The Awakening (5 page)

She continued playing as the wind and rain lashed at the wall, her fingers still eliciting the complex, flowing melody from her bleached driftwood harp. She was still playing, oblivious to the world, when the Coerl shook her by the shoulder.

‘Hwenfayre,’ he whispered urgently. ‘Hwenfayre, you must leave the wall.’

She looked up at him. He was soaked through, his face and uniform were spattered with blood and his sword was drawn. His eyes were slightly glazed as he stared at her.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘The storm,’ he replied, looking over his shoulder. ‘The storm happened, Hwenfayre. Didn’t you see it?’

‘Of course I see it. I am wet through from standing in it. What about it?’

‘Hwenfayre, you must leave, now. I will explain later, but go now, you are in danger. If any of the men knew you were here…I am not sure what they would do, but you must leave.’

‘What are you saying? I don’t understand,’ Hwenfayre said as he started to push her, none too gently, along the wall towards a little-used stairway.

‘I will explain it all tomorrow, but you must leave quickly. And tell no one where you were this morning. If anyone asks, you left just before dawn. Now go.’ He all but pushed her down the stairs and quickly stalked away. She stumbled down a few steps and then, on regaining her balance, lightly ran down the rest. Hwenfayre did not stop running until she closed her bedroom door behind her. It was only then that she allowed herself to cry.

Out at sea, the Commander stood in the prow of his vessel and stared at the storm lashing the coast. He swore quietly and fluently as he watched half his fleet being dashed against the cliffs at the base of the wall. Good men had died there this night and two people were going to pay for their deaths. One was the navigator who had assured him that at this time of the year, at this section of the Tanissan coast, storms were unheard of. The other to pay would have to wait, but her time would come. He turned away from watching the storm blow itself out and stomped back to stand beside the wheel.

‘South,’ he commanded. The sailor spun the wheel and the ship turned away from the shore.

They would be back; they had a job to do. The problem was that it was a mission not of his own design, and one given to him by a woman he had no reason to trust.

It had come about a season or so back, when a vessel flying not the flag of the Children but one of truce had approached the
Misty Seal.
A man had come aboard and suggested he meet with Morag, the High Priestess, to discuss ‘something they could both find useful’.

The meeting was on an island that appeared on very few charts. It was an old volcano, not dissimilar to the one the Raiders claimed as their home. The High Priestess met alone with the Commander on land while their personal transports circled each other warily just offshore.

‘The Danan is back in the world,’ she told him. ‘This will be dangerous for both our peoples.’

‘How so?’ the Commander asked.

‘For decades we have been slowly dragging ourselves out of superstitious barbarism. The power we hold over the Sea is almost under control. Finally we can see our way clear to sharing the bounty of the Sea. It’s big enough for both of us.’

‘Under control? Are you saying that for all these years your people have been out of control?’

She shrugged, a carefully crafted gesture that said ‘What can I do? It’s beyond my ability’, then she smiled a wan, little-girl smile. It was a powerful weapon that she had been using on men since she was ten. It worked for her now. ‘There have always been rogue elements among the Priesthood,’ she lied. ‘Some who believe we should rule the whole Sea unchallenged. And this Danan who reappears every few generations is their icon, their call to arms. Whenever she comes back there is a surge of violent outbreaks.’

The Commander was visibly taken with her words. The fact that she had also allowed her robe to slip and reveal far more than decency would normally allow, something that she appeared to have overlooked in her passion to ‘heal the rifts between their peoples’, also distracted him. He was wavering, and the High Priestess knew it was now or never.

‘What I am saying is that she has appeared in the world somewhere. And I am giving her to you. We of the Children don’t need her any more. You have her.’

‘We don’t want her,’ the Commander said.

‘So kill her,’ she said casually.

‘It would be that easy to kill the Danan?’ the Commander said doubtfully.

‘It would be at this stage, yes.’

The Commander regarded her with disbelief.

The High Priestess sighed, as if suddenly realising how little he knew of their legends. ‘She, whoever she is, has only just started to come into her powers. So she is young, and without training or knowledge of her true nature. As far as she is concerned, she is just a girl living in a town on the coast.’

‘If we do take her, what is to stop us using her power to destroy you?’

