Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1)

by Alan Ratcliffe

  Caspian shifted in his sleep, and after a moment’s thought Captain Brandt lifted him upright and half-carried him to the low cot he had set up against one wall of the cabin. It hadn’t felt right asking the nervous boy to room below-decks with the rest of the crew and, besides, having a desk and writing materials to hand helped his research with the books and papers he had brought with him from the Crag. Caspian’s eyes opened briefly as he was laid down, but closed again almost immediately.

  As he straightened, Captain Brandt’s gaze came to rest on the pages Caspian had laboured over for a day and a night. Curiosity was not in his nature, and normally he would have respected the boy’s privacy, but nonetheless he found himself sitting at the stool in front of the desk. He shuffled through the papers, trying to discern their correct order. The meticulousness Caspian demonstrated when it came to his sketches did not apparently extend to his record-keeping.

  It’s not spying, Captain Brandt told himself, after all, I was there. All the same, he was interested to read the boy’s own account of their days underground.

  “Ah, here it is,” he murmured under his breath, as he located the first page of the journal. “My name is Caspian Gretch, novice to the Order of Enlightenment and formerly...”

  With a faint hiss, the candle finally burned itself out, plunging the cabin into darkness. Captain Brandt cursed, and patted his overcoat pockets until he found his tinderbox. He then groped blindly in front of him until he felt the drawer he was looking for, and rummaged around for a spare candle. It took three strikes of the flint until the wick caught, and he rammed it unceremoniously into the holder on top of the desk.

  Finally, sitting in the light once more, he began to read.

  * * *

  My name is Caspian Gretch, novice to the Order of Enlightenment and formerly of the island bastion known as the Crag. The following is a true account of a journey undertaken by myself and the captain and crewmen of the fishing vessel Havørn. The nature of our expedition is such that I cannot state with any accuracy the location of our discovery, but in the appendices of this journal I will attempt to plot our course onto a map. It is my hope that anyone reading this account will be interested to hear about what we discovered in the secret places far below the land of Callador.

  The boy had signed his name beneath the introductory paragraph, and scrawled a date. Yesterday’s, when he had begun to write. Captain Brandt’s brow wrinkled slightly at the formal tone of the opening, before continuing.

  Day one

  When the back wall of the cave we had taken shelter in revealed itself to in fact be a doorway of unknown origin, leading into unfathomable blackness, my first and only thought was to investigate what lay beyond.

  Fortunately, the Havørn’s captain, Olyvar Brandt, has an adventurous spirit, and he agreed. The first mate and one crewman were ordered to stay behind and tend to the ship as it lay at anchor within the hidden cove, leaving Captain Brandt, myself and crewmen Jan and Sten free to explore the tunnel.

  I had no idea what might lie in store for us, if anything. For all we knew, it could be an old abandoned mining passage that led to a dead end a hundred miles further on. But the discovery of a metal appendage similar in appearance to one I had seen mere days before on the Crag, worn by one of the Archon’s servants, made me believe otherwise. It was unlike anything myself or any of my Brothers had ever seen. The chance to perhaps uncover the truth behind that mystery made me even more determined to investigate further.

  The captain led the way, the light from his burning torch illuminating his face and the cold, damp rock walls of the tunnel. Sten followed, then Jan and finally I brought up the rear. For countless miles we proceeded in this manner. The further we ventured, the more I began to fear stumbling and helplessly watching those tiny islands of light disappearing into the distance, leaving me stranded alone in the dark. I realise how craven that sounds, yet I promised a full account of this expedition and will do my best to make sure no detail goes unrecorded.

  Perhaps the worst part was being unable to tell how far we had walked, or for how long, and how far remained ahead of us. At the start, I tried to count the footsteps in my head to help me keep my bearings, but I abandoned this exercise many hours later somewhere around the twenty thousand mark. In that time, we came across not one single turning or junction. As best I could tell, this one tunnel continued in the same direction as we had started. Standing at the door we had entered through, with a powerful enough bow you might have been able to fire an arrow at our backs.

