Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (29 page)

Despite the bruises and exhaustion, there was a
glimmer of enjoyment on the sweat-and-straw-caked faces. Some things had begun
to fall into place.

On the way back from the dinner hall, Aedan felt a
tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Malik indicating with his head that
he should step into a little study cove. He was curious to know what this was
all about, so he obliged.

“What is it?” he asked.

Malik looked at him, pale, colourless eyes made
more vivid by their hawk-like hoods of steeply angled, dark eyebrows. He said
nothing until the noise of footsteps had dwindled. Cayde stood at the opening
to the passage and turned towards them, nodding as he crossed his arms.

Aedan began to feel uncomfortable. “Well?” he
asked.

“I don’t need to be reminded that I called you
here, North-boy.” Aedan felt his skin frosting in Malik’s breath. “My purpose
is to inform you that your life may be in danger,” Malik said without emotion.

“Who would –”

“The boy you displaced by cheating.”

“I broke no rule! Osric himself said so.”

“I don’t take kindly to being interrupted,
especially not with information that I already have. If I made the selections
then obviously I beat you in the elimination so I would have been there to hear
your pet general interfering. But as I was saying, the boy who was cheated from
his place has friends that would like to see him put into marshals’ training
where he belongs. They are not afraid to be violent.”

“The selections are over. Even if I withdrew,
nobody could get in.”

“Maybe for the likes of you. But there are ways
when you know important people. There are also ways of seeing that you get maimed.
Perhaps even crippled for life.”

“Seeing me … What do you mean? Are you trying to –”

“I won’t pretend that I like you, but it’s not me
you need to worry about. I am trying to prevent an injury. Face it – you have
some skills, but you will never be a marshal. What foreign monarch would want a
face like yours in his courts? You belong in the barracks, and maybe you could
go far there – I could even get someone to put in a good word for you – but
this isn’t where you belong. Didn’t you notice that the only girl who wanted
anything to do with you was the one we all avoided – and for a good reason.
Those Mardrae are foul. Trust them and you’re always sorry.”

“She’s not like that –”

“You are interrupting me again, North-boy. My
partner at the field surgery class was quite open about how revolted the rest
of the girls are by your shiny scalp and half ear. I don’t enjoy saying this –
it’s not like you asked to be turned into a monster – but you do need to hear
the truth from someone who won’t try pretty it. I’m not a biased friend. I’m
just putting it out the way it is.”

Aedan looked back in silence, confused, reeling.
He would have known what to do with bare threats, but this had knocked him
completely off balance.

“Consider it,” Malik continued. “If you remain
here you will have enemies for life, powerful enemies, justly angry that you
cheated your way past them. And what’s it all for? A false dream. The fact is
that you are standing where someone else would do a whole lot better.” Malik
pushed a final stare into Aedan’s face and walked away.

Aedan lingered to sort out his thoughts, making
himself late enough to provoke a tongue-lashing by Dun. Sleep did not come
quickly and it did not soothe his doubts. The next day he felt worse. He decided
to put the matter before someone who could give him perspective, and if Malik
was right, then he would be faced with an awful decision …

Giddard leaned back on his desk and listened patiently while Aedan
offloaded.

“It’s not the threat that I’m worried about,” he
said after presenting the situation as Malik had put it. “I expect marshals
will always be threatened. What I’m worried about is that I don’t belong here
and I’m in someone else’s position. Did I really make it in, or am I here because
I got nudged through or something?”

The wizened master pursed his craggy lips as he
gathered his thoughts. “Osric,” he said, “would probably have defended anyone
he saw being injured by an abuse of rules. He has a personal hatred for that
sort of thing. As to nudging, no, there was no nudging or charity involved in your
placement here. Osric was not even present for the second stage of eliminations
or the final selections. There was some division in your case, but it was
decided solely on merit. Master Skeet made it plain – quite forcefully I might
add – that he had never encountered such mature strategic reasoning in anyone
your age. I don’t mind telling you that your temper was considered a problem” –
Aedan felt his face colour with embarrassment, or was it a faint glow of anger?
– “while your unusual perspective on situations was thought by the majority to
hold great value. You look at things in a unique way, unlike anyone I’ve ever
taught. That is very valuable here.”

This, Aedan found surprising. He had never really
thought of it as something good, just something that made him different – often
to the annoyance of others. He never tried to take strange angles when
considering a matter; he simply didn’t know how to think any other way.

Giddard continued, “I hope I am not breaching a confidence
when I say that you have a strong supporter here with the authority to overrule
any of the masters or even Osric. This patron sees in you a potential he sees
in none of the others. Malik is exaggerating the effect of a scar on a
diplomat. The more war-like monarchs might even consider it favourable. It
might result in fewer swooning ladies at court, but I would not consider this an
obstacle to your duties. Don’t be concerned that you are a dragging anchor to
this institution. This is exactly where you belong and I’ll have words with
anyone who plants other ideas in your head.”

