The Awakening (19 page)

They led him along the narrow streets then up a stairway so steep it was more like a ladder, up to a small shack set into a fracture in the cliff face.

The shack had a tiny balcony that rested on poles jutting out from the rock. Inside were two rooms: a small cooking area and a bedroom. The bedroom had the feel of a cave, with the walls and ceiling being natural rock; only the wooden floor showed that this was a home.

Wyn sat on a chair on the small balcony, looking out over the bay while Sacchin and Shar noisily renewed their acquaintance behind him in the bedroom. As he sat staring over the water, watching the movements of ships and the steady flow of people around the buildings that clung tenaciously to the rock, he thought of Hwenfayre, of the open sea and of a High Priestess who had once more taken from him.

Slowly the sun sank below the rim of the crater, plunging the home of the Raiders into darkness. The sounds of joyful coupling had long since faded, to be replaced by the contented snores of two people at peace with their world.

Wyn was awakened by a hard grip on his shoulder.

‘You always snore that loud?’ asked Sacchin, grinning widely.

‘Always,’ replied Wyn.

‘Good. Come inside. Eat with us.’

Breakfast was a simple meal, soon finished. When they were done, Sacchin fixed Wyn with his one remaining eye. ‘So what now for you, Wyn?’

‘I don’t know. What are my options?’

‘Join another ship or stay here.’

‘Another ship sounds good. How do I organise it?’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay here for a while? By the look of you, you’ve been on the move for a long time. A break might be a good idea.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Shar. ‘Stay for a while.’

‘And do what?’

‘There’s a lot of work to do here. Especially with storm season coming,’ said Shar. ‘We always need men to prepare the town.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Sacchin. ‘Stay and put that silent strength of yours to good use.’

He shook his head. ‘I must go.’

‘That girl of yours?’ asked Sacchin.

Wyn nodded.

Sacchin exhaled heavily, his face set in a troubled frown. ‘If she meant that much to you, friend Wyn, you should not have come here.’

‘How so?’

‘We Raiders have a rule. If you join with us, you stay. That’s why we gave every man who sailed with us a chance to leave. If you jump ship we’ll hunt you down. No matter where your woman is.’ Wyn stared
at Sacchin, impassive. Sacchin glared back, his normal cheerful smile completely absent, his good eye hard. For a moment their gazes locked. Finally Sacchin broke away.

‘My friend,’ he said, looking out over the crater that had become his home, ‘you place me in a dangerous position. By rights I should hand you over to the Commander right now. But,’ he fingered his eye patch, ‘I owe you a great debt.’ He looked back at Wyn. ‘If it wasn’t for you, a lot more of me than my eye would be fish food right now.’ He leaned back heavily in his chair, his eye never leaving Wyn’s face. ‘But if I help you with this, we are even. I owe you nothing more. If we meet across a sword, I will not hesitate. Understood?’

Wyn nodded. ‘Understood, friend Sacchin, understood.’

‘Good.’ Suddenly his smile was back. ‘Very good. Now let us go down to the hold and collect our share.’ When Wyn looked baffled, Sacchin laughed out loud. ‘What? You thought we sailed for free? No, my friend. We each get our share of the take. And since you helped us capture a whole ship, your share will not be small.’ He stood. ‘Smaller than mine, of course, but not small.’

The three of them made their way back down to the water’s edge and along the narrow street towards a large building that was built out over the water. Their shipmates were milling around by the closed doors. They were greeted noisily as they arrived.

‘Sacchin, I see you finally dragged yourself away from your bed!’ Raucous laughter and ribald comments followed, which both Sacchin and Shar
took in good humour. Even Wyn was greeted by name, although with more reserve. He noted a number of women standing alone among the men.

‘Those are the widows,’ said Shar quietly, noticing the direction of Wyn’s gaze. ‘They are entitled to their man’s full share.’

‘It’s only fair,’ agreed Wyn.

While they waited, Sacchin explained the system. The community took six parts of ten of all plunder taken on the Sea.

