The Awakening (24 page)

Soaked with sweat, Declan cried out and sat bolt upright. For a moment he stared at the bulkhead, too stunned to think about what had woken him up. He sat still as the dream that had awakened him slowly resurfaced. When he realised what it was, the cold sweats came again. His eyes widened and his heart started to race.

Beside him, High Priestess Morag stirred. ‘What is it, Declan?’ she asked drowsily.

‘She’s alive,’ he breathed.

‘What?’ she asked. ‘Who’s alive?’

‘Hwenfayre,’ he said.

Morag sat up, all traces of drowsiness vanishing. ‘She’s what?’

‘She’s alive,’ Declan repeated.

The High Priestess slid out of bed, wrapping a sheet around her shoulders. Without a word she walked over to the porthole and stared out at the night sky. Declan watched her, waiting for her response. Her hair tumbled down her slender back. At her shoulder the sheet revealed skin, untouched by years at sea, that was smooth and creamy white in the soft moonlight. She
turned slightly. The gentle light softened her strong profile, revealing traces of the happy, cheerful young girl with whom he had first fallen in love so long ago.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked. Declan nodded. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘Interesting,’ she observed. ‘I wonder how she survived.’

‘If we were right about her, the Sea itself could have saved her.’

‘Of course we were right,’ Morag snapped. ‘There is no other explanation for her.’

Declan shrugged. ‘Much of the old lore has been lost. Maybe there’s more we don’t know.’

Morag nodded. ‘Perhaps we were a bit hasty in killing Feargus. He could have had more to tell us.’

‘Unlikely,’ disagreed Declan. ‘If he’d known anything else he’d have told us.’

A savage grin marred Morag’s face. ‘True,’ she agreed. ‘He told us all he knew.’

‘But we still don’t know how she ended up in that town,’ Declan said.

Morag nodded again. ‘That still troubles me. As does Wyn. How did he find her?’

‘Why didn’t you kill him?’

Morag shrugged. ‘I thought I’d leave it to the islanders,’ she said dismissively. ‘They can dream up the most interesting ways of dealing with murderers.’

‘Did he survive?’ asked Declan.

Morag shook her head. ‘The islanders are reliable when it comes to killing people.’

‘And we left enough bodies for them to find.’

‘Killing the girl was a masterstroke,’ Morag said. ‘No one can resist a pretty dead body when it comes to a murder.’

Declan’s answering grin was wolf-like in the moonlight. ‘Wyn was better than I thought he would be. I had to go back later to kill her but she was still so shocked it was easy.’

Morag was breathing heavily, remembering the night when she had snatched the avatar of Danan herself from the clumsy hands of her self-appointed protector. The thrill of that unexpected chance still gave her a shudder of excitement that left her flushed and trembling. She had been so sure that she could turn the Danan to her own devices that she had put aside the original plan of killing her. But the Danan had proved obdurate, leaving her with no choice but to order Declan to slit her throat and give her lifeless body to the Sea. Looking at Declan, she allowed the sheet to fall to the floor, leaving her naked in the silver light. And the Danan was still alive.

No matter
, she thought.
I held her once, I can do it again.

Later, as they lay beside each other, spent and weary, Morag lifted herself up on one elbow and looked down at her lover. ‘Where is she now?’ she asked.

Declan’s eyes clouded over as he focused inwards, seeking Hwenfayre. After a few moments, he snapped back into reality. ‘On a ship. South of here.’

‘How far?’

‘A few days’ sailing.’

‘What sort of ship?’

‘Big. Well armed. Dangerous.’

‘How could she possibly have gotten so far away?’

Declan shook his head. ‘I don’t know, but the Sea has its strange ways.’

Morag frowned, then got up. ‘Let’s go get some more ships and kill her.’

Declan let her get to the door before reminding her of her nudity. She turned and laughed throatily. ‘You don’t think the Navigator would appreciate me like this?’

Declan shook his head. ‘He’s not young any more. I don’t know if his heart would take the excitement.’

