The Awakening (35 page)

‘Somehow she managed to convince them that an old harp was worth a fortune. They sold all they had and bought it, convinced that it had magical powers. It didn’t. She cheated them badly and they lost everything, or so they thought.

‘For about a year they wallowed in self-pity and poverty, before a Skrin Tia’k slave saw them carrying that wretched harp through the market on their way to their little stall and tried to steal it. In the course of the altercation, a Fyrd came to their aid and recognised the slave as an escapee.

‘The owner was so happy to have his slave back that he gave my parents a rich reward, enough to set themselves up again as merchants. It took them a few years but they regained their wealth. By the time I took over the business, they were happy to retire rich.’ He paused to sip his drink.

‘For a while I was happy with their business, but for some reason I couldn’t get the harp out of my mind, so I took it to the harbour. I went to the first Children’s ship I saw and spoke to the Captain. When he saw it he offered me his ship for it. I traded on the spot.

‘The ship was laden with rare blaewhal carvings, spices and some of the most beautiful artworks I have ever seen.’ He gestured around the room. ‘It made me as rich as you see here.’

Leone looked again at the room, taking in the elegance and simple beauty in every corner. As a woman who had spent most of the past several years in and out of the palaces and homes of the richest, most powerful members of the greatest empire the world had ever seen, she felt she knew about wealth.
Yet here, in this simple house on the edge of the Widows’ Quarter, she saw some of the most beautiful things imaginable. Leone looked back at Zatopek.

‘That harp?’ she asked. ‘What was so special about it?’

Zatopek shrugged. ‘I have looked into the legends of the Children and harps do tend to figure in many of them. This one was old, made of wood so old it was bleached white. The best legend they have is the one about the Danan and her magical harp.’ He shrugged and took a sip of his drink before going on. ‘I imagine the Captain thought he was getting his hands on an ancient harp of legend. He wasn’t, of course, but at the time I knew nothing about the Danan and harps, I just wanted money. Since then, I have learned more about the harps of the Children. The Captain swindled himself, which I still think was Poetic justice considering how badly his fellow Child had swindled my parents.’

Leone took a deep swallow of her drink. It was, she imagined, an expensive wine, but to her it was cool and tasted good. ‘So why do you live here?’ she asked. ‘With this kind of wealth you could live anywhere in the Empire.’

Zatopek’s face darkened. ‘I have my reasons,’ he said.

Leone regarded him impassively, aware that silence can be the most effective question of all. Zatopek returned her gaze and waited her out. How long the silence would have lasted, Leone could not tell, for it was interrupted by Mayenne’s entrance.

‘Dinner is ready,’ she said.

As they stood, Leone was reminded of the document Shanek had struggled with. On impulse she paused and faced the woman.

‘Mayenne,’ she said, ‘in Matrin, is there any significance attached to the word for sheep?’

Mayenne’s face showed shock, followed by an odd mixture of fear and suspicion. She shot Zatopek a questioning glance but Leone was unable to see his response.

‘Yes, there is, Kind Lady,’ Mayenne started, using the ancient Matrin honorific. ‘The Matrin symbol is often translated as “sheep” but it can also signify any kind of owned creature, sometimes even slaves. It’s the case with many Matrin symbols,’ she went on, her voice becoming animated. ‘The most common confusion is the symbol that gave the Empire its name.’

Leone frowned. ‘In what way?’ she asked.

‘It’s nearly always translated “world”, but it also means “earth” or even “dirt”.’ A smile lit her face. ‘I like to think that the mighty Empire of the World is actually the Empire of the Dirt.’

Leone laughed at the image of the Thane boldly holding court over dirt. Mayenne joined in, her laughter rich and gleeful. Zatopek chuckled as he urged Leone into the dining room.

The meal laid before them was simple and satisfying. It consisted of roasted meats, vegetables and thick, piquant sauces. There was a selection of fine wines to accompany the dishes with a tasty selection of fruits to follow. Leone ate with relish and gusto, enjoying it as much as she had any meal she could remember.