‘We have no resources at all here,’ Sacchin told him. ‘So if we want to eat anything but fish and wear anything other than seaweed, we raid.’

The captain of the vessel took one-tenth and the rest was divided between the crew, based on their length of time aboard. The present delay was over whether the ship they had brought in would be refitted or broken down for materials.

A low cheer went up when the word came that the ship would be broken up and used for materials. Sacchin explained that this meant they would get more. He didn’t explain how this was so, he was just happy that it was.

It took most of the morning for all the payments to be sorted out and distributed. When he received his share Wyn was surprised at the amount. It was a great deal more than he usually earned for a few weeks’ work. With their earnings, the three of them made their way to a tavern and all got happily drunk, then fell into a blissfully unaware stupor.

The next morning found them heavily hungover but somehow back in Sacchin and Shar’s home. Wyn had again slept on the small balcony.

After another simple breakfast, Sacchin and Wyn went back down to the water’s edge to find a ship.

They were just considering a vessel with the unlikely name of the
Peaceful Shark
when a familiar voice accosted them.

‘You two! What are you doing here?’ They turned to see Marek striding towards them.

‘Looking for a ship, Sir,’ replied Wyn.

‘I’m setting sail this afternoon. I can always use good men.’

‘Where are you leaving from?’ asked Wyn.

Marek laughed and pointed. ‘I forgot, you’re new here. I always set sail from the same anchorage.’ Wyn followed his gesture to see the
Gretchen
at anchor, not far off. She was swarming with men repairing the damage she had suffered from her recent battles. Most of it had already been repaired. The benefit of bringing home plunder, Wyn surmised. ‘So what do you say?’ Marek said.

‘Where are you headed?’ Wyn asked.

Marek’s face lost its humour, his eyes hardening. ‘Because you are new and do not know our ways I will let that pass this once. But know that is a question you never ask a captain of his own vessel.’ He looked around, saw no one was listening, then lowered his voice. ‘As one who knows the sea you would be familiar with the Children of Danan. Our Commander,’ he jerked his head towards the house perched on the crater wall, ‘has decided it is time we showed them who the masters of the seas really are. The
Gretchen
sails today to seek them out.’

At this Sacchin stepped back, fear on his face.
‘Captain, that is madness! They speak to the sea. They control it!’

‘No longer, Sacchin,’ replied Marek. ‘They have lost their way and no longer call upon the sea. Now is the time.’ He fixed them both with a hard glare. ‘So are you with me?’

Wyn nodded. ‘Aye, Marek. I sail with you. I have unfinished business with the Children of Danan.’ As he spoke, he felt Sacchin’s eye upon him. He looked to see the big islander regarding him suspiciously.

Without looking away from Wyn, Sacchin said, ‘I too, Marek. I will come.’

‘The Thane thanks you for your support,’ said Badghe.

He’d been saying it a lot over the past two days. After they left Ajyne, Coerl Leone went on a gathering frenzy. She sent the Fyrd out far and wide with specific targets to collect from the willing populace. Badghe was looking for warm clothing for the First Son. Fortunately Shanek was of average build and height, so finding clothes to fit was not a problem. Finding them in the right colours was the problem. The First Son had a preference for reds in all their complex variety and red dye was expensive. Not many peasants could afford red in any hue, so he and Egon had to concentrate on more well-moneyed establishments. These were becoming less common the further north they went.

The others in the Fyrd had similar tasks, some collecting food, some tents, some bedding, while others were collecting weapons. He was told that the Asan people relished the opportunity to share their worldly goods with those on the Thane’s business, but on the many gathering missions he’d done, he hadn’t seen much enthusiasm. He’d seen a lot of
thinly disguised anger, some grudging acquiescence and even some open dissent. The last rarely endured much beyond the first killing or two.

‘How much more does his Royal Firstness need, Badghe?’ asked Egon.

Badghe shrugged. ‘More, usually.’