‘Two things,’ she said. ‘One: without training she is powerless. Two: I trust you. I am offering you this in good faith. Even with her, you know that your fleet is no match for ours anyway. I want our two peoples to live in peace. Peace takes trust and I am offering that to you.’

‘And if we live in peace—’ the Commander began.

‘Then you can expand onto the uninhabited islands and live as peaceful traders who can raise their families in safety. Yes,’ she completed.

He sat back, staring into the fire over which the High Priestess had cooked them a meal. The flames flickered and danced, sending shards of orange light over her face. In the strange, inconstant light she looked little more than a girl herself.

‘You said “trust”,’ the Commander said. ‘How can I trust you after so long an enmity between us?’

The High Priestess shrugged.

‘Perhaps if you gave me some more information about this Danan,’ he suggested.

‘What information do you want?’

‘What does she look like?’

‘No one knows,’ she lied, shaking her head.

‘So how do you know where she is?’

Another shake of the head. ‘We know, take it as fact. I am not going to tell you all our secrets.’

‘I don’t like this. You want my people to do your dirty work for you—’ the Commander began.

‘And in return,’ the High Priestess interrupted, ‘I am offering you peace and a future for your people.’

The Commander made a show of considering this. ‘I need more information,’ he said finally.

She sighed again. ‘What do you want?’

‘Why can’t you just go and get her yourselves and be done with it? Why involve us at all?’

The High Priestess hardened her eyes as she regarded the Commander. ‘I thought I’d answered that already,’ she snapped. ‘But since you are struggling with the idea, I’ll repeat myself. On the Sea we are invulnerable, but she is on land. We have no expertise in such things, yet you do. And I would rather you did our dirty work, as you put it, because nothing must ever get back to my people about this. If it did, I would lose my credibility and all the work my mother and I have done over so many seasons would be wasted. We could be plunged back into superstition again, and I don’t think you would want that.’ She paused. ‘If we allowed the old ways back every one of your vessels would be sunk on sight.’

The Commander held her gaze, sensing she meant the threat inherent in her words. He weighed up the potential risks of attacking a town on the Tanissan coast against the wholesale warfare she was
suggesting. He nodded. ‘You have a deal. We shall get this Danan for you. And you will share the Sea with us.’

‘Done,’ she said with hidden joy.

She was about to stand when, as an apparent afterthought, she paused. ‘Oh, and one other thing. She is likely to have a harp with her. An old, weathered thing of no intrinsic value, but if you could give it to me when you kill her…?’ Morag left the sentence hanging as a question.

The Commander grunted in assent and the High Priestess left, having achieved all she had wanted.

Aldere’s breath came in short gasps. The air up here was thin and the climb was hard but the view was worth the effort. He stood on the summit looking at the vista spread below him. To the north lay the Great Fastness, a vast grassland, sparsely inhabited and dotted with the remnants of the generations-long war that so dominated the sad history of this continent. It had finished hundreds of years ago, but the damage remained.

He turned to regard the east. At the foot of this mountain lay his home, the village. He had never heard it called anything but ‘the village’. It lay nestled where it had for centuries, tucked away beneath this mountain beside the river that stretched from the inland plateau to the sea so far away. The still air carried some sounds upwards so that even from this height, he could hear life going on as it had for countless generations; the ringing blows of Merryk the blacksmith, as he pounded the recalcitrant metal into shape, the plaintive bleating of old Hadrill’s sheep and the occasional voice raised in laughter or anger.

He let his eyes drift south, into the tamed and
civilised pasturelands of the great Asan Empire. It had always seemed to him that there was something significant about the placement of the village, just here between the mighty Empire and the wastelands that the Army of the World had created in wresting control from the Skrin Tia’k.

The sun was setting, sending shafts of golden light up through the clouds, staining the blue sky with yellows and pinks. Already a chill was seeping in and he knew that once again he had stayed too long and it was time to seek shelter. The climb down was easy enough in the light, but after dark strange things happened up here. He had seen too many things, heard too many people speak the truth about the mountain to ignore their warnings.

Seasons ago he had found a cave up here. It was small and its entrance was almost invisible to the casual observer. Each time he came up, he brought some small thing to make the cave warmer and more comfortable so that when, as often happened, he was captured by the beauty up here, his night was warm and pleasant. He took one last, long look around at the world at his feet and headed into the cave.

