The Awakening (40 page)

‘If the wind keeps doing this we’ll be fighting the whole fleet alone,’ he grunted at the helmsman, who grinned wryly. The Commander was about to join the helmsman in a laugh when the truth of his own words struck him. Morag had power over the weather! He turned to a nearby sailor and roared, ‘Get that Navigator up here on the double!’

The sailor went to obey but Nolin had already made his way up on deck.

‘There’s no need to shout,’ he said to the Commander. ‘I felt the wind change from down in your cabin.’ He looked up at the fleet visible on the horizon. ‘Morag has brought someone of talent with her.’

‘So she is playing with the wind then?’ the Commander growled. ‘I thought as much. Is there anything you can do?’

‘Me?’ said Nolin with surprise. ‘I am a Navigator of the First Rank, it is true, but there is nothing I can do about the wind.’ He looked back towards the fleet. ‘They seem to have a different wind to us,’ he observed calmly.

The Commander glared at him with murder in his eyes. ‘I noticed,’ he growled.

Nolin half-smiled. ‘Would you like me to be of assistance?’ he asked.

‘I thought you said there was nothing you could do.’

‘About the wind, no. But I can help your crew deal with these unnatural changes.’

The Commander frowned, then nodded. He turned to the helmsman. ‘He has the bridge,’ he snapped. The helmsman gave a small salute.

Nolin took command of the
Misty Seal
. For a moment he stood still, watching the water and the clouds and smelling the air. He smiled gently, then called for a realignment of the sails into a configuration the Commander had never seen. The Navigator ordered a new course, the helmsman spun the wheel and the
Misty Seal
eased to a dead stop. The sails hung limply in the still air, the ship rocking gently as the low swell marched past her.

Behind him Nolin could hear the Commander take a deep breath, a precursor to some sort of roaring complaint, he supposed. To forestall the imminent eruption he held up his finger and pointed at the sails.

‘Wait,’ he said without turning. His finger seemed to be tapping a beat, counting the seconds. ‘Now,’ he whispered. As if at his command, the sails flapped, billowed and filled as the wind shifted. Like a caruda at bait, the
Misty Seal
sprang forward, white water suddenly appearing at her bow as she took the wind eagerly.

‘How did you…?’ the Commander started to ask but Nolin laughed before he could finish his question.

‘Morag may have someone of talent with her,’ he explained, ‘but whoever she is, she has no imagination. That is one of the first tactics they teach Novices.’ He turned away from his scrutiny of the water to regard the Commander. ‘Didn’t I tell you I was a Navigator of the First Rank?’ He laughed, a rich, deep laugh, full of the fierce joy of the Sea. ‘Let’s sail!’ he roared in jubilation.

The
Misty Seal
might have been the finest vessel the Commander had ever sailed but he had never imagined she was capable of the speed or manoeuvrability he witnessed during that mad dash. They sailed before the wind, whatever wind Morag threw at them, like a greyfin scything through the waters. The Children’s fleet followed, never losing touch, but never closing.

Ahead of them the Wrested Archipelago waited. Like a sleeping whale, it crouched in the black waters of the untamed South Ocean Reaches.

‘Your knowledge of history is very limited,’ Mayenne said. The table was set with simple fare. Mayenne sat opposite Leone with a book opened in front of her.

Leone hid her distaste of the woman behind her normal mask. Ever since she had, as Zatopek believed, sold herself to this rebellion, Mayenne had taken on the role of her teacher. Mayenne’s view of history was skewed, to say the least. Instead of a unifying influence that brought the centuries-long internecine feuding to an end, she saw the Empire as a brutal invading force that destroyed all in its path.

Mayenne tapped her finger on the table. ‘Leone, focus!’ she snapped. ‘You have many years of false teaching to unlearn and it will take a lot of concentration.’

Leone nodded, allowing a small smile to cross her face. She had learned that Mayenne had an excellent mind for facts and details but not the slightest understanding of people. Little signs of interest were all she required to maintain her faith in Leone’s complete belief in the new cause.

‘Yesterday,’ she continued, ‘we started to consider
the Triumvirate, the three mystics that use their power to dominate and cause so much evil within our world…’ Mayenne raised her eyebrows, expecting Leone to supply the rest.

‘The Guardian, the Weapon and the Danan,’ said Leone.

‘Very good,’ said Mayenne.

‘What is the Weapon?’

Mayenne took a deep breath. Leone had seen her take that breath many times so far; it always happened just before Mayenne was about to tell her something that would precipitate argument. Leone smiled, knowing it drove Mayenne to distraction.

‘The Weapon was killed by a Skrin Tia’k years ago.’

‘The whole line?’

‘No, the Weapon is different from the rest. Its powers lie dormant until needed. There is no place in a peaceful world for power like that.’

Leone pondered for a moment. ‘One thing troubles me, though,’ she said.

‘What is that?’

‘If these three people are so dangerous to us, why don’t we just extinguish their lines?’

