Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (75 page)

Fergal insisted that Aedan interrupt him for help with
pronunciations after every tenth word he wrote down. It was a language with
difficult sounds requiring all manner of unfamiliar contortions of tongue and
lips to form the complex vowels.

The day went slowly.

Lekran folk stories were strange, full of sea
monsters that crawled up onto the shore in the forms of serpents or jelly-like
masses with hundreds of creeping tentacles. The heroes, if the illustrations
were to be trusted, scoffed at armour or anything else that interfered with the
display of their muscles. They donned only loincloths and attacked the beasts
with only spears. Most of the stories had similar themes to the ones Aedan had
grown up with, but the way the themes were illustrated was alien, sometimes
amusing, and often disturbing. It seemed to be a culture where strength and
domination were honoured. Kindness and mercy made few appearances.

“Very good,” said Fergal, when Aedan explained
these observations. “You are quite right, but I advise you not to share that
with your dinner hosts tonight.”

Aedan looked back wordlessly. For fifth and sixth
foreign languages they had not yet been required to socialise with native
speakers.

“You didn’t think you would be able to prepare in
the comfortable isolation of study without actually meeting the people
themselves?”

“But I …” Aedan could not put the Lekran words
together quickly enough and Fergal ploughed on.

“The sooner you put aside your barrier of
prejudice, the better. These are good people I am sending you to. Getting to
know and appreciate them will help to close the distance you would otherwise
preserve between yourself and the subjects of your studies.”

That was the beginning and end of the argument. Every
night from then on, Aedan dined with the Lekran families that Fergal knew. There
were four families. Two came from wealth, and two from more indigent
circumstances. These were people who had been granted citizenship of limited
rights in exchange for political favours. They were essentially traitors to
their homeland, but they were natives of Lekrau and had not forgotten the
customs of their people.

Aedan rotated through the families, dining as a Lekran
every night of the week. The initial warmth of welcome and the
self-consciousness of entertaining a stranger caused his hosts to suppress many
cultural peculiarities, but soon these began to show through.

He noticed how the women’s roles were more
subordinate, how children never dared to interrupt, how the father determined
what was funny or interesting, how this was never challenged, how nobody was
ever thanked for doing what was perceived to be a duty, and a hundred other
social currents that no book would have properly revealed. Yet beneath it all
he perceived a comfort with the customs, or perhaps just an unwillingness to
challenge them. But no matter how familiar they became, some of these social
norms continued to feel wrong to him.

A number of the dishes were as strange as that
first breakfast Fergal had prepared. Aedan had more than one desperate moment
when getting the food down was only a shade less difficult than swallowing
bricks. By sheer force of will he avoided humiliating himself. He even began to
like some of the peculiar foods.

One of the more unsettling lessons he learned was
never to touch the women. After Aedan took an embarrassed woman’s hand in
greeting, her husband drew him aside and explained that taking an unmarried
woman’s hand was akin to a proposal of marriage, and touching another man’s
wife was an insult only atoned for with blood. Aedan understood by this that a
significant quantity of blood would be required. He apologised profusely and
never repeated the mistake. It was a stark warning of how easily a cultural
blunder could ruin everything once he was on Lekran soil.

“Fergal,” Aedan began after returning from one of
these dinners. “I have something I want to do and I think I can convince you,
but you are not going to like it.”

The first spring winds rushed in from across the
plain, carrying a stream of dead leaves, wheat husks and dizzy midges that
tumbled past the five people sitting on the west wall. The early sun was just cresting
the hill. It warmed their backs and threw long shadows out over the grassy
expanse. As the parapets here had not been completed, they were able to sit
side by side on the broad surface with their feet dangling.

“Thank you,” Liru said, squeezing Aedan’s arm. “You
already know my answer.”

“And mine,” said Peashot as he leaned forward,
puffed into the tube, and sat back with a slightly tilted head to better
appreciate the yell of pain from below.

“Hadley?” said Aedan.

“I have a few questions.” While he was all
momentum when following his own instincts, he had shown a curious tendency to
think a good deal more about others’ plans.

“Ask away,” said Aedan. It wasn’t the first time
Hadley was cross-examining his ideas.

“Firstly, why take so many? Doesn’t that make it
harder to move unnoticed?”

“In Thirna yes, but on the Lekran Isles it is
different. The more slaves people have, the more important they are and the
less they are interfered with, up to a point. Tyne has seen it herself. She was
posted there for a year.”

“It’s just like that,” she said.

“Alright. Then how did you convince this Fergal to
include us? Taking two marshal apprentices and Liru out of training for the
duration of the rescue is a big cost. I don’t see how he can justify it for the
rescue of two girls who can’t really be of any help to Castath. What did you
promise him?”

Aedan laughed. “I didn’t offer you as a library
slave if that’s what you are worried about. I told him that Liru’s sister would
be a potential source of information valuable to Castath, and to find her we
need Liru. I also said that with you and Peashot along, sabotage becomes
feasible.”