By the time she pushed aside her plate, she could eat no more. She stifled a hearty belch of satisfaction. Zatopek pretended not to notice.

‘You set a good table, Zatopek,’ Leone said.

‘Thank you, Leone,’ he replied. ‘My cooks are very good.’ He leaned back slightly to allow Mayenne to take his plate. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured. Mayenne smiled.

Leone watched the brief interplay and wondered at their relationship. It wouldn’t be the first time, she reasoned. And Mayenne was a handsome woman.

Zatopek sat back and regarded Leone. ‘Now to business,’ he said. ‘I want to offer you a job.’

‘I’ve already said no,’ said Leone.

‘I know, but you said no before you knew what it was.’

Leone shrugged.

‘I do not want you as an enforcer or a hired thug, if that’s what you were thinking. No, you have more talents than that. You are an intelligent, educated woman, Leone. As well as that, you clearly have some military training. I would think you were an officer. And then, when you lost your arm, you were either discharged or left of your own accord. Either way, you aren’t a soldier any more.’

Leone glared at him, the pain of her shaming still sharp.

Zatopek considered her response. ‘Not of your own accord, then,’ he said. ‘I am guessing you bear little love for the Empire.’

Leone shook her head, confident that he would misinterpret it. She meant that he was wrong, but most people would interpret it as agreement, that she
did not love the Empire. It still surprised her that despite the Thane’s shaming of her and stripping her of her life, she bore neither him nor the Empire any malice. If the truth were told, she agreed with his action. She had failed, and the hereditary line of Counsellors, dating back to the first days of the Empire, was broken because of her. No, the Thane had been justified, and in fact she regarded his actions as merciful. She had expected death by torment.

Zatopek nodded. ‘I thought as much,’ he said. ‘I am usually a good judge of character.’ He leaned forward, his expression intense. ‘The world is changing, Leone, and it’s time for those of us with means to be a part of it.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Leone.

‘I think you know what I mean, Leone. I want you to join me and others like me.’

‘Exactly what do you want from me, Zatopek?’

‘Our forces are spread far and wide across the Empire. We need as many trained soldiers as we can get. They need training and organising; we need officers.’

Leone sat back, thinking. She knew her face was unreadable when she wanted it to be, so she was confident that Zatopek would have no idea that her mind was whirling with possibilities. First among them was the thought that if she were to join this rebellion, she would be in the perfect place to learn of their plans, maybe even help direct them into ruin. Despite Zatopek’s assumption, she still believed in the Empire, and she bore a great deal of love for aspects of it.

‘I need to think about it,’ she said finally.

‘Of course you do,’ agreed Zatopek. ‘Can I offer you a place to sleep tonight?’

Leone nodded. ‘Yes, that would be nice. It’s been a while since I slept in a bed.’

Mayenne, who had been standing silently in the shadows by the doorway, led her upstairs to a comfortable bedroom. She lit a lamp and showed her in. There was a large bed, a wash basin, a wardrobe, a mirror and a bookshelf.

‘I hope you sleep well, Leone,’ Mayenne said. She turned to go.

‘Mayenne,’ said Leone, ‘that Matrin word for sheep I asked you about earlier?’

‘Yes, Leone?’

‘If someone was negotiating a treaty and it was about sheep, could the word have any other meanings?’

Mayenne shrugged. ‘It could. If the treaty was well worded, it could refer to the Skrin Tia’k.’

Leone nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’

Mayenne nodded and left the room.

Leone looked around. The room was not overly large, but certainly larger than any room she’d ever had to herself. She opened the wardrobe and found it full of beautiful clothes. With a smile, she undressed and pulled out a dress. She held it in front of her and stood in front of the mirror. It was so beautiful it took her breath away.

It was a slow process, but she tried on every item of clothing in the wardrobe. Most of them were too small, but those that fitted were gorgeous. She even
found some sleeping clothes in her size. When she eased herself between the thick blankets, she was wearing a silk nightdress that had probably cost a month’s wages for an artisan.