Inside, he wrapped himself in a heavy blanket and settled in to eat a simple meal of dried fruits and nuts before lying back amidst the furs. With the final ray of sunlight, he wondered again at the symbol carved on the wall of his sanctuary. It was clearly ancient, and corresponded to no religion or legend he knew. He’d asked every traveller who came through the village, but the stylised balance resting on a lightning bolt with the symbol for ground on one side, the symbol for water on the other, remained a mystery.

Hwenfayre awoke the morning after the attack curled up on her bed, still cradling her harp. Her dress was damp and her hair was a tangled mess. In her head thoughts whirled chaotically, but she felt too numb to try to make any sense of what had happened. Instead, she lit a fire in the fireplace and sat watching its flickering mysteries as her troubled mind slowly spun itself into quietude. Finally, some time after nightfall, she roused herself.

She was hungry, so she made herself a simple meal. Just as she was seated once more before the fire, there came a knock at her door. With a mixture of emotions, Hwenfayre put aside her meal and opened the door. It was Niall. He was still in uniform but the bloodstains were absent. Idly, Hwenfayre wondered if he had cleaned it himself or if he had a maid, or even if he had more than one uniform. She stood in the doorway, staring at him.

Finally he said, ‘Hwenfayre? Are you all right?’

She nodded and stepped aside, motioning him to come inside. He did so, awkwardly.

‘You’re limping,’ she observed.

‘Yes, an arrow grazed me last night. It is a minor thing. Not worth concerning yourself over.’

‘I wasn’t concerned. I was just making an observation. Sit down, I imagine you have a great deal to tell me.’

He sat on the only chair and she sat cross-legged on the floor, her back to the fire.

‘Hwenfayre,’ he began. ‘About last night.’ He paused, frowning. ‘It’s difficult to know where to start. The storm, I will start with that. I have never seen a storm come up so suddenly and with such little warning. It seemed that one moment it was clear and still, and the next we were facing a gale. Didn’t you think it was strange?’

‘No, I hardly noticed the storm, to be honest. I was…preoccupied.’

‘I always imagined there was a lot more going on behind those lavender eyes than you revealed, but I never imagined it would be so much as to distract you from the most violent storm in years. But I digress. That storm frightened the men. It came up just at the precise moment we needed it. The Raiders had established a set of ropes to the top of the wall and they were about to start climbing. Had they made it to the top of the wall, many of our soldiers would have perished and we may not have prevailed. It was the largest fleet of Raiders seen in ten years. The men who saw the storm last night are muttering about sorcery, and I have already heard your name mentioned more than once.’

‘I am no sorcerer,’ Hwenfayre sighed. ‘If I were, do you think I would have stayed here for so long?’ She stared off into a half-imagined distance. ‘It’s true
I have often longed for sorcerous powers, so that I could flee these wretched walls and fly on the wind or sail with the waves. But no, all that I can do is make brooches and play the harp. And neither of those can call up a storm.’ She looked intently at Niall. ‘Is that why you hurried me off the wall? Did you imagine the men would look to me?’

Niall nodded gravely. ‘I felt that if it were known that you were there…well, it could have been awkward.’

Hwenfayre felt a chill as the ramifications of what Niall had just told her sank in. For years the superstitious townsfolk had made veiled accusations, but to be accused on the wall, and after such a storm…

‘Weren’t the men grateful to have been spared from the battle?’ she asked.

‘A clean fight, even with the possibility of death, is something these men know. They face death bravely and fight hard. But sorcery. That is a very different thing. It is something they do not understand and they fear what they do not understand. They were badly frightened last night. Do not come up on the wall tomorrow morning. Not alone.’

‘Niall, you are frightening me. Do you really think anyone would accuse me of being able to do such a thing?’ Hwenfayre’s eyes were wide.

He nodded.

‘But how could anyone do that? Raise a storm, I mean?

‘Hwenfayre, I am a simple soldier. I do not know of sorcery or witches. But I do know common soldiers. And you are in danger at the moment, so be very careful.’ He stood to leave.

‘It appears that I owe you not only an apology but also my thanks for rescuing me. Please accept them both, Niall,’ said Hwenfayre, still sitting on the floor.

Niall smiled briefly and left.

Hwenfayre stayed where she was, warming herself by the dying fire, until her legs ached. Then she went to bed, her meal, still on the table where she had left it, uneaten.