“Sabotage!” Peashot’s face lit up.

Hadley’s grinned. “Exactly what are we going to
sabotage?”

“I’d like to destroy all their sacrificial temples
and sink every one of their slave ships. That would be a good start.”

“I’m sure you’d also like to fly.”

“Even if we only sink one ship,” Aedan said, this
time without humour, “it will more than pay back our absence from Castath. There
is a retired Captain who is going to give us some instruction on Lekran ports
and ship design and how to cause the most damage with limited tools.”

“That sounds reasonable. My last question, then: Will
we be able to come back?”

“The orders will be official,” said Aedan. “General
Osric himself will sign them. But it’s complicated. We are fairly sure Prince
Burkhart would try to stop us if he found out. He’s too shortsighted to see the
advantages of something like this and too insecure to attempt anything that
might anger the Lekrans. We won’t directly break any laws by leaving, but we’ll
be slipping between them on the way out, and coming back might be complicated.”

“Burkhart is a two-faced, lying, murderous coward
who needs a lashing from his father,” Peashot mumbled. “Liru told me what he
tried to do to you two.”

Everyone was quite happy to let these words hang
in the air unchallenged.

“At worst,” Aedan resumed, “we could be arrested on
our return. I know of two soldiers who were made to disappear without any trial
or official record. So it’s dangerous. At best, you’ll lose a year of your
studies.”

Peashot almost looked bored with the details. Aedan
guessed he’d be making the journey with them even if he was guaranteed an
execution on his return.

Hadley was done thinking. That toppling look came
into his eyes. “I doubt the worst case is likely,” he said. “Dropping back a
year doesn’t look so bad either. You’re going to drop back two if you don’t
lose your place altogether, and Lorrimer has been skimming through by magic – he’s
due to fail about now. I’d go anyway, but it’s nice to know I won’t be alone
afterwards. I’m in. Only thing that’s going to annoy me now is the waiting.”

“Couldn’t Lorrimer come?” asked Peashot.

“His height would draw too much attention,” Aedan
said. “Think of how tall he’ll be in another year. And Vayle wouldn’t want to
go. We all know how difficult it is to just get him to drop whatever he’s reading
and actually
do
something.”

Hadley and Peashot laughed. Vayle had earned himself
the reputation – he preferred contemplating plans to implementing them. He was
roughly Hadley’s opposite.

“Also,” said Tyne, “With Liru’s sister, Aedan and
I will have four slaves when we reach Ulnoi. Any more could begin to make us
look more important than we can afford. Unusually wealthy strangers will tend
to be noticed more.”

“So you think we make good slaves,” said Peashot, loading
another stone with a mean smirk.

“Rotten slave,” said Aedan. “Good saboteur.”

“What language is that?”

“Yours, blockhead. It means someone who sabotages,
you know – breaks stuff. You’re good at that.”

“Good?” Hadley said. “Complete genius is more like
it.”

“So are we all agreed?” Aedan looked around.

They all agreed, except Peashot who was taking
aim. Liru flicked his ear, and that brought him back. “Ouch! Yes, yes, of
course I’m in, blockheads. Sorry Tyne. Didn’t mean you. Ouch! Or you, Liru.”

“Then remember that if a word of this gets out,
it’s all over. Try to get as fluent as you can in Lekran. As slaves, you will
not be expected to sound like natives, but the more pairs of working ears we have,
the better. Also, get used to Lekran weapons. We won’t take any of our own. I
hope we don’t need to fight, but if we do, you don’t want to discover in the
moment that their blades are shorter and heavier and the crossbows have a very
tricky latch. Lekrans also have some strange weapons that are in the upper
racks in the weapons hall. I’ll speak to Fergal. Maybe he can nudge Master Dun
to teach us how to use them. Lekrau is, after all, a constant threat.”

Aedan and Peashot lingered after the others had
left – Aedan because Fergal did not expect him back immediately, Peashot
because he never cared much what any of the masters expected from him. He
hadn’t been in trouble for almost a fortnight and some disturbance was due.

They talked of this and that – Fennlor, classes,
Murn, Liru and Kalry, but no matter what they spoke of, it was Kalry who filled
Aedan’s mind, and butterflies and birds and storms crashed about in his belly.

Peashot aimed, fired and scooted back to savour
another bark of pain. “You are different since Kultûhm,” he said. “You don’t
walk around looking like you have a dagger up your sleeve and a score to
settle. Liru says you look stronger.
I
just think it looks like you
aren’t taking your daily draught of poison, whatever it was.”

“Close enough.”

“She thinks something happened to you in the
lightning. What was it?”

Aedan thought for a while. “It wasn’t something,”
he said, “it was someone. And to be plain, I’m still trying to understand it
myself. I think the lightning was only a doorway, just like my dreams have been
lately.”

“You’re not going to start blabbing like those
diviners our prince has on every street corner?”

Aedan laughed. “If I do, please hit me very hard.”

