Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (59 page)

“So the rain is love?”

“I think that’s what it means.”

Tyne was silent, then she shifted her feet as if
to rise.

“Don’t go,” Aedan said. “I won’t talk about that
anymore.” He heard her pause then settle slowly back, and realised that he had
unwittingly cracked a very hard shell. He did not want to chase her away. She
reminded him strangely of his mother. Under the war-like ways she was just as
soft, just as loving, and just as much in need of love.

As was he.

The moon hung over the mountains and silhouetted
the lone grey wolf with silver fire. The white patch on its head was smeared a
little towards the bottom, tribute to a good meal.

As a breeze trickled over the grass and pressed
through the leaves, an owl hooted above them, a soft and hollow tone over the
thin rustling. Beyond the wolf, the ground flowed away into hills upon hills,
rising slowly in breathless awe of the shadowy mountains. Aedan’s blood
thrilled at the lonely beauty, the haunting perfection. It was a sight he hoped
he would be able to recall for the rest of his days.

When the wolf had finished his meal and loped out
into the night, they began to make their way back to camp.

A distant yell of terror froze them to the ground,
but when they realised that it had come from the camp they sprang up and ran as
fast as the darkness would allow. Aedan knew Tyne was trying to draw ahead but
he wouldn’t let her. The orange light of the fire grew until they rushed into
the open circle, blades flashing.

Everyone was staring at the fortress and one of
the soldiers was pointing with a hand that shook like an unfastened sail in a
heavy wind.

“What is it?” Tyne asked.

The soldier answered without turning to her. “It
moved!” he said, his voice thin. “The fortress is moving! I saw one of the
towers change shape.”

“Could it not have fallen? The fortress is very
old.”

“No sound,” he said. “And it moved slow and
careful like. The way a person moves his arm. The way living things move.”

The campsite was silent for a long time. Osric
reminded the sentries to watch all quarters, no matter how compelling the stir.

“Too many stories?” Tyne asked.

Osric drew her back to the fire, away from the
soldiers before replying. “I don’t want to say it to them, but something has
moved up there more than once this evening. Merter saw it too.”

After a brief consultation with Merter, Osric
decided to douse the fire.

Culver seemed unperturbed by the commotion. He had
returned to a scroll covered with strange, thickly packed symbols, the
moonlight being strong enough for him to read. Aedan was impressed. The man
certainly had unshakable self-command. It seemed nothing could touch him, not
even fear. Fergal, however, stood beside them.

“What do you think,” Tyne asked him.

“I think it very uncharacteristic behaviour for stone,”
he said. “But beyond that I am as bewildered as you.”

“Culver too?”

“Him too.”

“Let us not contribute to their fears,” Osric said.
“Appetite or not, we must demonstrate confidence or every man here will have
deserted by morning.”

He cut a slice of venison and the others followed
his example, though they ate with their stomachs in their throats and their
eyes continually wandering to the dark mass on the hill.

After they had eaten, Culver handed a scroll to Fergal
who left the camp and climbed the side of a grassy rise. When he reached a flat
rock, he sat and began to study the parchment, glancing up repeatedly at the dark
structures ahead of him. After a while Aedan found the camp stifling again. He followed
his tutor and stood nearby. The symbols on the scroll conveyed nothing to him.
But when he lifted his eyes to the hulking shapes on the plain below, and
beyond them to the deep silence within moon-frosted walls and shadowed spires,
he understood a message more chilling than sleet.

“Are those the instructions for getting in?” he
asked.

Fergal released a deep breath. “Riddles, I’m
afraid, not instructions. Misinterpreted to our doom.”

That was enough to put an end to Aedan’s
interruptions. He peered out into the night, watching to see the movement the
others had reported earlier, and hoping not to. The uneventful monotony finally
lulled him, and he decided to head back to the camp and his blanket.