The next few days passed as a dream, with little to remember them by. She woke in the mornings, went to the market, played her harp and ate a little. She did not go to the wall, she spoke to no one except the occasional customer and she saw neither Wyn nor Niall. At night she sat in silence, staring at the fire dancing its mystic dance as it consumed the logs she had bought. The cracking of the flames was the only sound she heard; all the other noises seemed to drift past her without impinging on her consciousness. She stared intently, seeing every flicker and every waver of every flame as it licked hungrily at the logs.

How long she would have been able to live like this, thinking of nothing else, she never knew, for one night she was disturbed by a heavy pounding at her door. Hwenfayre looked at the door, momentarily disoriented. What was she to do? The pounding came again and she remembered that she was expected to open the door in such situations.

Slowly and stiffly, she stood and walked to the door.

‘Who is it?’ she asked through the wooden door.

‘Wyn,’ came the gruff reply.

Hwenfayre opened the door. ‘Wyn,’ she asked, ‘what are you doing here?’

‘I,’ he paused, apparently groping for words, ‘I wanted to see you, to see how you were. I have not seen you for some days.’

‘I am well, thank you,’ she replied, unwilling to enter into a conversation that might require her to talk about the past few days.

‘Good,’ he said. He stood there, uncomfortable, in her doorway.

‘Was there something else?’ Hwenfayre asked. She put as much dismissive disdain as she could into her voice, wishing him to leave.

‘Hwenfayre—’ he began.

‘Yes?’ she interrupted.

‘Hwenfayre, we need to talk. It’s about the other night, on the wall. Some of the men are talking, and…’ His voice trailed off uncertainly.

‘Come inside.’

Once Wyn was inside, Hwenfayre looked up and down the street before closing and bolting her door. Wyn sat on the one chair.

‘So what are these men saying?’ she asked.

‘Hwenfayre, they are saying dangerous things. They say that you are a witch who has power over the very elements, and that you called up the storm that drove off the Raiders. They say that you have bewitched the Coerl, that you were the mysterious woman who was with him that night on the wall.’ He paused and stared intently into her lavender eyes. He stared for so long that she felt he was examining her very soul. Finally he broke off and continued. ‘Hwenfayre, it has even been said that you are somehow in league with the Raiders.’

‘But that is folly!’ she exclaimed. ‘How could they
believe that I am both in league with them and that I called up the storm that drove them off? Surely they must know that I am no sorcerer!’

‘Some of the men were badly shaken by the storm. They are ready to believe anything just now. Especially now that there are stories of the Children of Danan around town.’

‘The who?’

‘The Sea Wanderers, the Faeries of the Wave, the Sea Dancers, the Fish-lovers. Surely you have heard tales of them?’

‘Oh yes, the Sea Dancers, I have heard of them. What of them?’

‘Haven’t you heard the stories of how they are able to control the Sea and the mighty beasts of the deep? What of the tales of their unholy rites? How they sacrifice their children to the waters and eat their captives in rituals too black to describe. Surely you know that they are the very image of evil?’ As he spoke, Wyn’s eyes grew hard and piercing. He glared at her, as if daring her to disagree, or perhaps to agree.

‘I have heard tales, yes. But not those. I have heard of their love for the sea, and their wondrous singing, and their beautiful ships. I have heard how they travel all their lives on the sea, never coming to land. But I have not heard any of the others.’

‘Hwenfayre,’ Wyn began, then paused. He had a look about him of one who has something to say, but is not sure how to. ‘Hwenfayre…’ His voice was gentle. ‘They do come to land.’

The following day, Hwenfayre woke early. Wyn’s odd comments about the Children of Danan had played
on her mind all night, leaving her sleep uneasy and fitful. He had refused to expand on his final statement and had left abruptly when she persisted.

As always, she knew when dawn was about to break, so, even before the sky began to change, to shift towards the day, she determined to greet it as she should. No matter what anyone thought, the dawn deserved to be welcomed.

When she arrived, the guards were there as usual. They walked stiffly past her, averting their eyes and muttering quietly. Hwenfayre was oblivious to their reactions. The morning was a beautiful one, and it was going to be welcomed properly.

She watched the sky gradually lighten. When the sun’s edge appeared above the horizon, Hwenfayre closed her eyes to feel its warmth on her face. Almost unconsciously, she caressed the strings of her harp, forming the sounds that would welcome the morning appropriately. She played the whole song with her eyes closed, feeling the sun’s warmth soothing her body and the flow of the music soothing her soul.