‘The Danan is the ancient guardian of the Sea. She comes unpredictably every few generations to the Children of the Raft. When she comes, she brings enormous power over the waters. It makes the Children invincible. She has not come for more generations than normal and there are those of us who believe her line has already been extinguished.’

‘But I heard Cherise call a woman Danan when we stopped in Ys’ home on our way to Ajyne,’ Leone protested.

‘Cherise is one of our most useful recruits but his understanding of the legends is tainted by his lifelong adherence to the Way of Purity. He has, like so many, assumed that the Danan’s colouring is due to a Tribal heritage. A lot of the tribes up there revere any woman born with lavender eyes, expecting her to be the Danan, but of course no one ever is. She must be on or near the oceans for her power to awaken.’

‘How will you counter her if she does come?’

‘We won’t need to,’ said Mayenne with a smug expression. ‘The Children of the Raft are slowly weaning themselves off the ancient mysticism, like your people, and when, or if, she comes again, they won’t accept her.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘As sure as we are that the Guardian’s powers lie forever dormant now.’

‘And who is the Guardian?’

Mayenne burst into laughter. ‘How the mighty are fallen!’ she chortled. ‘You have spent years defending it in the army, and you didn’t even know.’

‘What?’

‘The First Counsellor is the Guardian, and his son after him will carry that burden with him.’

‘What?’

‘The First Counsellor has a mystical link with the ground. It speaks to him, telling him what his enemies are doing.’

‘How can the ground do that?’

‘No one knows, but it happens. How else do you think the First Counsellors make such brilliant generals?’

‘Training, intelligence, skill,’ said Leone.

‘They do things that can’t be explained away by such qualities.’

Leone nodded, remembering the day in the Training Arena, the aroxii, Tapash’s arrow. ‘But why don’t they know about this? How is it that you know all this and the finest minds in the best Loci across the Empire don’t?’

‘They all have the same books I do, they just don’t believe.’

‘It’s just that? A matter of faith?’

‘That and centuries of decadence and depravity. Think, Leone,’ Mayenne said. ‘This is a society that has elevated human suffering to an art form. They condemn an entire species, not just a race, to perpetual slavery.

‘Mix that with an army so vast it can overwhelm every opponent on the continent by simple numbers and you have the perfect recipe for forgetting the truth of the past.’ She stared at Leone with hard eyes. ‘Why do you think the Thane never touches the ground with his bare feet?’

Leone shook her head.

‘It’s because the ground is sacred. Only the First Counsellor should enjoy its caress. What was once a sign of respect has become a meaningless tradition. Did you ever notice how many ancient traditions are to do with the ground and how to make contact with it?’

Leone nodded, whole sections of Asan tradition suddenly making sense in a way they never had.

‘But who carries this power now?’ Leone asked.

‘The First Counsellor, but he hasn’t touched bare soil for decades,’ said Mayenne. ‘Only Shanek could
possibly have reawakened the power, and now that he is dead, it is gone forever.’

‘Forever?’

‘Yes, it is carried through the family. Have you ever noticed that every First Counsellor has only ever had the one son? Lots of daughters, only one son. And that son has always followed in his father’s path as a brilliant general. So unless Shanek has a son, the power is gone.’ Mayenne’s face showed such a glowing contentment that Leone had to physically grip the table to prevent herself from striking her. Despite the outlandish nature of her story, too much made sense for Leone to dismiss it outright. Abruptly she stood.

‘I need some air,’ she said.

Without waiting for Mayenne’s response, Leone strode from the room and out into the street where the air was cleaner and life seemed simpler. She stood in the road outside Zatopek’s home and breathed deeply. The smells and sounds of the Widows’ Quarter enveloped her, reminding her that while she had been cloistered within the house learning a new vision, the rest of the world had continued, unheeded. She was shocked to discover that she did not even know what time it was. With a glance up to the sun she realised that the morning had passed and the afternoon was well advanced. Her stomach suggested that a meal was overdue.

Leone was filled with a need to remind herself of that world, to remind herself that the normal still existed, untouched by mystical powers and battles behind battles. She turned and strode away from Zatopek’s elegant house.

The market was bustling and noisy with the afternoon crowd. Vendors called the virtues of their wares, women talked and laughed, men bargained, children ran and played. Even here, Leone realised, amid poverty and hardship, life went on. She looked around, aware that her own disfigurement, whilst bad, was not the worst here. There were veterans bearing horrific injuries, those born with defects, the blind, the sick and those whose minds were damaged. Leone was suddenly struck by the pointlessness of what she was doing. Why learn an arcane history of the world when there was so much suffering around her?

She reached into her purse, filled with coins that Zatopek gave her from time to time. With a feeling of mounting anger she pulled out a handful and started handing the coins to beggars.

Within moments she was surrounded by a crowd of reaching hands, of crying voices, of desperate faces. She felt herself being grabbed, handled and pulled at by the dozens of hungry beggars that surrounded her. Their cries clamoured against her, pounding at her mind and setting her ears ringing. The sheer volume of their noise, the insistence of their need threatened to overwhelm her. She threw the purse in the air. The last few coins fell into the crowd, but none of them hit the ground.

