Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (18 page)

For several days he rested until he could stand
without feeling as if his head was about to burst like a squeezed grape. He
crept downstairs regularly, and when he was able to find his mother, they
shared quiet conversations until Harriet intruded and separated them. With
Clauman out the way, she was riding high in the saddle.

Nessa implored Aedan to stay on good terms with Harriet.
Her frequent appeals for him to be accommodating revealed that she saw the
discord well enough, but tried to mend it on Aedan’s side rather than where it
originated. Without realising it, she was repeating the fault she had so
recently lamented. Too fearful to intervene and hold back the tormenter, she
was pleading instead with the victim to be more submissive. It was a solution
that would resolve the conflict while entrenching the problem. Aedan didn’t
have the words to understand, but he could feel the wrongness of it.

One morning Harriet called Aedan down to the
kitchen where she was seated with Borr. Aedan took the place indicated.

“Your mother is weak,” she said. “Weak in body and
in mind. She was a prisoner to fear and guilt for too long.”

“What guilt?” Aedan asked, annoyed. “She never
hurt anyone.”

“Guilt for not defending you like she should have.
Do you think
I
would have stood by and watched?”

Aedan bristled. Harriet was treading very freely on
ground that was private.

“We need to discuss your future, Aedan,” she said.
“Due to your mother’s weakness, it is necessary for someone more capable to
take charge of you. It is time to start again with your lessons where they were
cut off. There will be no more hiding behind your father. I am going to set you
on a decent path and Borr will see to it that I am obeyed.”

Aedan looked at her, unsure how to begin. For the
duration of their travels he had avoided speaking of his plans because Harriet
had shown a readiness to listen in and then peck at him. He had found that the
best way to survive was to keep distant, and when that was not possible, silent.
But silence would not aid him now. He needed money in order to enter any trade,
even soldiering, and who else could he ask in a city of strangers?

But before he could frame his words, Harriet
continued. “You have spent more than enough time dabbling with bows and slings,
poking around in forests. These kinds of things are for dirty, reckless boys
and trappers, and you will be neither. We have discussed it and have agreed
that you are to enter a trade. The best course for you would be something very
different to whatever your father tried to teach you. You must be scrubbed of
his influence. So we have decided to apprentice you to a chef at the inn
nearby. You will start today. During the evenings I will resume the task of improving
your character. It is clear to me that your mother’s influence has spoiled you,
indulging your irresponsible notions. That will also come to an end.”

Aedan tried to calm his pulse – the throbbing felt
like hammers against his temples. “I want to become a soldier,” he said.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, Aedan! Look at you.
You’ve been in bandages half the time I’ve known you. Your frame is not sturdy
enough for soldiering.”

“But my mother –”

“I have spoken to your mother and cleared up that
foolishness already.”

Aedan wasn’t sure if she was lying or telling the
truth. It worried him that both were possible.

“You, my boy, do not have the makings of a
soldier. All of us can see it.”

Aedan knew his face was turning red. He knew his
next words would be red too, but he made no attempt to hold them back. “The
things that put me in bandages killed grown men! Ask my mother if you don’t
believe me. Do you think soldiers don’t get burned, or that they fall from
cliffs without getting hurt? What do you know about the army anyway?”

Harriet’s lips were bunching as her eyes narrowed,
but Aedan was not finished.

“And you talk about getting rid of my father’s
influence, but how many times did his trapping or my hunting fill your belly?
He
taught me. It was
his
skills that kept us alive on that journey, or have
you forgotten all this now that you’re comfortable?”

Borr placed his hands on the table and rose to his
feet. He looked at Aedan, shaking his head. This man they had assumed to be a
plodding ox was turning out to be more of a guard dog, silent and watchful
until roused.

Aedan drew back. He knew he had taken the wrong
tone. He considered explaining his reasons for wanting to take up arms, but
that would mean baring the deepest part of his soul, and he would not do that
here.

“I want to become a soldier,” he said again, more
quietly this time.

“You will do no such thing!” Harriet snapped. “If
there’s one thing I know how to correct, it is stubbornness. Now get to your
room, pack your clothes, and clean yourself up. Then come down here with a
better attitude. The chef expects you before mid-morning.” She tapped her
knuckles on the table with a look that declared the conversation to be over.

Aedan dropped his head, turned and left the room.

