Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (70 page)

“Highness, this creature is hardly natural as we
understand the word.”

Burkhart leaned back and kicked his feet up onto
the desk, gradually regaining his boyish manner. “So, the myths have some
basis. It would also mean that Culver was wrong. He believed the storms
triggered earthquakes that were responsible for emptying Kultûhm. Did he learn
anything of them before his demise? You – I’ve forgotten your name ...”

“Fergal, Highness.”

“Yes, that’s it. You were Culver’s assistant. Can
you tell us what he discovered?”

“Culver found mention of the storms, but nothing
of quakes, so the link between the two was not validated. He would have agreed
with General Osric’s assessment of why Kultûhm stands empty.”

“Did you agree with Culver’s theories about the
storms?”

“No, Highness. I did not.” It was quite true.
Culver had produced no theories about the storms.

“Are there any among you who hold to Culver’s
ideas?”

None of them did. Even if they had, there was a
tension in the air that warned them to keep silent. It was clear that the
prince had some reason for hushing this threat of disaster, a reason that could
move him to extreme measures.

“Well, though the loss of Culver saddens me,” the prince
said with deep relief and not a hint of sadness, “it is perhaps a good thing
that the inquiry has been shown inconclusive. The storms have no deeper meaning
than a message from the gods. My diviners have succeeded in circulating an
interpretation of peace through the city. It was a grave concern that Culver might
fill people’s heads with dangerous ideas, sowing fear, threatening the security
of our people, the stability of our city. Such ideas can undermine our
strength. They might even be considered treasonous.”

The prince had not made this speech idly, and he
looked around the room from one person to the next, avoiding only Osric. “Are
there any among you who feel any need to pursue or spread Culver’s notions,
that we are facing some horrific devastation?”

None did. They had agreed not to mention the
possibility of some dangerous creature slumbering on top of the Pellamines. If
Burkhart even suspected them of spreading fear …

“Good,” the prince said. “Then you are free to go,
but do not disappoint me. You will doubtless be asked of your journey and I
want you to be loud in your rejection of Culver’s theories. You have served Castath
well and I commend you all for your bravery and skill. I have many ears beyond
these walls and will be listening to hear how you continue to serve the city by
spreading a report of peaceful assurance.”

Though he wore a bright smile, the threat was
obvious to everyone. Aedan knew the prince well enough to understand the full
meaning. They were now puppets whose mouths were under the prince’s control. A
loose word, an unguarded opinion, and they would receive the attentions of
grimy tools in a black dungeon.

As they left, Aedan realised with a sudden nausea
how close they had walked to the edge, how treacherous their prince’s
preparations had been. Burkhart was all casual warmth and easy laughter, and behind
this sunny curtain was a readiness to murder – perhaps not with his own hands,
but Ganavant would be more than willing to perform any such task. He, Aedan
guessed, was the dark arm of the prince’s rule. And he would make a dangerous
enemy, one who would embrace the lowest means.

Though Osric’s rank was higher, Ganavant held more
power in this city, for he was clearly the prince’s favoured man. Ganavant was
not encumbered by a conscience, which made him a tool that Burkhart could apply
to any purpose, honourable or otherwise. Osric could never be such a man. It
was for this very reason that he was trusted by King Elgar.

The prince drew those of supple morals to his
inner circle, and he would no sooner confide in Osric than undress in public.
Osric’s eyes were indeed the king’s eyes, and it was becoming clear that
Burkhart had much to hide from them both.

Clouds were darkening the city’s keep. The northern
king’s favour, Aedan realised, might not protect Osric long. And that meant
that Osric might not be able to protect him.

Aedan now had two matters on which his careless
tongue would bring about his death. During the silent walk back to the academy,
he envied the scampering street children whose names the prince did not know.

“Hey, look! It’s the wanderer returned.”

“He’s got bigger.”

“And uglier.”

“Aedan, did you bring us gifts? Rescue any foreign
princesses?”

“Did you bring one for Lorrimer? He hasn’t fallen
in love for weeks now.”

“Shut up Peashot. You’ve been pining like a pigeon
for Liru for three months.”

“Pigeon’s don’t pine, Lorrimer.”

“Yes, they do.”

“Oh, so now you’re an expert on pigeons?”

“Lorrimer knows nothing about pigeons, but he
is
the expert on pining.”

In spite of his uncertainties about returning to Burkhart’s
city, it felt good to be among his friends again, and Aedan slipped into the routine
quickly enough. Thanks to Fergal’s teaching and Osric’s training, he did not
seem to have lost much ground. Some of the topics he had covered were slightly
different, though. The examinations were only two weeks away and he nearly
injured himself catching up.

The examiners were satisfied by his progress, with
the usual exception of Kollis. Dun was particularly impressed, remarking that Aedan
was noticeably stronger and judged his encounters with a far steadier eye. The worst
result was in Lekran. Aedan’s grip on the language was found to be the poorest
in the class. Law was nearly as bad. Rodwell felt that Aedan was not applying
himself. He was right. Aedan had lost all interest in Burkhart’s leadership and
the laws by which he ruled. He passed the subject, but barely. His third year
was complete.