Aedan’s relief was visible. He had come here unsure
if he belonged in the academy, but Giddard had set things in perspective. And
given him something to ponder. Who could this patron be? Surely not Culver.
There had been no warmth or support there.

“Thank you,” he said. “But can I ask that you
rather let
me
speak to Malik?”

“Certainly. I’m glad you want it so. As a marshal
you will often have no one but yourself to back you up.”

He caught up with Malik while walking across the
courtyard of the medical buildings and summarised his discussion with Giddard. Malik
listened with a pained expression, blending pity with contempt. When he finally
spoke, it was as a disappointed older brother.

“Listen to the people around you,” he said. “Don’t
you notice the stares? Don’t you hear the whispers? Don’t you understand what
they mean? Do you think Giddard with his face of wrinkled cowhide actually
understands any of this? Of course he would try to make that thing on the side
of your face seem like it doesn’t matter. Become a soldier, Aedan. As a soldier,
the helmet will hide the damage and put you on an equal footing.”

Aedan felt his confidence slipping again. He did
not like Malik, and he suspected there was some darker motive behind this, but
he was struggling against the cold logic in the boy’s words.

Liru stepped up to them. Neither of the boys had
noticed her approach. She addressed Malik in a voice as clear and even as if
she were asking directions.

“You know little of the southern cultures if you
think yourself better off. You have obviously never heard the saying, ‘skin
pale as sickness and eyes weak as rainwater.’ This is a very common saying. It
describes such as you. In the south, scars are carried with honour. They speak
of strength to those who bother to think on it.”

“What do I care of such barbaric ideas?” Malik
snarled.

“Do you mean that? You are a student of these
cultures. Does this hope to achieve ignorance extend to other areas of your
studies?”

Malik’s lip twitched. He glared with cold fury before
turning to Aedan and saying, “Stay at this academy and you will regret it! This
I promise you.”

Aedan’s brows rose. Suddenly Malik did not seem so
impartial – it was clear now that his involvement was deeply personal. Anger
had lunged forward and caused a tear in the curtain, and it was no mild anger
that lurked back there. He walked away fast enough to require Cayde to jog at
his elbow.

Aedan turned to Liru. “I worry that you made an
enemy,” he said.

“My father told me I could not be a true friend
without sharing some of my friend’s enemies.”

“You would want to be my friend at a price like
this?”

“Yes. You are kind and I have not always known
kindness here. There are many tongues that have injured me in this place, but
yours I do not fear.”

“Do I need to fear your poison?” he asked, holding
up his bandage.

“My father also said he pitied my friends for the
poisonous wit they would have to survive.” She offered no smile, simply turned and
walked into the class.

Aedan laughed to himself and followed.

By the afternoon session with Dun, Aedan was
feeling better. Some of what Malik had said was truth, he couldn’t deny it;
some was exaggeration, he was beginning to recognise that now; and some had
been collected from the south side of a horse.

He would carry this burn scar through life and it
was time to start accepting it. There were, doubtless, people who would see it
as Malik did, but then, should he really care what people like Malik thought?

That was how the reasoning went, but later when
the lights were out, the images returned to mock and haunt – images that Malik
had spawned – frowns of disgust, shaking heads, hands clamped to laughing
mouths and the ever curious stares. They danced before Aedan’s eyes though he
squeezed them shut and crushed them with his fists.

“Why? Why? Why must I be such a … such a freak?”
he silently screamed into the darkness. “Why can’t I just be like everyone
else?” He pounded the mattress, pulled at his hair and tore the skin until
exhaustion left him in a hollow silence that finally, mercifully, became sleep.

“In two weeks we will hold the first challenge, and
it will go poorly with anyone who fails.”

Dun’s words brought immediate silence to the dining
hall.

“These challenges will take place regularly. Every
challenge is different and always a surprise, so I’ll tell you nothing except
that anything you have covered in your classes may be of use, and that you
would do well to get some good rest before the day.”

Aedan stopped chewing, even forgot to swallow. He
was still too weak for any kind of physical test.

The next day – the last day of the week – was
theirs to do with as they pleased, as long as they remained within the academy.
Aedan spent it worrying.

Three months would pass before they would be
allowed out. The academy, however, was large enough and peopled enough to
provide distraction. But with the panic surrounding this challenge, there was
no thought spared for anything outside their training.

Following two weeks of dread and preparation,
classes were suspended for a day, and the boys began a series of tests.

First was Skeet who had them critique a flawed attack
plan using maps and logistical data. Aedan impressed the stern master again by
picking up on a detail nobody else had considered – the direction of the small
stream that had its source in the enemy camp. It rendered the entire siege
useless no matter what was done with troops and catapults, because the besieged
force could simply dam up the stream at its source or use filth and rotting
carcasses to defile the water as it left their camp, defeating the attackers by
thirst or disease.