Osric’s fears were confirmed. It was starlight when he roused
the camp. Six of the soldiers were gone with a portion of the food stores.
Osric had seen them slip away, but had decided against challenging them. “Mortal
fear,” he explained, “can make a certain kind of soldier more a liability than
an aid. I do not want to have to worry about daggers in our backs while facing Kultûhm.
The immediate problem, though, is that we may now be in danger of wolves, not
so Merter?”

“Possible. It’s a big pack. Ten of us might seem
more inviting than sixteen. The deserters run a greater risk. Perhaps they will
draw the pack off, but I think not. The last time I saw the wolves, they were
moving north. On their return they will reach us first.”

“We must hurry,” said Osric. “By first light we need
to be across the plain. Tie up anything that jingles or gleams. Quickly now.”

The moon had set. It was by starlight that Merter picked the
way over the dew-laden grass. To the left, the dark presence of the fortress
could be felt more clearly than it could be seen, causing heads to turn in that
direction repeatedly. Fortunately the ground was level with few obstructions or
surprises. The remains of siege engines, army wagons and their fallen horses
had long since disintegrated. Gentle mounds were all that remained from the
disastrous final siege of Kultûhm. The fortress had never been conquered. It
stood empty because it had been abandoned.

The statues that had looked enormous from a
distance now defied belief. Features were not clear in the darkness, but the
huge portions of sky where stars were blotted out left no doubt as to the size
of these stone monoliths. It said something that the besieging army had not
pulled any of them down.

Despite the measures taken to move silently, each
fall of hooves or creak of saddles was like the clanging of a bell in that
undisturbed and silent place. To Aedan, their passing there seemed like a
coarse violation of some deep rest. And he was quite sure he did not want to wake
whatever it was that rested.

They kept to the outer ring of the plain, counting
off the statues as they passed them. When they reached the fifth, they stopped.
Culver and Fergal approached the base – a massive stone platform with a broad stairway
that reached from end to end. They spoke in low tones before calling for the
others.

Culver stood wrapped in thought as Fergal
explained. “There are two smaller statues on either side of the giant’s right
foot,” he said. “The one that lies must have its right arm rotated until it
points to the sky, the one that tells the truth must have its left rotated
until it points to the fortress.”

There was silence.

“You do know which is which?” asked Osric.

“Not yet,” said Fergal.

“Can we guess?”

“If we get it right, a door opens somewhere. If we
get it wrong, the levers jam and the door is sealed. I also suspect there will
be something more serious, like a hail of pig-sized rocks. These statues are
more than they appear.”

“So we must wait for light?”

“Just a little should be enough. Already I think
the statues are a touch less inky.”

As if in response to Fergal’s observation, a
barbet chattered nearby. Culver sent Merter and Senbert up the stairs to the
giant’s foot, the heel of which reached to their shoulders. The two smaller
statues were man-sized.

After brushing away a thick carpet of dead moss
and inspecting the shoulder joints, Merter called for help. “These joints will
not turn easily. Dust, rain and time have done a lot. It will take more than
two of us.”

Osric and Tyne joined them.

They waited for the light to grow, for the details
of the statues to emerge. The two stone forms may have looked alike in shadow,
but as the morning crept in, they were seen to be markedly different. The one
on the left was of a man with an open, smiling face. One hand was at his side
and the other was held out in a gesture of welcome. The statue on the right was
of a hunched woman, hook-nosed and ragged. Everything about her was vulgar from
her crooked bearing to the snarl which twisted her face into a grotesque mask.
Both her arms were held out in front of her, bent fingers splayed. There was no
welcome here.

Culver and Fergal climbed the stairs and halted before
the statues, locked in thought. After a silent contemplation, they returned to
the base of the stairs and stared up at the giant that towered over a hundred
and fifty feet above them. A few centuries of weather had left stains, fractures
and even craters in the stone. Broken pieces lay at the base, tangled in deep
grass. But the size of the statue was so great that the damage did not obscure
the overall form.