Still there were beggars swarming around her, clamouring for her attention and her money. She felt her emotions rise, anger and frustration battling for control. Instinctively, she reached for the knife that hung at her side. As soon as her hand made contact with the hilt, those closest to her fell silent and
stepped back. Leone heard the whispered word ‘knife’ rustle through the rapidly quietening crowd.

Within a matter of a few heartbeats, the whole mass of people was quietly muttering and starting to fall back. Leone stood, watching them back off, the hope in desperation she had seen in their eyes replaced by the return of fear.

She stood, alone in the market, watching the beggars and the hungry slowly vanish back into the niches and dark corners where they spent their lives, the day’s excitement over.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ No one heard, no one seemed to care any more. Leone stared around her, anger and frustration fading to be replaced by hollow sadness. ‘How can you live like this?’ she said softly. ‘Who did this to you?’

Even as she asked the question she knew the answer. In part, she had done this. She had spent her life defending the structures that made this place and kept it the way it was. Her training, designed to be used to defend the Empire from threats without, had been spent mostly to protect it from threats within. If the Empire was the benign force she had been told about, why did so many people want to rebel against it? A sudden chill ran through her. Had she been wrong all her life?

All the violence, the ritual torture, the oppression, the heavy-handed treatment she had dealt out to civilians, it all crashed in upon her. The weight of it all drove her to her knees. She slumped forward, visions of her life as a soldier flashing across her numbed mind. Unnoticed, her blade slipped from her
grasp as tears trickled down her cheeks. Leone knelt on the dirt, unaware of the market resuming its normal bustle around her. Where a woman with a knife was noticeable, a woman crying alone was not.

Slowly the tears dried up. The chill faded and reality once more intruded. Leone stood and looked at a world that seemed darker somehow.
Now what?
she wondered. She needed to talk to someone, but who? Could there be anyone in this world that even knew all of this, let alone someone who knew it and held an open mind on it? She needed someone who could tell her who was right.

Something nagged at her, a name. Something Shanek had told her. What was it? The thought of Shanek, hacked to pieces by a wild Skrinnie and left to the elements somewhere by a river, left her hollow and aching. Despite Mayenne’s insistence Leone could not shake the feeling that, had he lived, Shanek might have been able to…

To what, exactly?
Change the Empire? Alter the direction of hundreds of years of decay and decadence? Refocus the mindset of thousands of wealthy nobles? Leone shook her head. Perhaps it’s just as well that he was dead. Maybe Mayenne was right, that this Empire might have served its purpose. What if it is time for a new force to rise?

Bedi!

The name came to her. The old man who had spent so much time with Shanek. That was who she could talk to, presuming he was still alive, of course.
But where to find him?

Now that she was remembering Shanek’s time here in the Widows’ Quarter, it all came back.
Hashan, the merchant and criminal. Bedi was near his stall in the Lesser Market. And that was…Leone turned around, looking for the landmarks that would lead her there. Her eyes narrowed. A smile slowly formed when she recognised an alley.
Down there
, she thought.

The route to the Lesser Market was tortuous, but once she started she remembered it all. She had walked this way many times, following Shanek as he wended his way ‘home’ after a busy day harassing merchants and extorting protection money for Hashan. After the first few days he had either decided to ignore them or forgotten their presence. Leone knew Shanek’s skills well enough to realise that no matter how good she and her men were, he was better, and they could never hide from him. Now, believing what she did of Shanek’s abilities, she found herself wondering how much of that was his skill and how much was mystical gift.

The Lesser Market gained its name from location rather than size. In truth it was larger, busier and louder than the main market but was further from the edge of the Widows’ Quarter. Being deeper in the poor region, it attracted none of the wealthier clients who would frequent the main market. Not many dared venture into the Widows’ Quarter, even in search of bargains or other services that were on offer, but the few who did never went beyond the main market.

Leone had also never given much thought to those who frequented the market or their motives. She did not want to now either, as she approached the Lesser Market.

It was as she remembered it: loud, stinking and threatening. Everywhere she looked there were people yelling, either selling or buying or simply trying to talk over the clamour.

Hashan, seated behind the counter of his stall, was fatter than she remembered, but just as smug, just as slimy. She looked to where Bedi used to sit. A smile slowly formed as she saw the old man sitting cross-legged on his mat. A young man was seated opposite him with his back to her. Her heart lurched briefly when she saw him.
Shanek? s
he wondered. But no, he was dead and this youth was a boy, not the powerfully built man left dead by a river.

Leone made her way through the crowd towards Bedi. Before she arrived, the boy stood, bowed and walked away. When her shadow crossed over the old man’s rug, he looked up. He frowned.

‘I know you,’ he said. His voice was rasping and old. He squinted up into the setting sun. ‘You followed Shanek around. How is the boy?’

Leone shook her head. ‘Dead,’ she said.

Bedi’s frown deepened. ‘And his son?’

‘What son?’

‘He has a son.’

‘No he doesn’t,’ said Leone. ‘He has no children.’

‘Then he is not dead,’ said Bedi. ‘The world would not allow it.’