She dressed in her white High Priestess robes while Declan watched her. ‘I’ll be back after I’ve given the Navigator his new course,’ she said. ‘And when I return we can talk again about what we will do once we have finally put the Danan and her untamed ways behind us.’

In the morning, after she had greeted the dawn with the beautiful harp carved from a single piece of driftwood, Morag stared out over the gently rolling ocean, remembering the day, so long ago, when she had first stepped on this dangerous path.

‘Attend me, Morag,’ the High Priestess directed. Sulkily, Morag obeyed her mother. Making sure her mother saw how slowly she obeyed her, Morag made her way to stand beside her. Anwyn, High Priestess of the Children of the Rafts, watched her recalcitrant daughter.

So much to learn
, she thought.
And so little time to learn it in.
‘Morag,’ she said. ‘It is time for you to start to learn about the true uses of power.’ Morag’s eyes brightened at her mother’s words. Her mother smiled at the display of hunger.
She’ll do nicely,
she thought. ‘Come with me, child,’ she said.

Anwyn took her daughter to the window. ‘Look out there and tell me what you see.’

Morag looked out at the
Two Family Raft
. It was a large raft, the largest of any the Children sailed. This day, the second after the Festival of the Winds, was a busy one. The decks needed to be cleared of all the assorted detritus that had accumulated over the Season of Storms in preparation for the Harvest Season. Everywhere she looked, people were scurrying about like the crabs that so often found their way onto the Rafts. Men called, women laughed, children squealed and ran as all did their part to prepare the Raft. Overhead the massive sails flapped in the light breeze while men clambered over the rigging, completing the checks and repairing whatever damage the winds had caused.

The sheer energy of the Raft nearly overwhelmed her, as it usually did. Morag would often spend hours sitting by this very window just watching those around her. Those she would one day rule.

Behind her she heard her mother stir impatiently as she awaited her answer.

‘I see people. Many people, the Raft, the preparation for the Harvest Season.’

‘What do you know about these people?’ Anwyn asked.

‘They are the Children of Danan. They are preparing for the Harvest Season.’

‘Is that all you know?’

Morag frowned, not knowing what her mother meant.

‘Do you know what they want? What are their
dreams, their hopes? What are they looking for in their lives?’

‘How can I possibly know that, Mother?’

‘By listening, by watching. But most importantly by understanding that everyone wants basically the same thing.’

‘What is that?’

‘Security. We all need to know that tomorrow is not frightening, that tonight we can sleep in comfort and wake up in the morning with the world as we left it. And as leader your job will be to give these people that peace of mind.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘There are many ways. But the simplest is to give them a dream, a hope, something that will fill their minds with the knowledge that all is well.’

‘How can you give people a dream?’

‘By telling them.’

‘But don’t we already have a dream?’

‘You mean the legend of Danan?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘A dangerous dream. A very troubling legend.’

‘How so?’

‘It is a dream of great power, of someone coming to save us. But we do not need saving. We rule the seas. None dare challenge our right to come and go as we see fit. It is time for us to set aside the outmoded ways and make our own destiny.’

‘But isn’t Danan more than just a legend? What of the old stories and the songs of power?’

Anwyn allowed herself a tight smile. ‘She doesn’t have to be more than a legend. We have the
opportunity to free our people from the restraints of the ancient ways.’

‘How?’

‘Do you see those two boys over there?’ Anwyn pointed. ‘What do you know of them?’

Morag looked to where her mother was indicating. She saw two boys whom she knew slightly. They were firm friends those two, inseparable since they had been infants together. The bigger, darker of the two was a Carver’s son while the slighter, fairer was an orphan. Secretly Morag had noticed the Carver’s son more often, keeping a few quiet dreams about him to herself. He had a dark and brooding quality to him that she found interesting, whereas the other she had already dismissed.

‘What of them?’ Morag asked.

‘They are the key to the future of the Children of the Rafts.’

‘How so?’

‘There is one other in the legend of Danan; a man who is not well known to those outside the Priesthood. The Finder always comes before Danan returns. It is his arrival that always heralds the coming of Danan.’

