicked, and led around
by one bleating troublemaker. And Dresbourn knew how to bleat. He would have
been convincing in the meetings; the town hall would have seethed in response
to his speeches.

As Aedan looked back at the familiar shapes of
thatch roofs rising above the outer wall, his feelings were confused. But one
wish stood out, a wish that things had been different, that Quin had never
found them, that life could have remained unchanged, and that they might have
gone on living here all their years.

He had often pondered death – tragic accidents,
illness and sometimes outlaws had occasionally meant loss of the deepest kind
to someone in the town – but he had never before felt the stab of grief in his
own heart. He had not thought its blade could sink so deep or sting so fiercely.
Yet he chose not to hide from the memories that appeared before him.

His eyes drifted to the side of the road and he
began to notice things – the tree they had climbed, where Thomas had got stuck
and where they had spent the whole summer day coaxing him back down; a thick
hedge concealing a muddy brook perfect for mud pies which had been launched at
a passing wagon, where little Dara had yelled that Aedan was standing in her new-made
pies. Her shrill voice had carried to the road, and as there was only one Aedan
in town, punishment had found them swiftly.

There was the little wooded nook between hillocks
just coming into view. It was a favourite spot where chestnut trees abounded,
where they had made little fires to roast the nuts and where, once, the little
fire got away and burned down most of the hill. This time it was the smoky
clothes and singed eyebrows that gave them away, for they had fought bravely to
beat out the flames.

Aedan smiled at the memory, and it was like fresh
water, the first drops just beginning to wash away some of the salt. And it
felt good, it felt right, for nothing grows in salt.

The wagon arrived at Crossroads just after
daybreak. It was a large town built around the famous compass-point junction in
the middle. The town owed its affluence to the fact that it was the first
Thirnish settlement reached by all Orunean trade caravans. The result was a large
and very busy market visited from all the surrounding countryside. It was here
that Aedan and Kalry had learned the manners and accents of various towns and
regions.

The wheels rocked to a standstill outside a general
supply store where Clauman bought a few bags of grain and vegetables as well as
fresh loaves and cheese for breakfast.

Once the purchases were done, he set the wagon
rolling again, but to Aedan’s surprise, took the south-midland road.

“Tullenroe is west,” he heard his mother say. “Why
aren’t we taking the west road?”

“Because, my Nessa, we are not going to Tullenroe.”

“But – but where then? Surely you can tell me now.”

Clauman was silent for some time. “Castath,” he
said at last.

“Castath! Nobody travels that road alone. And even
if we did link up with a caravan, the journey would take two months!”

“Three, at the very least. We are going to take the
inland track that passes between Lake Vallendal and the DinEilan Mountains.”

Aedan’s breath caught.

“Between …” Nessa bolted upright. “But … DinEilan!
… And that will lead us right past Kultûhm!”

“I can read a map.” It was partly true, and it was
a tender point. Clauman could interpret the lines and shapes, and he knew the
names of places by memory, but he could not read the text.

“Clauman, please – we can’t go there! It’s the one
place in all Thirna that nobody dares approach anymore. It’s not just tavern
tales – you know I have no ear for those – it was historians. One party after
another disappeared. I would know. It was one of my father’s chief interests
and I read all the reports.”

Nessa was a scholarly woman from a scholarly
family, something for which Clauman never revealed a hint of respect. Aedan
knew well what would happen now. Whenever his mother used any kind of
intellectual background to win an argument, his father would do precisely the
opposite of what she advised. And he did just that, in the worst way. Instead
of cutting her down with some retort, he laughed. Whether it was forced or not,
Aedan could never tell. He’d heard it so often. His father would now be as set
on his course as if his pride depended on it. And perhaps it did.

Aedan raised himself on his elbows and looked out
to the south-west, though Kultûhm would still be hundreds of miles distant. For
a long time he held himself up. Everyone had heard of the place. It was to DinEilan
what fangs were to a viper. His heart began to pound. What was in his father’s
mind? How could he set a course in that direction?

“Wouldn’t it be safer to join a caravan and go
south?” Aedan ventured. “I’m not going to be much use in an emergency.”

His father turned and regarded him in silence
before replying. “Anyone who follows us would look on the west road first and
then on the south. If we take the inland track, nobody would follow us even if
they knew where we had gone.”

Nessa was silent for a time before voicing the
obvious question. “Why would they want to follow us?” she asked. “There were no
formal charges. Legally we are not fugitives.” Aedan sensed the caution in her
voice.

Clauman laughed. “My, but you are naïve, dear. The
law in the Mistyvales now lives in Badger’s Hall where it nurses a hatred for
us that you wouldn’t have read about in your books. Innocence and guilt don’t
come into it. In spite of what you think, we will probably be condemned for
fleeing so-called justice, and there’s a good chance the law will come after
us. But I’m more concerned about thieves smelling easy pickings.” He tapped his
velvet money-pouch. After a while he began humming to himself, and Aedan craned
his neck around to see the bulging pouch that clinked as Clauman patted it from
time to time.

Aedan had been wondering about the unusual brightness
of his father’s mood – no angry outbursts, no blaming, not even the silent
brooding. Clauman almost seemed positive about their flight, as if he were
looking forward to a future that overshadowed all they had left behind. That
swollen money bag, no doubt, contributed much to this optimism. Neither Aedan
nor his mother would have guessed that they were so wealthy. It was a blessing
to know they would not be tempted to steal to feed themselves along the way.

During the afternoon, they reached a junction. To
the left was an overgrown suggestion of a track that led to DinEilan.
Undisturbed dust, a mat of settled leaves, and the giant networks of orb
spiders showed how long the road had rested unused. Clauman, after inspecting
the ground, grumbled to himself and climbed back into the wagon. He continued
along the well-travelled road. After two miles he turned off to the left and
ploughed through long grass for some time before stopping and walking back.