The Awakening (27 page)

‘Cherise,’ he said, ‘are you aware of the contents of the Thane’s command?’

‘Yes, First Son. I have read it.’

‘Did you happen to translate it from Matrin into symbolic Matrin?’

‘No, First Son. My symbolic Matrin is not what it should be.’

‘You know that the symbols have numerous meanings depending on the context?’

‘Yes, First Son.’

‘When I read the command I felt it was badly worded. Clumsy, overwritten. So I took all the words and phrases that were unnecessary and translated them into symbolic Matrin. Then I read them vertically, as ancient Matrin is traditionally written.’

Diplomat Cherise gave every appearance of listening politely, but he was too intent, too focused. He disguised it well, but Shanek recognised the signs. Cherise was expecting something.
Are you involved?
Shanek wondered.

‘Did you discover anything?’ asked Cherise.

Shanek feigned a wry smile. ‘My father and the Thane have played a joke on us I fear, Diplomat.’ To give himself a moment to think, Shanek took a sip of his drink. ‘Whilst the sheep-trading agreement is real, it is written to hide a very funny joke at the Ettans’ expense.’ As he spoke, Shanek watched the Diplomat closely. Relief, well-hidden, but present, flooded the old man’s features. ‘Is there any truth in the rumour that Ettans are uniformly stupid?’

Cherise smiled. ‘No, First Son, the Ettan people are most hospitable and kind, but the jokes about them are funny.’

Shanek laughed easily, apparently sharing a pleasant moment, but inwardly his mind was racing.
You
are
involved, burn you! How much do you know? Why are you here?

Across the fire, Leone watched them closely. Shanek had not spoken a word to her for two days, not since he had read something in the document.
She did not know what he had found but she knew it was not a joke about Ettans. His silence worried her. It was not normal for him, and it usually led to an outburst of some kind, usually a sudden surge of sexual activity. Out here in this oddly quiet forest, she wondered what form his response would take. Her first thought was some sort of violence against Caldorman Muttiah. The First Son’s responses to the aged warrior had been growing increasingly hostile over the past few days.

A cry shattered the evening quiet. Leone leaped to her feet, sword drawn. The other soldiers also sprang up, looking towards the sound. They paused, as if waiting for Leone’s direction, and another cry split the night. It was a cry of agony. There was no need for spoken orders; Leone’s look and curt gesture was all the soldiers needed.

Even as they hurried to the aid of their comrade, the sounds of a large animal cut across the cries of pain.

‘Arox,’ someone hissed. Leone muffled a curse. The large predator often hunted in packs, sometimes numbering up to ten. With the losses to her Fyrd, their numbers were not enough to fight off a large pack of arox beasts. Coming to a hard decision, she stopped running.

‘Hold!’ she bellowed. ‘Regroup by the campfire!’ The cries of pain ceased, replaced by the sickening crunching of bones as the arox started to feed. ‘Regroup!’ Leone called again.

It was testament to the superb training of the Fyrds that they obeyed Leone’s command without hesitation. Once they were back she and Malik had
them ring the campsite, facing outwards. Within the defensive ring were Muttiah and Cherise. Shanek insisted on standing beside Leone.

The noise of the arox feeding faded as it finished its ghastly meal.

‘How many are there?’ a nervous voice asked.

‘Three,’ said Shanek without thinking. He gestured to his left, ‘One there, one there,’ pointing to the right, ‘and the one eating Ashfaq.’

Leone waved a soldier to reinforce the left and another to the right. It was as well she did, for no sooner had they taken up their positions than two aroxii plunged out of the undergrowth.

No amount of planning or training can ever prepare even the hardiest soldier for their first sight of a charging arox. A full-grown beast can stand as high as a man at the shoulder. Their porcine features, fangs and large curving tusks are usually enough to send a shiver through anyone, but when they charge they utter a loud squeal that is as painfully penetrating as it is incongruous. They attack with their tusks, seeking to disembowel their victim, and with their fearsome front claws, not unlike the raking attack of a large cat. Covered in thick fur, they are normally found in the northern wastes, and the ones that drift south are often enraged by the heat.