She lay for hours staring at the ceiling, thinking and planning. Many times she silently berated herself for not spending more time during her training on ways of infiltrating an enemy camp and methods of covert sabotage.

It had not escaped her notice that Mayenne had not called her ‘Kind Lady’ when showing her to the room, but Leone. The change in address most likely meant that she believed Leone to have joined them. She wondered if Zatopek would be so easy to deceive.

The Wrested Archipelago was a dismal, storm-lashed collection of ten small islands. They were all that remained of a once-mighty mountain range that thrust itself proudly above the Sea, challenging her might and power. For aeons they stood rearing over the waves that crashed, seemingly impotent, against them. But time is an implacable foe and the mighty mountains were slowly worn down to this collection of jagged rocky outcrops.

For centuries these islands belonged, as did all such things, to the Children of Danan. They mined the crags for gold and iron, which they traded with islanders for wood and cloth. During Wind Season, they left and headed north, taking their goods, leaving behind only debris to be blown away.

One of the Commander’s greatest moments was when he led a raiding fleet against the archipelago. With cunning and skill, he ambushed the Children’s work fleet as they left at the beginning of Wind Season. He attacked them with speed and brutality, sinking most of their ships and taking what was left for his own. In a move that surprised everyone, he
left behind a small garrison on the largest of the islands. They built a small barracks and stayed through the Wind Season until Harvest Season. During this time the Raiders battened down inside their new home, building siege weaponry and designing tactics so that when the Children next came to mine the archipelago they would find it occupied and defended. The Children were driven back when they arrived and the Raiders claimed the rich source of minerals as their own. For the first time, the Raiders had wrested something from the Children.

Over the following years, the Raiders who stayed eked out a harsh existence on the barren rocks. Their families came and joined them, more buildings grew like limpets on the sterile rock and children were born there. For them it was all they knew and they learned to love the untamed, wild beauty of the southern seas. For the first time, the Southern Raiders produced poets and artists. After years of piracy and violence being the only things they had to offer the rest of the world, they now had art and raw materials.

Still, nothing grew there and during the Wind Season it was pitiless, but somehow it had become a home to them. For the rest of the Raiders, it took on iconic status, a new place, a symbol of the Commander’s vision. Many took it as hope, but some saw it as folly. It had taken the Commander years and all of his persuasive skills to move the Southern Raiders to where they could follow him in his plan. The fact that he had succeeded was testament to his tenacity as much as to his foresight.

But none of that really mattered to Sacchin who skippered the
Merial
towards the Wrested Archipelago, nor to Nolin, who navigated. They drove the ship over the waves at breakneck speed.

Wyn, even after having been away from the Sea for years, could smell the ice and feel the change of season as the winds swung. They were drifting around to a southerly direction, bringing with them the harsh tang of old ice and cold green water. To be heading south as these winds started was folly. Everyone onboard knew it and was getting nervous.

But Wyn had experienced and survived such a storm as only the far south in Wind Season could throw up, and he was far beyond mere nervousness. With every hour, every stroke they travelled south, he could feel the fear building within him. He had known real fear, that deep terror that few men ever felt, as he had clung for hours to a broken spar in a brutal storm and he knew he would not survive again. He also knew that Sacchin would not turn the
Merial
around, even if Nolin let him.

They both had their own reasons for braving the folly of the far south in the Wind Season, and neither would turn aside. The Raiders must be warned about the waiting Children’s fleet or they would be wiped from the face of the waters.

So they sped south, watching as the sleeping monster stirred, brooding on the surging terror that was about to descend upon anyone foolish enough to get in its way.

‘How much further?’ Sacchin asked Nolin.

‘You should know,’ the Navigator replied. ‘They are your islands.’

Sacchin laughed. It was the first time laughter had been heard for two days, and it sounded strained. ‘I’ve never been there,’ he replied. ‘I’ve heard about them, of course, but…’ his voice trailed off.