“With pleasure,” said Peashot, clicking his
knuckles. “But don’t you think you could have imagined the whole experience? Shock
or something?”

“If you were there you’d understand why it
couldn’t have been anything like that. Ever had that experience when you wake
up and it’s snowing in the night? Maybe you even walk out and let it land on
your shoulders, but by morning it’s all melted? The only person who saw the proof
was you, and the only proof you can give anyone else is that you’re convinced
it was real. That’s what it’s like for me. I know I’ve got a strong
imagination, but this was far, far beyond anything my imagination can produce.”

“You’re not talking it up? The way people do about
things they own or places they’ve been?”

“I’m not talking it up or making it better than it
was. I can’t even get close to what it was like. It was better than anything
else I know.”

“Even better than Kalry?” Peashot grinned.

Aedan felt the blood rush to his face. He tried
not to smile – it was hopeless. “I would have to say yes, but – it was better in
a different way.”

“What’s she like?”

It was a question to breach a dam wall. Aedan took
a deep breath. “She’s what I wanted Ilona to be. She really
is
the
kindest and sweetest person I know –”

“Huh!” Peashot interrupted. “So where does that
put me?”

“Last. Idiot.”

Peashot smirked.

“Kalry always used to make me want to be nicer to
others because she made it look so good. Being kind to people made her happy.
To see it was really something. And it wasn’t just people. I remember that time
I walked through town with Ilona and there was a donkey braying because it
couldn’t reach the stand of cabbages. I secretly wanted to go buy it one, but I
had a feeling Ilona would have rolled her eyes at me. That’s the difference.
Kalry wouldn’t have been able to enjoy herself
without
doing something
for the hungry donkey, and she would have run down to the market with me,
shared the cost, and smiled all the way home.”

“Pretty?”

Aedan laughed. “Not like Ilona. Ilona’s a rose or
something sophisticated. Kalry’s more like a wildflower – a simpler kind of
beauty, but it felt more complete, more honest. When she smiled at me it was
like being hugged. And it wasn’t just the way she looked. Her thoughts were …
Let me put it this way – conversations with her were like magical journeys. There
was also something about the way she spoke, like a kind of singing in her voice
that brought everything she said to life – you should have seen the way babies
would listen to her. Big eager eyes, spellbound. There was one thing everyone
used to tease her about, it was her messy hair, but I remember it as threaded
with trapped sunlight. And she had these laughing hazel eyes, more brown than
green, as soft and warm as rich tilled earth baking in the sun of a spring
morning –”

“Ugh. Stop! What’s with all the poetry? All you
had to say was yes, she’s pretty. I can just see you and Lorrimer bent over the
lines you’ve obviously been composing, sniffing and weeping and –”

Aedan lurched over and snapped a solid punch at
the unguarded shoulder. It brought Peashot’s mockery to an abrupt end and he
leaned back, probing the damage to his freshly bitten tongue. He drew his
finger out and brightened when he saw a little blood.

“I suppose I’d best get going,” he said. “Classes
feel weird now that you are missing. Even Malik commented on it.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“Something that earned him a gut punch.”

“You don’t have to fight my battles.”

Peashot frowned. “What’s that got to do with it? Think
I would miss an opportunity like that? It was truffle pudding.”

“Is that where you got the mark under your eye?”

“Pathetic, isn’t it? I thought I would at least
get a nice blue plum. All he could manage was this little sissy bruise. Looks
like a coal smudge.”

Aedan laughed. “You just don’t mind pain, do you?
Sometimes I’m convinced it actually makes you comfortable.”

Peashot smirked.

“Well,” said Aedan, “thanks for giving Malik my
regards.”

“Sure. I’ll see you at lunch. Can’t wait to smell
what they put in front of you today. That grey thing you ate yesterday had us
all checking under our shoes.”

“Better get used to it. What do you think you’re
going to eat on Lekrau?”

Peashot grumbled and sauntered off.

For a while Aedan sat, letting the wind gust around and
buffet his shoulders. He looked up over the nearby walls and spires of the knife-like
Pellamine range. Then he raised his eyes to the young blue of the morning sky.
As he did so, something in his chest blazed. His hands and feet prickled with
that peculiar feeling, as though the air around them was no longer air, but
something else. This was the fourth or fifth time it had happened since the
lightning strike, and it gave him the strangest feeling that something about
him was changing, being transformed in a way that not even Fergal would
comprehend. He had a sudden urge to leap out from the wall, not to fall, but to
travel, to glide. The sensation was so strong that he moved back from the edge
and pressed against a large block of stone. Thoughts like these were dangerous.

When the tingling had gone, he drew out the little
leather-encased journal. He never looked at it unless he was alone. It had a
trick of drawing tears.

Now that he knew Kalry to be alive, he wasn’t too
sure if he should read it anymore. After a small inner battle, his scruples
were defeated. He promised himself, though, that it would be the last time.
There were two entries he wanted to pay a last visit. He found the first and
began to read.