‘And they are…?

Anwyn nodded. ‘One of them is the Finder, I am sure.’

‘Why have I never heard of him before?’

Anwyn took Morag’s arm and led her away from the window. She sat down at her desk, indicating for her daughter to sit near her. ‘For many years now, the High Priestesses have been
preparing the Children for the day when we can step out from the shadow of the past and make our own way. The first stage was to take some of the ancient texts off the training schedule of the Novices. Then the more explicit teachings of Danan were removed from the Novice training, so that she was reduced to a figure of legend rather than a real person.’

‘Why, Mother?’

‘Haven’t you learned anything?’ she snapped. ‘If Danan comes back she will be High Priestess and Princess. The whole structure of our society will be changed. We have spent far too long building our lives to have some mythical figure float in and take all that away. She will drag us back into howling mystical barbarism! We have evolved beyond that sort of nonsense.’

Morag considered that. ‘So what do those two boys have to do with me?’ she asked.

Anwyn smiled at the perception behind the question. ‘You have a task, daughter. It involves those two. One we need, and one we need to dispose of.’ Morag’s heart leaped as she imagined what was to come, but she was disappointed, briefly, as her mother outlined the plan for her daughter’s future. However, as she listened she came to appreciate the necessity.

Now, as she looked at the coming dawn, she thought about the man who shared both her vision and her bed, and she was satisfied. In her hands, the harp she had taken from Hwenfayre stilled as the final chords died. She had come a long way and done many
things, but finally success was within her grasp. The Danan and her harp were separated, the harp was in her hands and the Finder was in her thrall.

The harp. Thinking about it reminded Morag of her failure to elicit anything from the instrument beyond what she could from an ordinary harp. She had long believed it would make any Priestess as powerful as the Danan herself, but now she was not so sure. Doubt had crept into her plans. Could she have gotten it wrong? Was there more to the harp than she knew?

She shook her head, as much to clear her mind of troubling thoughts as to feel the soft flow of hair across the skin of her back. Morag had many weapons at her disposal, but her physical beauty was one of her most powerful and she used it well. A slow smile formed on her perfect lips as she contemplated how easily Declan had fallen for her. And how easy he was to keep where she needed him.

Her mother’s original plan had been effective in weaning the people away from a mythical hope and leading them towards self-sufficiency, but it had involved simply killing the Danan when Declan had found her. Morag had elevated the plan to a new level. Once the Danan had evaded the Raiders’ clumsy attacks, she was adrift, a child alone and rudderless. Morag had tried to provide that rudder and tame her. The Danan dead was one thing, but the Danan tame and under Morag’s control was something else entirely. However, the child had proven stronger than she appeared. Not only had she resisted her teaching, she had also survived the Sea alone. She had to die this time.

They had to find Hwenfayre again and kill her. Then it would be time to deal with the incompetent Southern Raiders. Not only could they not kill a child, they even thought they could mass their fleet without her knowing about it.

At no stage did it enter her mind that she also had been unable to kill Hwenfayre—twice.

‘That’s it?’ shouted Shanek. ‘That’s the great mission the Thane sent me on, on pain of death by torment?’

Cherise lowered his eyes. ‘Yes, First Son, that is the mission the Thane set us.’

‘Us?’ Shanek cried. ‘Us? Are you set apart? Are you bound beyond law?’

‘No, First Son. I am simply commanded,’ conceded Cherise.

‘And you,’ Shanek whirled on Muttiah, ‘are you set apart?’

The Caldorman shook his head. ‘No, First Son. Only you have that honour.’

‘Honour?’ Shanek almost shrieked. ‘Honour? I am set apart beyond law to negotiate a—’ he shook the scroll in his hand, ‘a sheep-trading agreement!’ In disgust, he hurled the offensive document to the leaf-littered ground.

The men were standing a distance away from the two Fyrds: far enough for Shanek to feel unhindered, yet not far enough to feel unsafe. Not that these two old men could pose any threat to him.