This was not just an oversized man – the heavy-boned
limbs, swollen hands, piggy little eyes and cavernous mouth were unmistakable.
This was a true giant of legend. Yet he was smiling – not a wicked, hungry
smile, but kind and respectful. Though he had the obvious strength to shatter a
tower, his open-handed gesture was one of peace. Aedan almost felt kindly
towards this simple, benign creature.

All waited in tense silence as the two scholars
discussed what they saw, comparing the giant with the man and woman. It was
clear to Aedan that the woman was the one at odds with the others. Her manner
and actions falsely represented the situation. He was not surprised when she
was declared to be the liar, solving the riddle. While the others prepared to
shift the arms, he decided to walk around to the back of the giant statue.

Something bothered him. It had been too easy. Any
puzzle deserved to be seen from a few angles. Skeet had often encouraged him to
nurture his desire to look at things in a way others had not considered.
Climbing onto the roof for a better view, Kalry had once called it. A walk
would give him a different perspective here.

The stone foundation was considerable, and it took
some time to reach the other side. When he did, he looked up, and what he saw
caused him to halt in mid stride.

“Wait!” he yelled, slipping in the dewy grass as
he sprinted back to the others. He glanced up, fearing a dreadful hail of
rocks. “Fergal, wait! Wait! It’s wrong! It’s the other way round.”

Everyone stared at Aedan as he scrambled around
the corner. The men who were straining at the arms stopped.

Culver glared, but Aedan persisted. “The giant has
a huge spiked club tucked into his belt, held against his back. Nobody would
carry a club like that unless they were trying to hide it briefly. The woman is
telling the truth – the giant is not to be trusted. It’s the man who is lying.”

Nobody spoke as they comprehended how close they
had come to tragedy, and in the stillness they now heard a sound that caused
the blood to drain from every face – a long, searching howl.

“They are on the north side of the fortress,” Merter
said in reply to the questioning glances. “The wind carries towards them. They
may not know of us yet, but I wouldn’t give it long. They will be here soon.”

Fergal turned to Aedan. “Are you sure of what you
saw?”

“Yes. I could see the spikes pressing into the
giant’s back. It looks uncomfortable.”

Fergal exchanged a look with Culver who nodded.
“Do as he says,” Fergal called. “Lift the man’s right arm up and turn the
woman’s left arm back.”

They set to work, but the rigid joints defied them
still. Another howl filled the air, louder, closer. Osric and Thormar joined
in. Even the two scholars climbed the stairs and added their weight to the
effort.

“There!” cried Liru, who was standing watch
nearby.

A stream of grey and white fur coursed around the
western slopes of the central hill. At first it looked as if the wolves would
run past, but then they stopped, noses to the ground.

“The scent of horsemeat,” said Merter. “It won’t
be long before they see us.” He threw his weight against the stone arm, heaving
and shaking with the effort.

Tyne stopped him. She drew a long, slender dagger
and drove it into the joint, wriggling the blade along and dislodging a shower
of natural cement and dust; then she did the same in a few more places around
the joint. Osric understood and followed her example on the other statue.

“They’ve seen us,” Liru called.

The plain was large and the pack still a few miles
distant, but they moved with bewildering speed.

“Together!” said Osric. The men heaved and the
woman’s arm ground slowly back until it pointed to the fortress. The man’s arm
had further to go, but after two concerted shoves, it pointed to the sky.

Nothing happened.

All eyes turned to Culver and Fergal. They were
looking around. Liru, standing at the base of the other foot ran towards them
but as she reached halfway she screamed and tripped, falling hard on the stone.

“What happened?” asked Tyne, rushing up.

“I don’t know. It was like the flagstones gave way
under me.”

Culver and Fergal were there in an instant,
walking back in the direction she had come. The stone was grooved, hiding any
cracks in the floor, so nobody was expecting it when the surface on which Fergal
stood gave way and he began to descend on a long ramp that was flush with the
flagstones on one end and tilted downwards into the earth at the other. He
turned around, pressed on the rising edge of the ground with his hands and
pulled himself up again. The stone ramp lifted as he took his weight from it.