Nolin nodded. ‘I have been there. Once. And I have no desire to go back. They’re unattractive, to say the least.’ He suddenly looked up, his eyes becoming unfocused as he sniffed the air. A frown crossed his face as he looked to the south. ‘That’s not good,’ he muttered.

Sacchin watched as he made a minute course change and ordered a shift in one of the sails. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked.

‘Storm coming,’ Nolin replied.

‘How can you tell?’

‘Smell. A wind shift brought the smell of ice. Couldn’t you smell it?’

‘No,’ replied Sacchin.

‘I did,’ said Wyn. He had been standing by the railing, ostensibly tending a shroud, but all the while listening.

Nolin regarded Wyn through slitted eyes. ‘You’re no lander, are you?’

Wyn flicked Sacchin a glance, knowing how he would react. ‘No.’

Sacchin’s eyes widened as realisation slowly dawned. ‘You’re one of the Children, aren’t you?’

Wyn nodded.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Going home,’ Wyn replied.

Sacchin frowned, not understanding. ‘But the Children have no home.’

‘They have the Sea,’ murmured Nolin. ‘But I don’t think that’s what he meant, is it, Wyn?’

‘No.’

Sacchin‘s frown deepened. ‘That girl?’ he said. ‘You’re going home to her?’

Wyn nodded.

‘She’s one of the Children?’

Wyn nodded again.

‘So that’s why you signed up on this voyage in the first place, isn’t it? You were planning on betraying us all along! You said there was a girl, but you never said she was one of the Children!’

There was nothing that Wyn could do but nod again.

Sacchin’s normally genial and open face changed, suffused with rage, into something almost unrecognisable. ‘I invited you into my home! I trusted you!’

Wyn was about to say something when Nolin interrupted.

‘This girl, is she a Priestess?’ he asked.

Wyn shrugged. ‘In a fashion.’

‘You have been away a long time, Wyn,’ observed Nolin. ‘To have forgotten our ways so completely. No one is a Priestess “in a fashion”.’

‘You don’t know her,’ muttered Wyn, unwilling to be drawn.

‘If she is a Priestess, I assure you I do. As Navigator of the First Rank I have met them all.’

‘You haven’t met her yet. But I think you will.’

‘Again, you intrigue me,’ said Nolin. Wyn watched him closely, allowing the Navigator to consider what he had just been told. Abruptly, his eyes snapped wide as a thought occurred to him. ‘Just who is this girl?’

‘Her name is Hwenfayre,’ said Wyn. ‘Blonde, lavender-eyed. Sings very well. Nice harp.’

‘Do you know what you are saying?’ asked Nolin.

Wyn held the Navigator’s eye as he nodded slowly. ‘I know exactly what I am saying, and when I last saw her Morag had her.’

‘Morag?’

‘Yes. Morag, High Priestess of the Children of Danan.’

‘This is very bad,’ said Nolin. ‘Very bad indeed. Does Morag know what she is?’

Wyn nodded. ‘I think so, yes.’

‘What about Hwenfayre herself? What does she know?’

‘More than Morag does, I think.’

‘That’s unlikely,’ disagreed Nolin. ‘For all her faults, Morag is a scholar of rare ability. And one of the most brilliant, if devious, minds I’ve ever known. No, she knows exactly what is happening around her.’

‘So what is happening?’ asked Sacchin. ‘I don’t understand any of this. What does this traitor’s girlfriend have to do with anything?’

‘Best you don’t know too much,’ said Nolin. ‘But Wyn here is a very dangerous man, and he has very dangerous friends.’

‘I already know how dangerous he is. I’ve seen him in a fight.’

‘Not that sort of danger,’ said Nolin. He looked at Wyn, his eyes hard. ‘I think we should find your Commander,’ he continued, without looking away from Wyn. ‘With your permission, Sacchin,’ he said.

Sacchin nodded, a troubling thought growing within him.

‘More sail,’ bellowed Nolin. He took the wheel again and made yet another slight course adjustment and the
Merial
seemed to gather even more speed.