Certainly not after the way they had dealt with Tapash.

When he and Leone dragged the barely conscious Tribesman back into the campsite, their reactions had been instructive. Cherise was shocked, but not at the presence of Tapash, and Muttiah was angry. Neither was surprised that the Tribesman had escaped, somehow found a bow and shot at Leone. The subsequent discovery that the rest of the prisoners had their throats cut, along with two of Shanek’s Fyrd who were guarding them, also did not surprise the old men. Muttiah’s feigned rage at the discovery, followed by his convenient killing of Tapash, only served to confirm Shanek’s first impression. The two of them were involved somehow, or at the very least aware. There was, as he had first thought, a great deal more to this than sheep.

Caldorman Muttiah stooped to pick up the Thane’s directive. He handed it back to Shanek. The First Son simply stared at it.

‘What makes you think I would want to read that again?’ he snapped.

‘The Thane insisted that you carry the document and read it more than once,’ said Cherise. ‘He said that you would need to contemplate it in order to appreciate his instructions.’

His curiosity piqued, Shanek took the scroll. It was short and written in Matrin script. The flowing, elegant style of the penmanship was not that of the Thane, but was done by Shanek’s father, Sandor, over the seal of the Thane. And yet it was badly written. It was clumsy and wordy, most unlike either
his father or the Thane. In addition, the joint issue of the decree made it even more significant, and all the more odd, given the prosaic nature of the mission.

‘Tell me, Cherise,’ asked Shanek. ‘Do the Ettans even breed sheep?’

‘No, First Son.’

‘That’s what I thought. So why does the Thane want a sheep-trading agreement with them?’

‘We breed sheep, First Son,’ said Cherise.

Shanek grunted in reply and waved the Diplomat away.

Why,
he wondered,
would the Thane ask my father to write this in Matrin?

He remained where he was, studying the document while the two old heroes of the Asan Empire made their way back to the waiting Fyrds. So engrossed was he that he did not hear them break camp and mount up. Neither did he notice when Coerl Leone rode up to his side and addressed him.

‘First Son?’ she said.

He ignored her. Leone waited while Shanek quietly muttered to himself. After a few minutes he looked up.

‘Ah, Coerl,’ he said. ‘Are we ready to go?’

‘Yes, First Son.’

‘Good.’ He swung himself onto the back of his stallion. ‘Let’s sort out these wretched sheep.’

‘Sheep, First Son?’ asked Leone.

Shanek laughed. ‘Yes, Coerl, sheep. We go, under pain of death by torment, to negotiate a sheep-trading agreement with the sheep-deprived people of Ettan.’ He did not need to turn around to know that Leone nodded slowly, accepting the orders with her
usual aplomb.
She’s probably already accepted that it is for the good of the Empire,
he thought.

They rode through the forest for the rest of the day. There was little need for conversation so they were free to think. Leone spent most of the day watching Shanek, wondering what he was thinking. She saw anew his confident, easy seat as he rode. She pondered his ability with the bolas, how he had managed to bring down a running target at night in a forest. His surprise attack on the Caldorman was as skilled as it was brutal. He was trained and he practised hard, yet he had brought down and could have killed one of the best fighters in the army. Where had this skill come from? It was rare in his family, despite their centuries-long association with war. The family of the First Counsellor was known for its brilliance and tactical genius, but not its skill with arms.

She could not recall the night without remembering the startling vision of the two disparate sides of him. The revelation of his feelings about her, coupled with the darkness she saw in him by the campfire, was confusing. Yet, if the legends about his family were true, she should not be surprised by his complexity. One is not the sole hereditary heir to the most powerful family in existence without some inheritance.

It was the mystical aspects to his heritage that troubled her. During her time as Coerl of the First Son’s Fyrd, she had read widely about the history of the First Family of the Empire. It was written that in times past they had commanded great mystical powers in battle that had been the cornerstone of the
Asan victories. Over the past few centuries, this power had waned, and no one had an explanation, or seemed particularly interested in finding one. Now such mysticism was consigned by most to the ignominy that such fanciful myths deserved.