The arox on Shanek’s left crashed into a soldier, taking her to the ground. Her cry of pain was quickly cut off as the arox ripped her open with a single sweep of its tusks. With blood and entrails dangling about its snout, it turned to the nearest soldier and squealed as it lashed out with its right paw. The soldier had fast reactions and threw
himself back so that the claws just raked across his chest, leaving four bloody trails slashed through his armour. He fell back screaming. The arox lowered its head and, standing over the fallen woman, regarded the others who were circling around it with swords outstretched. It shook its massive head and charged into the ring of waiting steel.

The arox to Shanek’s right approached more cautiously, almost as if sizing up its opponents. It walked slowly out of the bushes and stared at the waiting soldiers. Shanek tensed. The noise of the other arox tearing at the soldiers to his left seemed to fade as he focused on the one nearer him. The whistle of the bolas attracted the arox’s attention, and it turned a baleful glare upon the First Son. Leone stepped up, edging ahead of Shanek.

She raised her sword and faced the arox. ‘Stay back, First Son,’ she whispered.

The arox shifted its gaze to Leone, then looked back, straight at Shanek. For a moment their eyes locked, neither able nor willing to break the contact. Leone, aware that her movement did not distract it, took a step forward and away from Shanek.

With breathtaking speed the arox charged. Leone recognised instantly that Shanek was in danger and dropped to her knee, swiping her sword at the arox’s leg as it thundered past her. The blade cut deep, severing nerve and sinew, causing the beast to stumble. Shanek moved quickly to attack from the opposite side and used the manoeuvre he tried on Leone in the Training Arena. He swung his bolas so that one ball spun towards the uninjured foreleg, while the other went to the head.

The arox was already staggering to the left, and when Shanek dragged back on the bolas cord, jerking the right leg outwards and the head down to the right, there was a loud crack. The beast squealed in agony as its leg snapped. It fell heavily, thrashing its hind legs, attempting to gore anything that came within range of its tusks.

Shanek let go of the cord and drew his sword. He darted in and drove his blade deep into the arox’s back, just beside the spine. Thick red blood spurted out, drenching Shanek’s arm as the arox stiffened.

‘First Son!’ called Leone.

Shanek dragged his sword out of the dead arox. ‘I’m fine, Leone.’ He looked wryly at his blood-soaked clothes. ‘A bit wet and sticky but uninjured. None of the blood’s mine.’

‘Stand clear, First Son,’ she said. ‘These things are hard to kill. It may not be dead yet.’

‘It’s dead,’ he said. ‘Trust me.’

Leone nodded and turned her attention to where the other arox was battling for its life. It was clear that it had wreaked havoc upon the Fyrds. Several soldiers lay dead or badly injured, but the beast was in its death throes. Before she could take two paces towards it, it shuddered and fell, bleeding from dozens of wounds.

Silence descended, punctuated only by the groans of the dying. Leone knelt to examine a wounded member of her Fyrd. It was Ekaterina. She was lying still, her eyes unfocused, as she felt her lifeblood flow out of the gaping wound in her chest. The arox had torn her open with its tusks, revealing shattered ribs and slashed lungs. Her breathing was short and
shallow, and the gurgling in her throat told Leone that she was close to death.

The Coerl held Ekaterina’s hand. It was cold and clammy with no strength in the grasp. ‘You are dying, Ekaterina,’ Leone told her. ‘You fought well and the arox is dead. The First Son is safe and uninjured.’

‘Coerl,’ Ekaterina gasped. ‘Tell the First Son I am sorry.’

‘Sorry for what, Ekaterina?’

‘I will not be able to aid him in his mission.’

‘True, Ekaterina, you won’t, but dying here has aided him. If you had fled and lived, he would have died,’ she said. ‘You die a good soldier. Your Coerl is proud of you.’

A faint smile eased its way past the agony. ‘Thank you, Coerl,’ Ekaterina said with her last breath.

Around Leone the dying continued, as it would for a number of days. Even with the cursory look she had given the others, it was clear that most of the injured would die. She closed her eyes and bowed her head over Ekaterina’s body, silently reciting the Warriors’ Way of Purity.

The courage to stand, the strength to fight

The honesty to fear, the compassion to serve

The humility to obey, the grace to die

The love to command, the Warriors’ way to purity

The service of the world demands

The peace of the world repays

That done, she stood up and started thinking about the burials.

‘How many dead?’ asked Shanek from behind her.

‘Four, First Son,’ she replied without turning. ‘And two more from Malik’s Fyrd.’