For the other tests, they had to exchange basic
greetings and obtain directions in Orunean, mark the points of the compass
using sun and stars, and apply their knowledge of law and foreign relations to
a complex case involving an important trade dispute – in which Peashot got in
trouble when he recommended Skeet’s battle plan.

After completing the theory aspects, they were
sent to Dun. Several older marshal apprentices, kitted out in pads, waited in
the training hall, tensing their fists and looking hostile. Dun called the
first-years out one at a time to face an older boy and demonstrate his unarmed
combat skills. Aedan stood at the back of the line. He was relieved to see that
none fared too well. Peashot, like most of them, abandoned technique in the
excitement and brawled like a tomcat. Dun yelled and called them all an
embarrassment to his training, then demanded basic sequences that he could
evaluate.

At last it was Aedan’s turn. He had hoped that
those who were finished would leave, but the crowd remained. He could not be
shown to be the weakest, anything but the weakest, especially with Malik’s
group looking at him like he was something that needed to be cleaned off the
floor. He walked to the middle of the hall, a hall full of eyes and whispers.
His desperation was rising. It scrambled everything in his thoughts, even Dun’s
last instruction.

When the signal was given, he charged at his
opponent, unleashing a wild flurry of swinging punches, airy kicks and skidding
contacts. A shove from the older boy tipped him backwards while his legs were
going forward and he landed with a smack. There he lay, staring up at the
ceiling and gaping, cod-like, for air that wouldn’t come.

The laughter was worse than Dun’s shouts. Aedan
didn’t want to know what the master wrote down, and he vowed to himself that no
matter how desperate, he would never again fight without thinking.

The winning dorm – Malik’s – was rewarded with an
apple pastry which was presented to them after dinner. The other boys retired,
Peashot seeming to take forever. Aedan was partway down the passage when
exclamations of dismay floated after him. He looked back to see Peashot wearing
a deeply satisfied expression.

“You know what’s happening in there?” Aedan asked.

Peashot shrugged, but Aedan held the stare.

“Maybe,” said Peashot at last. “Maybe the dustpan could
have got emptied into the mix. Would have been difficult to spot the chunks of
charcoal and sand between all those little raisins. But I’m just guessing.”

This was too good to keep. Aedan told the dorm of
Peashot’s “suspicion” as soon as they got back. The laughter continued for a
long time and the little fiery-haired boy received a good deal of
congratulation. Nobody was going to tongue-wag on him.

And in that moment Aedan realised something. For
the first time since leaving the Mistyvales, he had found real friends – and
understood how much they meant. They had not swept his troubles away nor he
theirs, but somehow it was easier on those heavy days to stand under the load
when standing shoulder to shoulder. He found their company often helped him to
see bright rifts in leaden skies. On other days the clouds would melt under a
cheerful sun, and the cheer was multiplied a hundredfold when shared.

Previously, he had considered himself a loner
because he was comfortable on his own out in the forests. But even in the north,
he had secretly enjoyed turning his steps back home after a solitary day. When
friends and family had been taken from him, he had felt like the man who says
he prefers winter until his coat and shelter are lost.

The growing friendships were warming him again,
restoring his confidence. It was clear that the same was true for Peashot,
though he was taking a lot longer to thaw. Daily, the loyalty and comradeship
were growing.

Then over the next few weeks, there were some
other things that started to emerge.

Lorrimer was messy in a way that defied
comprehension. And dirty. Socks, heavy with foot grease, would stick and slither
over furniture wherever they happened to be flung, and large, stained boots
regularly tripped anyone who had to walk past his area on nightly errands to
the privy.

Vayle was lazy, preferring to recline in aloof
majesty, offering philosophic advice rather than assistance. His tendency to
improve others’ stories, beginning with “No, that’s not what happened …” was
brought to an end when Peashot exploded and told him that if he couldn’t listen
to a story without correcting it he should move across to the college of legal
administrators where he would fit right in.

Peashot had a habit of “collecting” things that
had not previously belonged to him, and that nobody had seen him buy. When
Hadley once pressed the issue, identifying a gold-tipped letter opener that had
formerly belonged to Rodwell, Peashot insisted that it was borrowed. Things
grew lively when Hadley’s knife disappeared the following day. He marched right
over and shoved out an accusing finger. Peashot said something stinging. The
extended finger became a hand that grasped for the smaller boy’s neck, but the
movement was too slow. Peashot slipped underneath and landed a mean little
kick. Hadley, hopping on his remaining good knee, managed to wrestle the “thieving
weasel” into a corner. It took everyone else in the dorm to separate the
combatants.