He had no choice.

He did as he was told – went up the ladder to his
room, packed his little bag, and cleaned himself up.

Then he climbed out the window and headed for the
city.

Harriet could tap that table all she wanted. She
had been accommodating and kind to his mother, but her kindness did not grant
her ownership of him. He was no chef’s assistant, and he was not going to be
bullied into this woman’s choices. He covered ground quickly. The last thing he
wanted was for Harriet to send Borr after him.

How he would get into army training without being
able to pay fees was a problem that rose tall and stern. But for now his
biggest worry was escaping the prison Harriet had built.

At the gate, Aedan’s bandaged head drew some
attention, but the guards did not appear to bother much with children and they let
him pass. Cameron was not on duty, so Aedan approached the most friendly looking
of the guards.

“Hello,” he said. “I want to become a soldier.
Where should I go?”

The guard’s surprised face broke into a grin.

“Oi, fellas, lookee here. We’ve a young one what
wants to start soldiering.” A few of the guards looked across and smirked.

“Looks like he’s had some experience with violence,”
one said. The others laughed.

“Order!” The guard who shouted was clearly the
ranking officer. He walked up.

“Don’t mind them,” he said to Aedan. “Only
difference between you and them is that you aren’t pretending to be grown up.”
There was some grumbling behind him. “The barracks are in the middle of the
north-west quarter. You could go through the Seeps but I wouldn’t recommend it.
Rather follow King’s Lane all the way up. You’ll pass the regent’s office on
your left and the city market on your right. The road branches at the keep.
Don’t stare at the guards. Take the left branch and follow it west until it brings
you to a big courtyard and the gates of the barracks. The marshals’
headquarters are nearby. They have an office that faces the same courtyard. Don’t
mistake them for the army.”

“What are the marshals?” Aedan asked, intrigued.
“I think I once read something about them, but it was only a mention.”

“You don’t know about the grey marshals?” The
soldier was almost shocked. “Ah, I suppose I should have guessed from your
accent. You are new here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, then I’d best warn you that the marshals are
not men you want to be mingling with. They are a strange breed, only ever seen
where trouble is worst, normally at night. They are wolves in their grey
cloaks, sent in to deal with things the rest of us would rather not know
about.”

“Are they soldiers too?”

“Certainly not! There is a divide between us that
not even a common cause would be able to bridge. They skulk about in secret. We
deal in the open. A regiment of our men came across a pair of them in the Seeps
last week. Tried to question them. When they refused to answer, the soldiers
tried to escort them to the barracks. Ten men they were. Spent the next week in
the infirmary.”

“Two marshals!” Aedan exclaimed.

“Wolves, I tell you. Unnatural and uncivil. Best
keep your distance. Soldiers are the ones you want.”

In Aedan’s mind, the information was having a
different effect. If ten soldiers could have the stuffing beaten out of them by
two marshals, then how far would a soldier’s skills get him? He needed to grow
strong, not jolly and chummy.

Aedan glanced past the old guard at something that
had caught his eye. The young guards were questioning a group of pretty young
girls while a heavy-looking cart trundled by unnoticed. He saw one of the girls
glance nervously at the cart and realised she was connected somehow. The girls
were a decoy.

“Thank you,” Aedan said. “In return for you
kindness, can I point out the cart that has just slipped past your guards. I
think you’ll find something in there that doesn’t belong in the city.”

The old guard knew to act on tips. His orders were
crisp and loud, and the big man trundling the cart was apprehended. It cut Aedan
when he heard one of the girls screaming for her father.

As he watched, he caught sight of someone riding a
horse through the crowd. Through the clutter, he couldn’t tell if it was Borr,
but decided it would be best to avoid finding out. Aedan ducked into the first
alley and began weaving his way north-west. It wasn’t the path the soldier had
recommended, but it was now necessary to avoid open roads. He pulled his jacket
from the pack and wound it round his head to hide the bandage lest he leave a
trail of observers who could point after him through the entire city.

The girl’s wails kept echoing in his thoughts. It
reminded him of one awful day when he’d slipped off to watch a hanging at
Crossroads. He had promised to avoid it and spent the next year wishing he’d
kept his promise. For some reason the man’s wife had been present. He could
still hear her scream. Sometimes he still felt angry at the hangman.