‘Will any survive?’

‘Of the injured, First Son? No.’ He did not reply, but she heard him murmuring the Warriors’ Way of Purity as he walked away. She sighed, took a deep breath and buried the pain away. ‘Harin, Akash!’ she called.

The two men trotted over to her. ‘Coerl,’ Harin said.

‘We need to put our dead to Rest,’ she said. ‘Too many have fallen without proper honour. Akash, take Gayathri and find Ashfaq’s body. Harin, put together a burial party. I’ll officiate.’ The two men saluted and went about their tasks.

The formal Resting of a Soldier of the World was a solemn yet simple process. First the body is ceremonially cleansed in clean earth, then it is laid face down on the ground while the Warriors’ Way of Purity is recited by all gathered. The senior officers responsible for their safety then apologise for their failure and the body is buried seven measures deep.

Leone watched impassively while the bodies of her four dead soldiers were cleansed in the dirt of this burned forest. She stood nearly motionless during the recitation; only her lips were moving as she muttered the Way. Malik stood beside her, facing his first Resting as Coerl.

After the Way was finished and the graves dug, Leone and Malik stepped forward. The gathered soldiers murmured in surprise as Shanek stepped up beside them.

‘We, those set aside to protect those gathered here,’ intoned the three, ‘seek forgiveness from those left alive. We failed in our duty to these who Rest, and stand guilty of their deaths. We seek the forgiveness of those who Rest here, and vow to give our best to those who remain.’ The three stepped back, and the remaining soldiers covered the bodies of their fallen comrades.

When the graves were covered and the final farewells said, Shanek walked away from the Fyrds. He made his way towards Caldorman Muttiah.

‘A word, Caldorman,’ he muttered. With a curt gesture, he called Muttiah aside, into the darkness of the forest.

When they were alone in the dark, Shanek waited in silence.

‘A good ceremony, First Son. The Fyrds were moved and gratified by your decision to take part,’ the Caldorman said.

‘Tell me, Caldorman, who is the senior soldier in this group?’ Shanek hissed.

Muttiah stiffened as he realised Shanek’s intention. ‘I am, First Son,’ he said.

‘So who exactly is responsible for the safety of every soldier here?’

‘I am, First Son,’ Muttiah conceded. His eyes widened suddenly, the whites gleaming obscenely in the darkness as Shanek’s dagger found its mark. The First Son felt the Caldorman’s final heartbeat tremble through the handle of his knife.

‘Lie here without Rest,’ Shanek muttered. He knelt and took the Caldorman’s dagger of rank. The Thane’s Needle was a poignard more than a dagger.
Long and thin, its blade was designed for stabbing rather than slashing or cutting. Every Coerl received their own Needle as part of the promotion ceremony. ‘You don’t deserve to die with this,’ Shanek snarled. As he went to walk away, he paused and spat on the old man’s face. He turned from the body and looked back through the trees at the glimmer of light from the campfire. Around him the forest was quiet. None of the normal sounds of scurrying or rustling reached his ears. The muted sounds of conversation filtered through the trees. He had committed cold-blooded murder here and nothing was different. No one had challenged him. No one had watched the old soldier draw his last breath. No one cared. Shanek was troubled, not by the direction of his thoughts, but by their existence. He had killed before, often for less reason than this, but he stood still with blood dripping from his unsheathed dagger and wondered what his latest murder meant. Domovoi had once told him that every killing left a mark on the killer and nothing could ever remove that mark. When pressed, the Appointed One had admitted that he had never killed anyone, so Shanek gave him a slave to kill. He refused to kill her; instead he took her home and freed her.

Why am I thinking about that now?
Shanek wondered. He shook his head, sheathed his dagger and strode back towards the fire.

When he entered the circle of light around the campfire, every pair of eyes turned to watch him.

‘Muttiah has decided to leave us and seek Purity,’ Shanek lied.

Cherise frowned. ‘That is a surprise, First Son. He never mentioned this desire to me.’

‘What can I say?’ Shanek shrugged. ‘The decision is always a personal one and it obviously came on the Caldorman suddenly.’ He sat down and looked around. Hofie handed him a steaming mug of jerva. He took it and drained it. ‘I have decided to promote Coerl Leone to Caldorman,’ he said after wiping his mouth on his sleeve. With disgust he tasted Muttiah’s blood.