“It’s counterweighted,” he said. “Get the horses
and mules. The slope should be gradual enough to take them down. Merter, light
a torch. It will be black as a dungeon down there. Aedan, bring his horse.”

Aedan was surprised to see how Fergal took charge without
even consulting Culver. Obviously he was given many responsibilities and was
required to act as speaker in these non-academic settings.

As he ran back down the stairs to the horses, Aedan
glanced across the plain and almost lost his footing. The wolves were close
enough now that the wind could be seen rippling their coats as they surged over
the grass, pulling the ground beneath them, ears flattened, eyes eager.

He seized the horses’ reins and led the unwilling
animals, clattering and snorting, up the stairs. They knew something was amiss.
Merter had already descended, lit a torch, and found a way to secure the ramp
in a downward position.

The horses did not descend willingly. Some had to
be pulled down. The danger of hurrying beasts that were stamping and rearing
was not lost on anyone, but the approaching tide presented a far greater
danger. The area cleared until only Osric, Thormar and Aedan stood at the lip
of the ramp, shoving the last stubborn horse, while Tyne hauled the reins from
below.

Then the sea of fur reached them.

Growling and yapping filled the air as a mass of
bodies, about fifty strong, swirled around the base of the statue and began
leaping up the stairs. Their natural caution had diminished with the size of
the party. Osric and Thormar drew their swords while Aedan tried to shove the
horse without putting himself in the line of a kick.

“You two,” Osric shouted. “Get down below. I’ll
cover.”

“Ramp’s blocked,” said Thormar, holding his
ground.

Two snarling wolves crept towards Osric. They
lurched and snapped simultaneously. His sword sliced into the neck of one, but
the other sank its teeth into his leg. Thormar’s boot thudded home and launched
the animal over the heads of its fellows while his sword swept across a line of
approaching muzzles. The wolves backed away a little, but showed no intention
of running. They began to circle.

Aedan saw there would be no winning this fight.
The horse was frantic now as it kicked and plunged, blocking the ramp. Those
hooves were as dangerous as the jaws grinning around him. With a sudden
inspiration, he drew his short sword, yelled for Tyne to get out of the way,
and stabbed the horse in the rump. It twitched, screamed, and rushed down.

“Clear,” he yelled. “Let’s go!”

No further invitation was needed. All three leaped
onto the ramp and backed into the comparative darkness below. They hurried off
the slope and Merter released the latch, but the ramp did not lift as it should
have. A glance made it clear why not. Several wolves were creeping down,
cautious, but not timid.

“Everyone lift, now!” Osric called, ducking under
the stone slab and heaving upwards. All those who were not obstructed by horses
joined in and the stone began to rise. The weight suddenly increased and it
dipped again. A forest of muzzles appeared at the edges, wrinkled and snarling.

“More hands!” Osric grunted.

Culver, Liru and Tyne joined the effort and gradually
the slab rose again. One of the muzzles was pinched in the shrinking gap and
there was a yelp of pain.

“Aedan, Liru,” said Osric, “it’s too high now for
you to reach. Find something to use as a brace.”

 They scurried about in the shadows, pushing
between restless horses to search the walls and corners, but there was nothing.
On the way back Aedan nearly had his head removed by a panicking mare that
kicked out behind her, striking another horse in the ribs with a loud smack. It
was so close that Aedan felt the rush of wind on his face and smelled hoof. By
the time he returned empty-handed, the ramp had risen and become part of the
ceiling.

“Wolves love to circle their prey,” said Merter. “Once
enough of them had got off the ramp to do so, it rose by itself. I don’t think
they will push it down again. No animal likes the feel of unstable ground.
Every wolf that tips the ramp will scramble off at the sensation.”

They did not have to wait long for the slab to dip.
There was a frantic clicking and scratching of claws, and the little wedges of
light disappeared again. Fergal was sure that there would be some lever to
reset the positions of the arms and secure the slab, but it could not be found.