Was the law just another tyrant? Was it better to
let all people go their own way and not interfere? He wondered if his father
might have said yes.

He paid little attention to the surroundings while
he busied himself with his thoughts. He didn’t notice how the lanes grew narrower,
darker, and the idlers more watchful.

Part of what eased his thoughts was a presence of another
boy a few years older than him, fifteen or sixteen he thought. They had been
walking a few yards apart for several blocks now. Though they shared no words,
they exchanged a look or two, found each other unthreatening, and established a
kind of neighbourliness, the peculiar bond often felt by travellers on
uncertain roads.

Though taller, the other boy was slight and
shrew-like in his movements, almost timid, but he seemed familiar with the area.
When a split in the alley offered a broader road to the right, he hesitated. Aedan,
eager to show some initiative and pluck, walked on, but quickly wondered if it
had been a good decision. A large group of older boys was gathered here. It
looked as if they were doing some kind of dance.

They stood on either side of the road, eyes fixed
on each other. One at a time they would leave their line and walk up to the
other side with jaunty steps and cold, challenging stares. The stares were
returned with such vehemence that it seemed the prelude to a fight, but it
never went further than these threatening gestures. Apparently the boys were
gaining some enjoyment from the performance.

Encouraged by this, Aedan decided to walk on and
slip past. He assumed it was just another unusual aspect to this city’s
culture. But instead of continuing, unaware of him, this strange dance
immediately re-formed around him, placing him at the centre.

He smiled and tried to excuse himself, but there
were no smiles in return. Everywhere he stepped, a glaring face appeared,
blocking his way. He was sure the looks of hatred were given in jest and would
soon be cast off.

Then he was not so sure.

But how could they possibly be in earnest? He had
given no cause for offense.

It was when the first shove threw him off balance
that he knew he had made a mistake.

The blow that took him from behind almost split his
head apart. He dropped to his knees, and even before he hit the ground, a quick
hand snatched the bandage and ripped it away.

Cries of disgust filled the alley and several boys
spat at him.

“This here is my ground, Ooze-head. Who gave you
permission to enter, especially with a filthy pus-drenched head like yours?”

Aedan’s thoughts were clearing.

The words drifted past unheard. Deep, wild
instincts were taking over.

“Oi! When I am talking –”

No rabbit ever bolted from a circle of hounds the
way Aedan took off now.

He darted between a pair of legs before anyone
could reach him, felt the whoosh of something through the space he had just
occupied, and put on a wild burst of speed. A big hand lunged towards him but
he struck it away, veered, and almost had his teeth knocked out by a swinging
stick.

He dived beneath it and tumbled to the ground
where he slipped and sprawled through rotten vegetables and filth that was even
more evil-smelling. Before he had stopped sliding, he pushed himself up,
filling his hands with the mush as he did so. He was almost quick enough.

The gang was behind, but one of their number had
been loitering near the far end of the alley and now pounded to a stop in front
of the slime pond. He gripped Aedan by the neck with steel hands.

“I’ve got the little –”

That was all he managed, because he suddenly got
something he had not expected when Aedan lunged up and slapped both handfuls of
muck into his eyes. The steel hands released instantly, accompanied by a howl
of pain. Aedan slipped past, leapt over a broken crate just ahead of stretching
fingers, and hared away down the alley. He didn’t stop until the pain in his
bad leg was strong enough to taste.

This alley was darker, but it was quiet. He could
hear the shouts behind him. Apparently the boys had given up the chase. The
voices were receding, but were also getting louder and more excited. Like the
yapping of dogs on a trail.

Suddenly Aedan remembered his young travelling
companion. On cat feet, he stalked back to the last corner and peered around.
It was as he had feared. The young boy had watched for too long. They had him
now. Blows and kicks were raining down on him until he was too stunned to defend
himself.

“Answer me!” It was the same voice that had spoken
to Aedan. He couldn’t make out the speaker, but between the gang’s legs he
could see his friend.

“I –” the boy tried before a boot dug into his
back.

“Did I say you could talk?”

Laughter. The speaker’s voice reminded Aedan of
Emroy.

“This is my ground. You’ll be respecting me. You’ll
be looking up when I talk to you.”

The boy tried to look up but someone swung a baton
against his head with a sharp
tonk
that brought a cry of pain.

“Did I say you could move?”