‘One more place, then?’ Egon suggested.

Badghe nodded. ‘Just one more.’

The two had been serving in the First Son’s Fyrd under Coerl Leone for three years. Despite the fact that Badghe was from the Southern Province and Egon originated from Oscran, they had formed a solid friendship over the time. Badghe’s burgeoning affair with Egon’s sister had helped. Like most soldiers gaining promotion to Ajyne Duty, they had both moved their immediate families with them for the ten-year posting. The appointment to the First Son’s Fyrd was highly sought after, usually achieved by exceptional service and skills. Badghe had earned his promotion for his uncanny skills with the bow, whilst Egon had used his native Oscran tracking abilities to good effect.

At the time, Egon was in a Fyrd guarding one of the little-used western gates to Ajyne. Bandits kidnapped the daughter of a lesser noble and fled through the gate out into the bushland. Egon was on duty and followed them. He tracked them for three days, finally catching up with them when they reached their base. They were unaware of his pursuit and he was able to enter their camp at night and rescue the girl.

Caldorman Eustaquio, who replaced the Caldorman previously in command of the western
gates, was very grateful. He’d recommended Egon’s appointment as he sat beside the Thane at the Arena, watching his predecessor’s demise.

It was nearly dark by the time they reached what they decided would be the last house for the day. It was a small but elegant house surrounded by an immaculate garden. They walked up to the front door, their boots crunching on the pebbled pathway. They were met at the door by a massive guard. He was easily the biggest man either soldier had ever seen. With his dead-white skin, a long white ponytail that reached to his waist and intricate tribal tattoos that covered most of his torso, he was immediately identifiable as a northern Tribesman.

As Badghe approached, the guard grunted a challenge whilst drawing his sword.

‘What do you want?’ he snarled.

‘We are soldiers of the Empire and the Thane requires the assistance of those who dwell within,’ said Badghe, intoning the ritual greeting.

The Tribesman glared at the soldiers. His eyes narrowed in thought. ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘I’ll check.’

‘You’ll do better than that, big man,’ said Egon.

The guard snorted derisively. ‘Who’s going to make me?’ he said as he opened the door.

As the door closed behind him, Badghe turned to Egon. ‘Is it just me, or did he threaten us?’

‘I think he threatened us, Badghe.’

‘I am so glad you said that, Egon. Let’s go and report this to the Coerl.’

The two of them grinned and went to walk away. They were three paces down the pathway when the door slammed open behind them. As one they
turned, and caught a brief glimpse of a huge exoskeletal form bearing down on them.

‘Well, we can’t wait for them,’ snapped Muttiah. ‘If you cannot keep your Fyrd disciplined, Leone, it’s not my problem.’

Leone fumed, but there was nothing she could do. Two of her Fyrd had not returned from their task and it was time to leave. With a curt nod and a salute, she turned on her heel and stalked away, muttering to herself.

By the time she reached the Fyrd, which was packed and ready to leave, she was almost trembling with fury. She snapped a few orders at the rest of her men and they moved out.

‘It’s unlike Badghe,’ said Shanek when Leone rode up behind him.

‘And Egon,’ said Leone. ‘He’s married. There’s no way he’d just take off. Something’s wrong, First Son.’

Shanek nodded. ‘Do you want me to overrule Cherise and stay a while to look for them?’

Leone was glad he had not turned to face her as he spoke. If he had, he would have seen the shock plainly on her face. The First Son, asking her what she wanted? Unheard of! For a moment she was speechless.

‘Leone?’ Shanek asked.

‘No, thank you, First Son. The Caldorman is right. The men know the rules and if they are not present, they’re left behind. Once we leave, they are officially deserters and marked for execution.’

‘It’s a shame,’ said Shanek. ‘I liked Egon.’

Behind him, Leone nodded. She liked him too.

They were four days north of Ajyne, moving into the less populated areas of the Empire. So far it had been pleasant enough, with sufficient quality establishments to supply their requirements. From here things became a bit more rustic, even dangerous. Banditry was not unheard of these days, even this close to the Capital.