For his part, Shanek was vexed by two questions: why was the message written in Matrin, and why sheep? He was under no illusions that there was more to this than negotiating some trade agreement, but why sheep? Why not something that Ettan either had or needed? It was obviously a front, a blind to the real mission, but it was too obvious. The Thane was a subtle man, and Sandor was the one to whom he went for advice. Neither would be so clumsy. So what was it about?

The key, he felt sure, was the language. He knew from his studies that Matrin was a beautiful, flowing language, suited to poets and orators. Many in the Hall of Counsellors gave their speeches in Matrin. It was also a strangely quirky language, full of unexpected and subtle twists of meaning, gradations of nuance. It was the language of scholars.

He gave up thinking about this early in the afternoon. It would come to him, he was sure.

Putting aside the Thane’s missive, Shanek was free to contemplate the forest around him. The trees were evergreens, not uncommon so far south, but he expected to come into the deciduous forests soon. The cool of the morning had reminded him that they were heading north into the winter. It would be harsh, especially as the summer in Ajyne was so hot this year. He smiled as a thought occurred to him.

‘Cherise,’ he called. The Diplomat turned. ‘Are you still sure this is the Way of the Coerl?’

‘That was the information I received, First Son,’ Cherise replied.

‘I don’t see many petrified Skrin Tia’k lining our way,’ Shanek commented.

‘That is only one version of the tale, First Son,’ said Cherise.

‘Oh? Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,’ said Shanek, grinning.

Behind him Leone stifled a smile. It was unlike the First Son to be funny. Diplomat Cherise did not seem to appreciate the humour. He urged his horse forward. Muttiah came with him as he made his way out through the protective ring of his Fyrd to join Shanek within his Fyrd. When the Diplomat was riding beside Shanek, the Caldorman’s Fyrd formed a ring around the outside of the First Son’s Fyrd.

‘Legend tells us, First Son,’ began Cherise, ‘that Coerl Samba led an attack team into this forest in pursuit of a raiding party of Skrin Tia’k. Her team was assembled from the outpost town named Fyrd. She took the twenty best fighters and trackers she could find and pursued the Skrinnies for ten days before they gained the sanctuary of this forest.’

‘Why?’ asked Shanek.

‘First Son?’

‘Why was she chasing them?’

Cherise looked confused. ‘They were a Skrin Tia’k raiding party, First Son.’

‘Yes, I got that, but why pursue them for so long? What had they done?’

‘They had sacked a small village,’ muttered Muttiah. ‘It was a day’s ride from Fyrd, and Samba, whose other name incidentally was Coerl, was assigned to its defence. She had failed in her duty to the people. Hunting down the Skrinnies was the least she could do.’

Shanek fixed Muttiah with a hard glare. ‘I can see that would sound a chord with you, Muttiah, seeing that you have had recent experience in failure. You do remember that six of my Fyrd are dead because of your laxity, I trust?’ Shanek felt anger surge unexpectedly within him. It was as if he had suddenly realised that six soldiers whom he knew had died, and Muttiah was as responsible as Tapash. He wrenched his horse around to face the Caldorman. ‘You!’ he cried. ‘You failed those soldiers! You were personally responsible and you failed!’ Shanek was screaming in rage. ‘And you have the audacity to speak to me!’

Caldorman Muttiah was visibly shocked by the sudden outburst. He stared at Shanek as if unwilling to believe the transformation that had so abruptly taken place. He went to speak, but as he drew in breath Shanek shot him a glare of such unfettered rage that he faltered and felt the words slide away.

‘You will not speak to me unless I command it!’ screamed Shanek. ‘You are unworthy of your rank!’ He looked around at his Fyrd, his rage now completely out of control. ‘You, Malik, come here!’

The veteran eased his horse out of formation and approached Shanek.

‘You are now Coerl of that Fyrd,’ Shanek shouted. ‘And your first mission is to make sure he,’ Shanek pointed at Muttiah, ‘is kept away from me.’