The dorm was tense for a few days. Then, one
evening, Kian arrived to return the knife and thank Hadley for the loan. There
was a deep, thoughtful silence. Hadley ended it with a laugh. He walked over to
Peashot, apologised, and held out his arm. Peashot clasped the extended forearm
reluctantly and mumbled something that Aedan was not convinced was entirely
polite.

In this and any number of his interactions, Hadley
never showed hesitation. He was nothing if not recklessly headlong. This
impulsive tilt was born of supreme confidence, and often revealed itself – true
to his father’s description – as pushiness. Hadley had no need for space and no
awareness of anyone else’s need for it. He would invite himself into, and then
dominate, all manner of private conversations and solitary reveries.

With Aedan, the first objection was always
directed to an appetite for adventure so extreme that Vayle considered it
pathological. By the time the three month confinement to the academy was over, Aedan’s
fitness and confidence had begun to return. He wasted no time before charging back
into the ways he had known in the north. Not even Hadley tried to get in front
of him now when he bolted off to climb the highest trees during storms, dared
the rapids on rafts that were smashed apart more often than not, rigged and
tested swings that launched from branches sixty feet above the ground, and prowled
at night through wild regions considered hazardous even by the rangers. If
there were snakes to be caught, bush pigs to be tracked, or unpredictable horses
to be handled, he would be there.

The most problematic aspect was that he found something
irresistible behind every sign that ordered caution or forbade entry. Often,
the whole worried group had to work together to talk him out of some dubious
exploration. Mostly, their efforts failed, and the group was torn between
standing watch for officials, and fleeing the scene.

But, with Aedan, there was another problem, and it
was of an entirely different sort. It was his breath. He considered the
complaints utter nonsense. He couldn’t smell anything. And in this, the
halitosis was like every character flaw in the dorm, for none of the boys
recognised their supposed faults, or if they did, considered them harmless.

But Aedan’s was not a problem destined to be ignored.
One day, Liru handed him a bag containing a large vial of powdered charcoal,
mint, and several other ingredients, a reel of silken thread and some kind of
brush that looked like a coarse, hairy root.

“What’s this for?”

“I do not cry easily, but your breath, it makes my
eyes water.”

“Are you trying to say –”

“You stink, Aedan. Sort this thing out or I will
wear a mask when you speak to me.”

Liru, then, could perhaps have been charged with a
lack of subtlety, but she would have taken it as a compliment. In any case, the
point was made. Aedan slunk away and began sorting himself out.

In the dormitory, Hadley was the natural leader, not
because of any real ambition to be so, but because he was usually already on
the move before anyone else had finished considering the options. The only time
this changed was when Aedan had one of his adventurous or tactical ideas,
something that happened often enough for the two of them to trade roles almost
constantly.

For two months, the routine remained roughly the same,
and after the initial shock, they found ways of adapting. The near-reverence with
which they regarded the masters soon melted under the influence of familiarity.
They discovered that there were certain classes in which the back row was good
for short naps, and that some of the junior instructors failed to notice if a
desk was empty, allowing one or two to skip a class. Aedan would have skipped
every class on foreign relations, but
his
absence would never have gone
unnoticed. Kollis continued to teach as though arguing against Aedan’s unspoken
opposition.

Peashot was almost removed from training when Dun,
who happened to be standing at the door, caught him in the act of tenderising Rodwell.
He was allowed to return after a one-week detention, a sincere apology, and a
promise to never use a peashooter in the academy again. He insisted to his
friends that it had all been worth it for the sweet memory of Rodwell squealing
and trying to work his short, pink arms around his girth to dislodge the
imagined wasp.

For a while, Peashot made do without his weapon.
He compensated for his loss by planting trouble wherever he saw fertile ground.
Once, he asked Aedan if it would be possible to move the marble pillars marking
the stair traps. Aedan’s look had ended the discussion.

But Peashot soon found something else to distract
him in the form of a large dead yellow-banded viper. After ensuring that he was
late enough to be the last one entering class, he pinned it up on the outside
of Mistress Gilda’s closed door and then slipped inside. The hinges here all
turned inward, so when she opened the door at the end of the lesson, the large
scaly form swung into the room and wrapped gently round her.

It was not one scream, but several. The stocky
little woman emptied and refilled her lungs with impressive speed. Even Peashot
seemed to be in awe of the sonic onslaught. A number of the girls took up the
alarm and one or two of the city-bred boys backed away from the swinging viper,
falling over chairs and adding to the general air of panic. It was a
performance that would be forever etched into the memoirs of the noble
institution.

On the way out, Peashot told Aedan how he felt he
had benefitted from having his peashooter confiscated. “I’ve grasped the
importance of diversifying. Like Dun said, we mustn’t get fixed on one weapon,
but must be ready to snatch weapons and opportunities as they appear. He would
be happy, don’t you think, to see how I’ve learned my lesson?”

Aedan wondered for an instant if Peashot had
actually gone mad, but then he saw the sliding eye and the malicious little
grin.