More laughter, mean laughter. When it was quiet
the first boy spoke again.

“I am the Anvil. You remember that, you little cockroach.
Next time I find you or that Ooze-head friend of yours here, I crush you. For
now, well I’ll just be cleaning you up a bit.”

There was a sound of shuffling and coarse
laughter. Aedan guessed what was happening before he saw the filthy splashing
stream. The laughter continued.

“Much better,” the Anvil shouted when he was done.
“Now send him off.”

The boy was hauled to his bare feet and relieved
of his jacket and shoes. They kicked him away and pursued him with a hail of
stones, rubble, and an assortment of rotten vegetables. The taunts and threats
that pursued him were no less vile.

Aedan felt sick. He had stood there and done
nothing, just watched. He knew there was little he could have done, but that
didn’t make him feel better. He saw the boys pulling open a bag and tossing out
the contents – a shirt, a wad of paper, a book, a sling. Wondering why it all
looked so familiar, Aedan realised that it was his bag. His shoes were there
too. Obviously he’d lost them in the first wild dash. There was no going back
for anything now. With a start, he slapped his hand against his chest.

It was still there.

The little leather case was hanging around his
neck and he pressed it to him. If any of the boys had reached for it he would
have fought to the death.

He hurried away from the scene, uncertain where he
was going, only that he needed to be well away. The numbness of flight was receding
and the injuries began to seep into his thoughts. He realised the skin was gone
from a heel, several toes, his knees and elbows; and his head ached like it had
been struck by an anvil, as in fact it had.

At first he was confused by the suddenness of it
all, but as he hobbled on through the alleys, the treatment he had felt and
witnessed began to soak itself past the skin, and such a torrent of anguish
swept through him that he found his eyes moist, his teeth clenching. The gang
had only managed to get in a few shoves and cuffs, but after all that Aedan had
recently been through, the force of each blow was multiplied a hundredfold.

Anger started to burn in him. He wanted to go back
and find the Anvil – or Dilbert or Zuffy or whatever his real name was – and
beat him to a pulp, restore his own identity, his sense of being someone who
deserved respect.

But he couldn’t, so instead he grabbed a plank
from a broken crate and assaulted the nearest wall, feasting on images of a gory
revenge. He battered away until the wood was in fragments and his fingers raw
with splinters.

But when the fury subsided, the heat gave way to
something cold – aloneness. He began to realise just how small he was in a city
that was as cruel as it was strange. The people that walked past looked at him
without the recognition he had been accustomed to in the Mistyvales, and in its
place was a constant wariness, almost suspicion. As an unaccompanied,
penniless, barefoot and dirty boy, what hope did he really have of walking off
the street into military training? And if this failed, where would he go? He
scraped the shreds of his confidence together and pushed on.

Aedan was exhausted when he stumbled out of the maze of
alleys into a surprisingly spacious courtyard. The military offices and
barracks were clearly marked on one side. On the other side was a colossal
high-walled enclosure. The sign over the main entrance arch proclaimed it to be
The Castath Royal Academy of Security and Foreign Associations
. The
wordy name baffled him for a moment until he realised that this must be the
great academy that was famous across the whole of Thirna. Nearby, an office set
in the wall was marked
Castath Marshals, Public Office
. He hadn’t
realised that it was at the academy where the grey marshals were trained.
Suddenly he wanted to enter marshal training in a way he had seldom wanted
anything before.

He found a small pool of rainwater where he washed
the blood and filth off as best he could, neatened himself up, and approached
the entrance to the marshals’ head office.

As he drew near, his hands began to fidget. The guard
at the door raised his eyes. The look he wore was not inviting. Aedan’s step
faltered and he stubbed his already-skinned toe. When the shudders had passed,
he looked up again. The guard was watching him and shook his head; his face was
as hard as the offending brick. What remained of Aedan’s bruised courage collapsed
and he turned aside and found himself hobbling away towards a nearby library.

There was nobody guarding the door here, but just
to avoid drawing attention, he walked beside a middle-aged couple as they
climbed the stairs. Once within the building, he kept them between himself and
the librarian’s desk until he could slip down one of the aisles.