Malik saluted and wheeled his horse around to face Muttiah.

‘Caldorman, if you would come with me…’ Coerl Malik said. Dumbstruck, Muttiah followed Malik.

Shanek did not watch as the newly promoted Coerl took the Caldorman away and rearranged his Fyrd into a tight, guarding formation, leaving the Diplomat, the First Son, and his former Coerl within a circle of only eleven soldiers. Instead, Shanek turned his focus back to Cherise, his rage fading with every step the Caldorman took away from him.

‘Continue with your tale,’ he commanded the Diplomat.

‘Samba pursued the Skrin Tia’k raiding party into this forest,’ Cherise continued smoothly. ‘She discovered that our ancient enemy is not suited to such a dense forest. They were slowed by the undergrowth and easier to track. She and her party caught them easily and cut them to pieces.’

‘I prefer your story, Leone,’ Shanek observed.

‘Mine isn’t finished, First Son,’ said Cherise.

‘Good.’

‘After killing the Skrin Tia’k, Samba went to return home but found herself lost. It was as if the forest itself had changed. Her trackers were as lost as she, and they wandered aimlessly for several days before happening upon a path.

‘They followed the path, quite unaware that it was leading them deeper into the forest rather than back home.’

‘Oh, come on, Diplomat. She had the best trackers available and you are trying to tell me that they couldn’t tell north from south?’

‘In here, First Son,’ Cherise indicated the heavy canopy, ‘it’s not surprising.’

‘What direction are we heading now?’ Shanek asked.

‘North,’ replied Cherise.

‘How do you know?’

‘We have a map, First Son.’

‘Hmmm. I’ll let that one pass for now. Go on.’

‘One night, as they made camp, they were attacked by a beast they had never encountered before. It was unlike any of the monsters that inhabit this region: it was bipedal and upright.’ The Diplomat’s voice slipped into the cadence rhythm of recitation. ‘With great fangs and mighty claws it rent the soldiers asunder. Samba fled with the six surviving members of her party, deeper into the forest. The beast hounded them for days, gradually killing them one by one until only Samba herself was left alive. Finally, her strength spent and her will gone, she stood to face her tormentor. After the pursuit the only weapon left to her was her bolas. She awaited her death as the beast crashed through the forest towards her.

‘When it burst into the clearing she had chosen for her final resting place, it raised itself to its full height and went to fall upon her. In the fleeting moments before the vast creature rended her utterly, Samba was granted insight. All of the Way of Purity was made clear and she cried aloud in anguish that she would not be able to share the truths. Her cry startled the beast and it dropped to the ground before her. To her surprise, it spoke to her in a language she did not know she could speak.

‘She never revealed what she and the beast spoke
of, but it spared her life and led her to a stream where she rested. While she regained her strength, the beast, whom she called Morrigan, taught her many things concerning the Way of Purity. When Samba was fully recovered the beast took her to the Shrine of Purity, where she found solace for her guilt. She threw herself down on the ground before the Shrine and slept. When she awoke, Morrigan was gone. With a light heart and a clear eye, she left the forest by the path, only to discover that she had been gone from this world for six years.

‘No one has ever found the Shrine or encountered Morrigan since.’

‘What did Morrigan look like?’ asked Leone.

Cherise frowned. ‘The only descriptions I have read suggest that it looked like an enormous horned sheep with fangs and claws.’

‘Burn me!’ cried Shanek. ‘A sheep! Of course! How dense could I be?’ He laughed out loud, a chilling, harsh sound. ‘Thank you for a wonderful story. You may go and join Muttiah.’ The Diplomat bowed slightly and urged his horse into a trot as he left the First Son.

‘A great big sheep,’ muttered Shanek, watching Cherise go. ‘I liked the story until then. And I’ll wager the Thane himself made sure Cherise was fed that little morsel of information.’

‘First Son?’ asked Leone.

‘We’ll talk about it later, Coerl,’ he said. ‘I need to think now.’