The Awakening (23 page)

‘Any last words, Princess?’ he asked. Instead of replying, Hwenfayre lashed at his face with her fingernails, leaving two bloody slashes down his cheek. With a roar of pain and anger, Declan heaved her over the side.

‘Aldere!’ called his mother. ‘Aldere! Where are you?’

‘I’m here, Mother,’ he replied.

‘Where have you been all day?’ she snapped.

‘I was with Silvia during the morning. Her goats were poorly and I helped her tend them. This afternoon I was with Merryk, helping him fix his bellows.’

‘It’s time you got yourself a trade, boy,’ Katya grumbled. ‘You’re old enough.’ She fixed him with a hard stare. ‘You were old enough ten summers ago.’

Aldere sighed. It was going to be one of those evenings. He stood, stirring the pot that hung suspended over the fire. A delicious aroma of vegetables and lamb rose up from the bubbling surface. The lamb was a gift from Silvia, and Merryk’s wife had given Aldere some vegetables from her garden. It always seemed to work that way: he had no trade and his mother had no skills with either garden or needle, yet they were never hungry or cold.

As he stirred the stew he added a pinch of a herb he found growing high on the mountain that soared above their village. It gave their meals a subtle flavour
and seemed to ease his mother’s need for the drink. Whenever he went up there, he brought back a pouchful. Just a few leaves would usually be enough for him and his mother, but he could easily trade it for whatever they needed. All of the women in the village would take as much as they could get.

‘Did you have a good day today, Mother?’ asked Aldere.

She snorted in derision. ‘And how exactly am I supposed to have a good day?’

‘I don’t know, did you talk to anyone?’

She snorted again. ‘Talk? Who is going to talk to me?’

‘Yesmah, she’s always nice to me. Why don’t you visit her? I’m sure she’d be nice.’

Instead of answering, Katya broke the seal on a new flask of wine. Aldere sighed. Sometimes she’d wait until he’d served dinner, but not always.

He put his mother to bed when there was still a mouthful left in the flask. Once he had poured such a mouthful out, but she’d remembered it and there was unpleasantness in the morning. Now he just stoppered the flask and left it beside her bed. As he tucked her in, he kissed her gently on the forehead.

‘Goodnight, Mother,’ he whispered. ‘I hope tomorrow is better.’ She lay still, her mouth open slackly, snoring quietly. ‘I’ll talk to Yesmah myself,’ he said. ‘I’m sure she’d like to spend some time with you.’

‘I’m sorry, Aldere,’ Yesmah said the next morning. ‘But I’m just too busy today. Maybe tomorrow.’

Aldere nodded. ‘Maybe tomorrow, then. Goodbye.’

It had been like this since his father died. No one wanted to spend any time with his mother. They were always very polite, but…Always the ‘but’. They were either too busy, or not quite well, or something. Every village had to have one but it was hard to be the one’s son sometimes.

It hadn’t always been like this, or so he’d heard. When she was young, his mother had been a beauty. Her long, jet-black hair, sparkling blue eyes and soft skin had made her the most sought-after girl in the village. But the lovely Katya, the pride of the village, married a Tribesman. No one spoke his name any more. He got her pregnant, then left. Everyone thought he’d deserted her forever, but he came back a year after Aldere was born. He came back with treasures from afar, or so the story went. They were deliriously happy for about six summers before the event that changed all their lives forever.

Aldere’s father was climbing the mountain as he often did. He always said that it helped clear his mind and cure the need to travel, being so high above the world.
Looking down on life gives you perspective
, he’d say.
Take the large view of things
,
my son
.

Aldere and his mother were carrying lunch up the mountain to share with him when they heard an odd clicking sound. As one, they turned to see a Skrin Tia’k standing behind them.

Skrin Tia’k were rarely seen this side of the Great Fastness. Everyone knew that the arthropoid creatures still roamed the grasslands freely, but south of the river they were unwelcome. If caught, they faced either lifelong slavery or death at the hands of
whatever mob felt bloodthirsty enough to attack. Given their status as defeated and enslaved enemies, they enjoyed no protection whatever from any human agency.

Katya screamed and fled down the hill, in her terror running very close to the Skrinnie. It stood impassively watching her. Aldere, a sturdy boy, watched the huge creature lower itself to its four walking limbs. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment as if summing up an opponent. Abruptly the Skrinnie leaped backwards, uttering a high-pitched scream that had Aldere’s ears ringing for days afterwards. It raised itself onto its rear two legs and spread its other four limbs wide.