As if something knew of their passage, the weather took a sudden turn for the worse. Where it had been fine to hot since their departure, this morning dawned cold and windy. The clouds were low and grey, promising drizzle all day. The wind felt like it had come straight off the icy face of the Northern Escarpment from the frozen wasteland that lay beyond.

Shanek shivered in his crimson-dyed fur coat. It was a fine coat, taken from a single arox beast, which, from the richness of the fur, would have been a venerable old monster. Despite its warmth, the wretched wind cut straight through, chilling him to the bone. Not for the first time he cursed the silly whim that had led him to shave off his thick mat of black curly hair to accede to the current fashion of baldness. At least wily old Malik had had the foresight to gather a fur-lined hat to go with the coat.

Prompted by this thought, Shanek looked around at his Fyrd to find the battle-scarred veteran.

‘Malik!’ he called.

The soldier urged his mount forward to ride behind the First Son.

‘I must thank you for this fine hat,’ Shanek said, raising his voice slightly over the wind. ‘I think I’d be in trouble without it.’

Behind him, Malik shot a questioning glance at his Coerl. Leone shrugged and gestured for him to reply.

‘Um,’ he stammered, ‘it is my pleasure to serve, First Son.’ When the First Son did not respond, Malik eased back into formation.

After a few hours on the road, during which time the weather deteriorated even further, Diplomat Cherise and Caldorman Muttiah called a halt. They consulted a map and Muttiah gestured at the path that ran off into the wooded region to the left. Shanek turned in his saddle and glared at Leone.

‘Do you know what this is about?’ he called.

Rather than attempting to shout over the howling wind, the Coerl just shrugged. Shanek hissed a curse and urged his mount forward.

‘What are you doing?’ he shouted at the two old men when he was close enough.

‘Following the Thane’s orders, First Son,’ bellowed the Caldorman.

‘What?’ shouted Shanek.

Diplomat Cherise handed Shanek a scrolled map. Shanek snatched and unrolled it. In the Thane’s handwriting were instructions to take…
the most ancient Way of the Coerl that leads by the Shrine of Purity
. Shanek scowled.

‘What nonsense is this?’ he cried. ‘Everyone knows the Shrine is pure myth!’ He tossed the scroll back at Cherise, who caught it easily and handed it to Muttiah.

‘No, First Son. This, I believe, is the Way of the Coerl.’ The Diplomat indicated the overgrown track. Despite the wind, his voice carried easily. Shanek
tried to suppress a shudder but failed. The Way of the Coerl had a dark history.

‘How can you possibly know that?’ Shanek yelled. Before the Diplomat had a chance to answer, he continued, ‘This is ridiculous! We need to get out of this wind!’ He didn’t bother to see if they were following him, but rode on into the forest in search of shelter.

The wind seemed to die almost as soon as he crossed into the woods. Even the sound of his horse’s hooves felt muted, subdued. The stallion slowed to a walk, then stopped, snorting in discomfort.

‘Easy, boy,’ Shanek murmured as he patted the horse’s neck. ‘It’s just a forest.’

He straightened up and looked around. Despite what he had just said, it was unlike any forest he’d ever seen. The ground was thick with leaf litter, so thick that he couldn’t see any open earth anywhere, not even on the trail he’d followed. In fact…He looked around. What trail? In the dim light that filtered through the canopy, he couldn’t see any hint of a trail. There was scarcely a trace of his horse’s hooves where they had scuffed the layer of detritus.

A flicker of concern touched his mind. How could he possibly be lost so quickly? He’d only come a few strides into the forest. But which way? He urged his mount around, turning in a complete circle, but he could not see the edge of the forest, which he knew was only ten or so paces away. His concern grew, and the first glimpse of panic appeared on the fringes of his mind.

‘Hey!’ he called out. ‘Where are you?’ He strained
his ears to hear the return calls but none came. ‘Hey!’ he yelled.