When the song was finished she remained still, letting the pleasure of it wash over her. It filled her with peace. It eased her fears and cleansed her mind. She felt the tensions of the past few days subside beneath the song’s quiet ebb and flow. Without her being aware of it, a small smile formed on her lips. An expression of harmony and quietude slowly suffused her face as she felt the strength and overwhelming power of the sea fill her.

‘You belong here.’

The deep, strong voice shocked her out of her reverie. Her eyes snapped open. She turned to see the
Coerl standing beside her, looking at her with mystery in his eyes. He smiled. It transformed his face from the hard man who commanded men into a kind man called Niall.

‘You belong here, Hwenfayre,’ he repeated. She nodded slowly, the feeling of peace fading slightly to be replaced by another, less recognisable feeling.

‘I must go,’ she said. ‘I have to be in the market today.’ Without a backwards look, she gathered her skirt and scampered away.

Two pairs of eyes followed her as she ran, one speculative, one unreadable.

For some reason the streets, normally dark and threatening, seemed somehow wider, lighter, almost welcoming this morning. Her heart felt light within her breast as it beat fast with the exhilaration of being alive. Happiness stole into her, planting an unexpected seed deep within her. She could not wait for it to grow and bloom.

Several days later she met with Niall at the Minstrel’s Rest. As a child, Hwenfayre had seen her mother preparing herself for similar meetings with men. It had seemed to her that she spent inordinately long periods of time in doing so. There was the selection of just the right dress, which was not a problem for Hwenfayre as she had but two, and then there were the hours, it seemed, spent in applying face colours and brushing hair. Both of these activities Hwenfayre disdained. Instead, she put on her long dark blue dress, her shawl and her boots. She quickly brushed her hair. On an impulse, she picked up her harp. Hwenfayre then left her home, closing the door behind her.

It was a comfortable evening. Two friends spending a few hours together, talking, laughing, exchanging small confidences. To Hwenfayre, a new life was appearing before her. A new word entered her mind: friendship. Never before had she spent such an evening. For the first time away from the wall and the sea, she felt alive. She laughed at Niall’s stories, she smiled at his smiles and she allowed herself to fall deeply into the spell of his dark, mysteriously changeable eyes.

He walked her home. They stood close together at her door. She looked up into his eyes as he smiled down at her. A strange expression crossed his face briefly. She frowned.

‘What is it, Niall?’ she asked.

‘Nothing, dear Hwenfayre,’ he replied.

Slowly, he lifted his hand and touched her gently on the cheek. At his touch, she shivered lightly. He made to remove his hand, but she quickly took it in both of her own and pressed it to her cheek. The warmth of his touch spread through her entire body, filling her with strange, unfamiliar sensations.

‘I must go, dear Hwenfayre.’

He pulled his hand slowly away. As he turned to leave, she grasped hold of it again. He stopped and turned back. Their eyes locked, and suddenly she was in his arms. He held her tight as she pressed herself against his body. She felt a new warmth suffuse her.

As though he felt it too, Niall released her and stepped back. ‘This cannot be, Hwenfayre. It is not right.’ He held her at arm’s length. ‘I must go. It’s late, and I have dawn duty again tomorrow.’ He
touched her again briefly, gently, on the cheek, and was gone.

Hwenfayre slept badly that night, awash with conflicting emotions.

She slept so badly, in fact, that she was up, dressed and on the wall even earlier than normal. She stood in the usual place, hidden in a dark niche, watching, waiting for the sun to rise. As always, she was silent, motionless. Even her breathing was slow and shallow; nothing would disturb the perfection of the sunrise.

She was so still that when Wyn walked by he seemed unaware of her presence. His eyes were hidden by the dark, but she still felt their strength as they swept over the niche where she hid. He did not pause as he walked past, but a few paces on he stopped and turned to face the sea. He stood perfectly still for a moment, then started to sing.

He sang softly, in a deep, resonant voice. As he sang, Hwenfayre’s skin went cold. Her fingers trembled and her heart started to pound within her breast. The words he sang were powerful, strange, compelling. They spoke of a fierce love for the sea, for her many moods and for the myriad creatures she covered.