Liru, too, was promoted.

Malik did not openly display his fury, but none
could miss the thorns in his eyes.

As usual, Vayle received perfect results for
anything that tested his extraordinary memory, and Lorrimer endured a perfect
agony of suspense followed by infinite bliss when he slipped over the bar.

Giddard asked Aedan to stay behind after the final
class of the year.

“I wanted to follow up on our last discussion,”
the wizened master said, seating himself on his table and scratching the deep
wrinkles around his mouth. “Since leaving for Kultûhm, you have changed in a
way that I have seldom observed before. Perhaps I should say never before.
Since you’ve been back, people have been watching and noticing. They’ve also
been talking and I, of course, have been listening.”

He dropped his hand and looked straight at Aedan.

Aedan shuffled.

“This is the first time,” Giddard resumed, “that I
have ever heard of a third-year student making an apology to a first-year
student and then offering to teach him and his friends a few personally-devised
combat tricks. I can tell you the impression it made on them was staggering.
That little boy is standing taller than he’s ever done. He used to be as dull as
a corpse – couldn’t get any participation from him. Now he participates so much
I can hardly get a word in myself.”

Aedan laughed. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. He
had actually apologised to two boys. The other was the smaller one from the law
wing he had once beaten – he winced at the memory – and who had apparently kept
his mouth shut. Giddard, it seemed, knew nothing of this. Aedan chose not to speak
of it. Maybe one day.

“I learned from Fergal what happened to you out
east,” Giddard said. “I have no idea how to understand it, but I can say that
the change in you is not imagined. All the masters have noticed, even Kollis,
though you are not likely to hear it from him, and though I believe he
attributes the change to his own efforts at improving you.” Giddard’s face
betrayed nothing, and Aedan had the good sense not to laugh.

The party at Liru’s had become a tradition. This time, due to
her long absence, her parents agreed to host all of Liru’s and Aedan’s classmates,
as well as Delwyn, of course. It was unnecessary to inform Malik that he was
not welcome. Neither he nor Cayde arrived. They spent the time before the
celebration inventing reasons why it would be an awful event, and casting
wistful looks at their excited classmates.

When everyone had arrived and the music began, Peashot
surprised Liru by knowing the steps to her favourite dances, and chatting to
her in the most appalling Mardrae. She was delighted with the efforts, and her
bright smile and raven hair whirled constantly across the dance floor. Though
she and Peashot were inseparable, it was clear that she was as proud of Aedan
as of a brother, telling the story of his fight with Rork many times over. Aedan
always diverted the attention, finishing it off with the little detail on how
the famed swordsman had finally been toppled.

Ilona had forgotten her dislike of Liru – for how
long, none could say – and she was apparently determined to win back Aedan’s
affection, insisting on dancing with him more than once. But then she seemed
equally intent on winning the affections of Hadley, Warton, and two or three
others. She had grown even more dazzling and it was not lost on the boys.
Perhaps the only person more taken with her looks was Ilona herself, and it
went a long way to spoiling them. When Aedan saw how sure she was of being
admired, it almost made him dislike her. But then when those eyes searched him
out …

Aedan was disappointed with himself for being so
easily drawn back to the spider’s web, as Liru had once put it. He fell into
blackest despair when Ilona danced with Hadley, and studied her for signs of
disinterest. Then she danced with Warton, and Aedan’s heart dropped another
foot into the earth. When Kian approached her for a dance and Aedan saw her
derisive sneer, he suddenly woke as if from a drugged stupor. Peashot’s comment
floated back to him – kind and sweet people are kind and sweet to everyone.
Ilona was nice when she wanted something. It was like a beautiful mask she put
on for a purpose, and beneath it was steel.

Despite this, Aedan’s eye was still lured whenever
the golden hair swung across the dance floor.

The following afternoon Aedan began searching the libraries.
There were five of them in the marshals’ division alone. The image that had appeared
in the lightning was still clear in his mind – a red leather cover with a
picture of a lizard curled twice on itself. At first he thought the search
would be quick as there were not many volumes bound in red leather, but after
fruitlessly scouring all the libraries in his quadrant, he began to wonder.

Access to the other quadrants was not that
straightforward. Security, however, was less strict in the law wing. By
dressing up and assuming a preoccupied look tinctured with that pained
superiority he had often noticed in the students from this wing, he was allowed
to pass.

The search was fruitless. The officers’ wing
possessed only one library, and it did not seem anyone cared who entered.
Again, the book was not to be seen.

He might have been able to pose as a law student,
but he had no intention of disguising himself as a girl, so he asked Liru if
she would search the libraries in the women’s section. It took her a whole day,
but she gave no sign of exhaustion when she returned and suggested that they
try the city library in the morning. Peashot and Lorrimer got wind of the
search and offered to join in. By midday they had scoured every shelf without
success.