To Aldere’s stunned amazement, massive translucent wings erupted from its sides between the first and second sets of limbs. They unravelled to a wingspan of at least twenty paces, in lurid pinks and greens. The Skrinnie’s head also grew, opening up to reveal huge red eyes that were set above a suddenly savage-fanged mouth. Horns sprouted from the back of its head and its second set of limbs took on the appearance of weapons. The tone of the squeal shifted, becoming modulated, ululating. Aldere was transfixed, unable to move. The Skrin Tia’k sprang forward, mouth agape, attack limbs flailing.

Aldere’s father never stood a chance as he threw himself into the Skrin Tia’k’s body.

‘Run, son!’ he screamed.

Aldere never forgot that he ran without a moment’s hesitation. He sprinted past his bloodied father and never stopped to look back, even when he heard the screams end.

Katya started drinking soon after. Aldere watched his mother become a fat, bitter, ugly woman who cried herself to sleep every night when she went to bed sober. He noted that the nights she spent racked with guilt and tears gradually became fewer and fewer as she drank more and more. Many times he tried to explain to her that it was not her fault, but it only made her guilt worse to know that he could accept this while she could not.

Another thing that puzzled and saddened Aldere was that no one ever believed him when he described the change in the Skrin Tia’k.

‘Nonsense,’ they would all scoff. The Skrinnies could not do what he described. Such a thing had never been seen or recorded. He must have been imagining it; he was only a small child; the fear made the Skrinnie seem different. The explanations were as predictable as they were banal. Aldere knew what he’d seen and what he’d seen made the Great Wars between humans and Skrinnies believable.

It was only a year later that he discovered the cave and saw the sign carved into the rock.

The Commander put down his telescope, disappointed again.

They’d been hunting the Children for weeks without so much as a hint of a sail. Even in this new ship, the
Misty Seal
, the finest vessel he had ever commanded, he’d had no luck. It was important that they find them, far more important than any of his crew realised. It would not be far off the mark to say that lives depended on this mission. A great many lives, and one of them his.

He considered calling for a course change, but he’d done that so many times in this fruitless search that he despaired of making any more. They’d swept the deep Reaches without luck. Now they were venturing further north into the Stragglers, the island region where the Southern Raiders had first made their reputation. He had been part of that reputation.

Even though his was a name not commonly known, his face and ship were recognised and feared throughout the Stragglers. He had cut a swathe through these islands, preying without mercy on
both land settlements and any ships foolish enough to stray into his territory. His exploits of pillage and rapine during fifteen years were enough to attract the attention of the Officers’ Council of the Southern Raiders. When he lost a leg in an unwise battle with the Children of Danan, he decided to put his sailing days behind him.

A seat on the Council was easy enough to buy. After his fifteen years of sailing and raiding he had a sizeable fortune put aside. At first he’d been regarded as little more than a thug to be tolerated by the other Officers. But he was an astute captain and knew the ways of men, understanding the uses of power and skilled in goading others to do his bidding. In a short time he built himself a new reputation.

In less time than it took to become a Southern Raider, he became an Officer. The respect he had earned as a captain quickly grew as an Officer. However, being an Officer had its responsibilities as well as its privileges and he soon learned the burden that all the Officers carried. He learned of the future facing the Southern Raiders.

The plan that had ultimately led to his being here, on a ship again after so long, with this damnable wooden leg, was his. As would be the sole blame if it went wrong.

Damn that treacherous bitch!
he raged inwardly. He’d already lost a lot of good men through her schemes, and now, thanks to her obsessive need for secrecy, he did not even know what he was looking for.

In frustration he turned away from the railing and noticed a crewman standing nearby.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Sir,’ the crewman started. ‘Sir, wreckage.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘On the starboard bow, Sir.’

Pleased to have something else to think about, the Commander turned and stomped across the deck to consider the wreckage. It was a small boat, more abandoned and battered than wrecked, but timber floating in the sea was not to be wasted, whatever form it came in, so he ordered it to be brought aboard.

‘What do you think, Commander?’ asked one of the other crewmen as it came on board.

‘Islander,’ he grunted in reply. ‘Northern Straggler, I’d say.’ He shrugged. ‘Could be useful as timber, or as a bay tender.’

‘Not what we’re after then, Sir,’ the crewman continued.

The Commander shook his head and gave an order for it to be stowed away. He turned, in part to hide his frustration, but also to return to his post in the stern of the ship. As with most who spend their lives on water, the simple contemplation of the sea would often ease his mind and help him think. And he needed to think, to try and find some way out of this trap he had made for himself.