The library at the Mistyvales had consisted of a
few dozen books and scrolls on topics ranging from soil management to trade law
to tales of sea-monsters, intermittently lost and found on Nulty’s shelves.
Nulty had his own personal collection, but Aedan had never seen it. Dresbourn’s
shelves held some stuffy volumes of lineage, and Nessa had kept two shelves of
histories.

What surrounded him now was nothing short of staggering.
Had he not seen it, he would never have believed that this many books and scrolls
existed. The racks were so high that movable ladders stood against them at
intervals, allowing access to the upper shelves. He walked down the aisle, his
bare feet hardly whispering on the thick carpet. Cool, leathery air seemed to
swallow all sound. It reminded him of walking through the forest paths of Nymliss
– a place for remembering, forgetting, sorting things out. There was a similar
kind of space to think here.

He took a few turns, moving towards the back of
the building, and found a place well away from anyone else. Then he let his
eyes start drifting over the spines. Some had the titles written on them,
others only an arrangement of numbers which he assumed to be the library’s
code. A title caught his eye and he drew out a squat volume –
The Five
Generals of the Elgan Epoch
. Sitting down on the carpet, he opened the book
and found the chapter he wanted. The scribe’s hand was elegant but still clear.
Aedan was less familiar with the southern variations on some of the letters but
his mother had taught him the differences. Soon he was lost in the terrible
encounters on the Thirnish borders. Time passed in a quiet oblivion. He neither
saw nor heard the big shape approach.

“This is no place for boys.” The voice had a depth
and command the likes of which Aedan had never heard before.

He gasped and leapt to his feet, leaving the book
on the floor. The man was enormous, filling the space between shelves, and so
tall that he would have no need of the ladder. Iron grey hair and weather-worn
skin suggested age; powerful limbs and lithe movement decried it. He looked
strong enough to walk through walls of stone with only minor inconvenience. His
face was hard, not mean, but stern as flint and with just as much promise of
fiery sparks. The suit he wore was so perfectly cleaned and pressed that Aedan
was certain he had to be in the highest ranks of nobility if not royalty. This
was not someone he wanted to anger. He turned and scurried off before being
sent on his way with more than words. But before he reached the end of the
aisle, the big voice rang out with paralysing authority, “Stop!”

His feet stuck fast, as if gripped in the deep
carpet. He swallowed and turned around, fearing that he had damaged something.
The man was holding the book.

Aedan prepared to run.

“You were reading this?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man regarded him. “This is not likely reading
material for someone your age. Did you understand it?”

“No, not really,” Aedan admitted.

“I thought not,” the man said, returning the book
to the shelf and lining the spine against its neighbours with absolute
precision. “As I said, this is no place for boys. Don’t let me find you
meddling here again.”

Something about the injustice of the man’s
conclusion bit Aedan. He had endured enough injustice for one day and drew
himself up.

“I don’t understand how catapults could sink Lekran
ships anchored near Verma. I knew an old sailor and he used to tell us about
how shallow the water is there because of the reefs. The ships would have been
half a mile out. Even our big thumper catapults don’t have a range like that. I
think the ships were sunk in some other way – like maybe they got blown onto
the reef – and someone is trying to make it look like we pounded them.

“I also can’t see how seven hundred soldiers could
march twenty miles through a dense forest during the night to defend a town by
morning. Even during the day, with a bright sun, it’s difficult to go fast and to
keep going straight through forest. I think the soldiers set off a day or two
before the beacons were lit. Must have been some commander’s lucky guess. Now
this historian wants to make it look more solid-like, as if our defences don’t
need luck.

“I’m confused because this is supposed to be a
book about facts and it’s loaded with fairy tales written to make us look
invincible.”

The big man’s face did not seem like it was
accustomed to showing surprise, but it was getting some practice now. “How old
are you?” he asked, walking up with giant strides.

“Almost thirteen.”

“Almost thirteen,” he mused. “There are generals
who have missed for years what you have uncovered in one reading. How did you
learn of such things? Who taught you?”

The unexpected interest the man was showing caused
his face to seem less severe. It revealed a deep sincerity that made Aedan want
to talk, to share some of the weight he carried.

“I used to speak with the old soldiers a lot, and
I read a lot. My mother taught me and my friend …” – Aedan couldn’t bring himself
to say her name, not today – “taught us to read. We read many stories and
histories. I agreed to discuss the stories with her if she discussed the
battles with me. So we knew all the great battles in detail, all the great
generals.”