“Are you sure it was a lizard?” Lorrimer asked. “I
saw one with a coiled chain.”

“It was definitely a lizard,” said Aedan. “I can
still see it as clearly as your face.”

“As unpleasant?”

“Shut up Peashot.”

The fiery-haired, trouble-hunting boy was about to
step it up a notch. He opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was
lost as he sprang in the air with a howl of pain. Liru gave him a stern look
when he landed.

Aedan was not sure how to announce himself to Fergal,
and wasn’t even sure if he would be permitted to reach his office unattended.
When he got back to the academy, he gathered a pile of books from his shelf and
put on a frustrated look of someone doing errands. The guards knew his face and
when they saw the tell-tale errand expression they let him pass without a
question.

The knock was answered by a familiar voice. Aedan
opened the door. Fergal was busy studying a map against the far wall.

“Come in, Aedan.”

Aedan paused. “How did you know it was me?”

“Because everyone who has permission to knock at
my door has been given clear instructions not to, on pain of death or something
along those lines; because I expected it would take you three days after the
conclusion of your examinations to search the libraries for the book you asked
me about during our return journey; because your persistent nature and penchant
for finding yourself where you do not belong were bound to lead you down here
in spite of it being forbidden; and because your knock was too timid for anyone
on a real errand. Then, of course, there is the reflection in the brass shield
over there.”

“Oh … Uh, I really didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“I sincerely hope that is untrue. If you arrived
here with no objective capable of disturbing me then you arrived with no
objective at all, and you will have succeeded in disturbing me without
purpose.”

Any man is rendered more intimidating by the walls
of his office and Aedan found himself considerably off balance now.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked.

“Do I look angry?”

Aedan could never tell what mood Fergal was in. He
was not even sure if the man was capable of such things. Whatever emotions
played through Fergal’s thoughts ran as deep as water gurgling under a glacier.

“I … don’t know,” said Aedan. “I can’t really
tell.” He saw the eyes wrinkle slightly.

“Fair enough,” Fergal said. “Osric the stone-faced
himself accused me of being unreadable.” He moved over to a bookshelf that
spanned the room and drew a red volume which he handed to Aedan. On the cover
was an image burned into the leather surface – a lizard wrapped twice around
itself, exactly as Aedan had described the book to Fergal during the journey
home.

“You hid it from me!”

“I did not. I spent some time searching and when I
found it I drew it for you. There are archives that you do not know about. Very
few of us have access. Before you leave here, you need to assure me that you
will look after this volume. It is an original and there are no copies.”

“I will,” said Aedan, barely able to contain his
excitement.

“I might have sent word earlier,” Fergal mused,
half to himself. “Could have saved you a lot of searching, but I thought it
good to hold back for two reasons. Firstly, it would cause you to become acquainted
with the shelves of all the libraries you have access to and those you do not;
secondly, it would be fitting punishment for disturbing me.”

“But I hadn’t disturbed you yet.”

“Quite so. An appalling exercise of distorted
ethics – punishment before crime as if making a purchase. But as it turns out,
my wrath is appeased and I send you on your way with pleasant wishes and the
stern warning I hope you have not forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten – I’ll look after it. But how
do I return it when I’m done?”

“By disturbing me again, boy. How else? Now off with
you.”

Aedan ran all the way back to his dorm as fast as his
cumbersome pile of books would allow. It was the second time he almost
triggered one of the stair traps. They had caught two inattentive daydreamers
over the years. The first was Lorrimer who had been seen a moment earlier
lagging behind with dreamy eyes and a tender smile. The second was also
Lorrimer, and this time he took two others with him. He claimed to have been
thinking about an abstract problem in trade law. No one even pretended to
believe him.

When Aedan reached the dorm, he tossed his own
books on the desk and settled down to discover what was hidden within the red
covers.

The script was less than neat, but it was not this
that caused him to frown. He worked through the first words. Some were familiar
– enough to tell him that the book was written in Lekran.

He slammed the cover shut and pushed it away.
After pacing the room a few times, he decided to at least find out what it was
about. There was no name on the cover, but the title page made it clear.
The
Customs and Rituals of Ulnoi.
If Fergal had not cautioned him against
damaging the book, he would have repeatedly hurled it against the wall until it
fell apart, then burned the pages and mixed the ashes with pig muck. Ulnoi was
the foulest word he knew in any language. It was the north island of Lekrau,
the island where his beloved Kalry had been offered to whatever filthy gods
those murderers served. And he was expected to read this?

He clapped the book shut again, booted his chair
across the room and stormed out.

The sun was shining outside and it annoyed him
further. What was this obsession that everyone seemed to have with
understanding Lekrau? Why was he constantly pushed to not just face but to study
the one culture that was death to him? He felt tricked, betrayed. Forgiving and
confronting his father was one thing, but this was going too far.