Before he could even reach the stern railing, an old, querulous voice interrupted him.

‘A boat? Is that all we have?’

The Commander stopped. Without bothering to turn around he said, ‘Yes, Officer Manno, a boat.’

‘Is it a big boat?’ the old man asked.

The Commander sighed. ‘No, Officer Manno, a very small boat.’

‘Probably not the boat that contains the legendary Danan, then?’

Biting back a number of colourful responses he would have normally used in the face of such sarcasm, the Commander answered through gritted teeth. ‘Probably not, no, Officer Manno.’

Behind him he heard the old man bang his walking stick firmly on the deck. ‘You will face me when I speak to you, Commander!’ Officer Manno hissed.

The Commander turned slowly to regard the wizened old man who stood hunched before him. Officer Manno was the oldest Officer on the Council. He had been sailing and raiding these waters before the Commander was born, and even though the Commander now outranked the old man, he knew he owed him respect that went beyond mere rank. The aged Officer glared up at the Commander with eyes that glittered with rage.

‘How dare you speak to me with your back to me!’ Manno said. ‘Do not forget that it was my casting vote that won you that position you hold! I will not be treated disrespectfully!’

‘I apologise, Officer Manno.’

‘And don’t apologise!’ he snapped back. ‘Come with me to my cabin; we need to talk.’ Without waiting to see if he was being followed, Manno shuffled towards his cabin.

Inside it was cramped, as cabins usually are. Manno sat on a stool with his back against a wall, staring at the door as the Commander entered. He nodded, indicating the younger man should sit on the bunk.

‘Talk to me,’ the old man said without preamble.

‘What do you want to hear?’

‘Just talk.’

He shrugged, leaning back. ‘It was such a simple plan, really,’ he started.

‘Always the worst kind,’ Manno grunted. The Commander grinned in agreement. ‘Never trust a simple plan,’ he continued. ‘They will always blow up in your face.’

‘This one hasn’t yet,’ commented the Commander.

Manno snorted in amusement. ‘Hasn’t it?’

‘No. But it is becoming ugly.’

‘What do we need to rescue it?’ asked Manno.

‘At this stage I don’t know.’

‘What’s the worst that can happen?’

‘The Southern Raiders cease to exist. Hundreds of women and children starve to death and the seas belong to Morag, the High Priestess of the Children.’

Officer Manno nodded. ‘It’s important to keep the objectives firmly in mind,’ he said.

‘You think I’ve forgotten!’ snapped the Commander. He surged to his feet, towering over Manno, glaring again at the old man.

‘No, I don’t,’ he said, looking up at the Commander. ‘But you have been showing signs of losing hope. And with what’s at stake here, despair is not a luxury you can allow yourself.’ He paused as the younger man took a number of deep breaths then sat back down. ‘If the plan has gone awry it is up to you to either fix it or make a new one.’

‘I thought I’d done that.’

‘What? With this so-called raid? This hunting mission? What of the great massing of the fleet? No
one believes that. Everyone believes you have some plan, some way of outsmarting the Children, because everyone knows they cannot be defeated on the Sea.’

‘But they can be!’ declared the Commander, once again surging to his feet. ‘I know it!’

‘Do you?’ Manno asked quietly. ‘All you have is the word of a woman who has proved herself treacherous. And she comes from a long line of treacherous women. Ask yourself why you kept the original plan quiet.’

‘You know why I kept it quiet. We knew we couldn’t really trust Morag.’

‘And you came out here, with almost the whole fleet, on a hunt that everyone knows cannot succeed!’

The Commander nodded, his face showing near-despair. Officer Manno pointed at him with a steady finger. ‘Again you indulge yourself!’ he snapped. ‘The stakes are high and you must take control, first of yourself, then of our destiny.’

It had been such a long time since anyone had dared to speak so bluntly to him that for a moment the Commander was taken aback. He stared at Officer Manno and blinked slowly. The silence between them was punctuated by the sounds of the crew from outside. Finally, the Commander shook his head, a small smile forming on his lips.

‘Got any ideas?’ he asked.

Manno slowly shook his head.

‘So we’re stuck with my plan, then?’ the Commander said.

‘So it seems,’ agreed Manno. ‘For now, at least.’

‘Commander! Commander, you must see this!’

‘Hold that thought,’ the Commander said as he opened the door. ‘This shouldn’t take long.’ But what he saw coming towards his ship took Officer Manno’s words from his mind.