‘First Son,’ said Coerl Leone calmly from behind him.

He whipped his head around to see her and his Fyrd trotting towards him on the well-defined track. Behind them he could see the edge of the forest with the road beyond, where Muttiah and Cherise were still discussing the map. The feelings of panic subsided, but in their wake they left fears that had not been there before.

‘Leone,’ said Shanek. ‘I thought it best to find shelter in here rather than stay out there in the storm.’

The Coerl looked around. ‘Yes, First Son. I’ll order the Fyrd to set up camp.’

Shanek dismounted. ‘Just over there,’ he said. He indicated a location near the path that caught his eye. It was a round clearing about twenty paces across. He walked over to it.
Yes
, he said to himself.
This is a good spot
. Above him, the canopy stretched all the way across the clearing, providing shelter from the rain, and the denseness of the forest around it was a barrier against the wind, leaving this small area quiet and dry.

He stood and watched as the Fyrd set up camp. The tents went up in a circle around the edge of the clearing. Two men dug a firepit in the centre. Two others gathered wood. All was done without Leone or Shanek giving one order beyond Leone’s simple ‘Set up camp here.’

By the time the Fyrd were finished, Cherise and Muttiah had completed their discussion. Surrounded by Muttiah’s Fyrd, they joined Shanek in the clearing.

Muttiah looked with approval at the efficient way Shanek’s Fyrd had established camp. He nodded at Leone. She saluted in acknowledgement of his silent praise. The Caldorman gestured to his own men and they started to set up alongside the rest.

When a fire was going and the evening meal was being served, Muttiah eased himself down alongside Shanek.

‘Good location, First Son,’ he grunted. ‘Defensible. Sheltered. Good size.’ He looked at Shanek with approval. ‘Like it.’

‘That’s more than I can say for your plan,’ said Shanek.

‘My plan, First Son?’ asked Muttiah.

‘This ridiculous idea of yours to find the Shrine of Purity,’ snapped Shanek.

‘It isn’t my plan, First Son. You read the direction from the Thane.’

Shanek sneered at the old Caldorman. ‘How stupid do you think I am?’ he asked.

‘First Son?’ asked Muttiah.

‘I don’t know what you think you are doing,’ snapped Shanek, ‘but it isn’t going to work.’

‘First Son, I’m confused. I am only following the Thane’s direction. You saw the message.’

‘You really do think I am stupid,’ Shanek said softly.

‘Not at all, First Son, I have great respect for your intelligence,’ said Muttiah.

Shanek watched the old Caldorman closely. He had been trained in the nuances of communication for years and knew when someone was lying. There was no doubt that the Caldorman was holding
something back but the First Son was unsure whether it was a deliberate lie, or simply something he was not yet permitted to reveal. He decided to wait until Cherise told him the full details of the Thane’s orders before doing anything.

‘Not enough respect, I think, Caldorman,’ hissed Shanek. ‘We’ll talk about this later.’ He walked away, leaving Muttiah to watch him and wonder how much of the plan he knew.

It wasn’t much, Shanek had to concede. All he knew for certain was that whoever had written on the map, it had not been the Thane. One of the many skills that Shanek had been taught over the years was the art of handwriting. He had studied thousands of examples of writing and knew the Thane’s hand intimately. What few people knew was that Kasimar IV had a history much more colourful than even his public image revealed. When he was seventeen he had had a close encounter with an arox kid. It bit him on the hand, severing a tendon in his little finger. The loss of movement gave his writing a characteristic drag on the downstroke that even after years of practice was discernible to the expert. This writing, although a good copy, was not the Thane’s.

Shanek had to wonder if Muttiah and Cherise knew of the forgery or were ignorant. Or perhaps they were actively involved.

‘Leone!’ he called. The Coerl’s uncomplicated worldview was often a valuable counterpoint to his own, more complex way. On hearing him, she stopped speaking with a soldier and looked around. ‘Walk with me,’ Shanek said.