  The second worst part was the rats. The first time one ran across my foot in the darkness my loud yelp seemed to echo around the walls forever, and Jan laughed so hard at my surprise I thought he would choke on his own merriment. The second and third times were little easier, but by the twentieth time something small skittered unseen past me I barely noticed.

  With no means of measuring how long we had remained underground, we were forced to rely on the hunger in our bellies and the ache of our feet to judge the passage of time and distance. When our legs became stiff, we rested. When we hungered, we stopped to nibble on the rations in our packs. It would not have surprised me if these breaks were not so different to our usual mealtimes. The body is remarkable in so many ways, and years of habit are hard to break even when there is no way of marking the passage of time.

  During one of these brief stops, I remarked to my companions that I had no idea where we would now be if we were above ground. Captain Brandt’s sense of direction must be keener than my own, as he confidently predicted that we were likely directly beneath the Granite Pass, and heading towards the The Tail, the narrow western tip of that range of mountains known as the Dragon’s Back. Sten, never one to waste unnecessary words, gave a mute nod of agreement.

  When our tired legs finally became too heavy to lift, we stopped to sleep. The captain organised a watch, for although a sentry would have been unable to see an attacker before they fell on us, they still might chance to hear something approach. Each of us was to stay awake for a couple of hours, as best we could guess with no means of measuring time, and he himself took the first watch (or should that be ‘listen’?)

  Although the tunnel floor was hard rock, I was relieved to lie down and take the weight from my legs. Had we walked thirty miles that day? More? It was impossible to tell, and the prospect of a similar journey the next day was not an appealing one. I was almost of a mind to apologise to the crew for suggesting the expedition, and advise us to turn back around when we awoke and return to the ship. I am glad that I did not.

  As I fell asleep that first ‘night’ below ground, it seemed to me that the mind is as remarkable as the body, if not more so. When I started the journey I had been filled with excitement, anticipation... and fear. Yet now, after untold hours walking along the same tunnel, I found that I was bored. The mysterious and unknowable had become mundane.

  I don’t know how long my mind was filled with such thoughts, but eventually an exhausted sleep took hold of me, and I passed from one blackness into another. Our first day in the tunnel was done.

  Captain Brandt leaned back from the desk, still holding the journal page. Caspian’s account of their first day covered both sides, its small, closely written script broken by sketches of the metal doorway, the discovery of which had launched their expedition, and the metal appendage the boy had discovered on the ground beyond.

  He reached into a pocket of his topcoat and withdrew his clay pipe and a leather pouch, and proceeded to fill one with tobacco from the other. He used the candle to light the bowl, and took several deep puffs as he pondered on what he had read.

  It was a true enough account of that long march. Caspian had delivered on that promise. Captain Brandt smiled wryly at the lad’s imagination, though. His own mind had frequently wandered to thoughts of home, of Freyja and the warm fireside he would not see again for many months. Nevertheless, it was interesting to relive the journey through another’s eyes.

  The sto
ol let out a creak as he moved his weight slightly, and Caspian shifted on the cot with a low moan. Captain Brandt glanced behind him, but the boy was still fast asleep. With another thoughtful puff on his pipe, he searched the strewn papers until he found the next page.

  Day two

  I awoke disorientated, for a moment unable to recall where I was, or why I could see nothing around me, as if I had been struck blind in the night. Then, when my wits returned to me and I remembered the previous day, I became afraid that I was alone; that while I slept my companions had moved on without me. A moment later, Sten’s heavy hand clapped my shoulder. It was time for my watch, the last of the night.

  I raised myself into a sitting position, but otherwise stayed in the same place I had slept. There seemed little point moving into the tunnel in either direction, and I didn’t want to stumble over the sleeping forms of my companions. Not being familiar with such a duty, I sat quietly and listened attentively. The only sounds, however, were the breaths and snores of the crew.

  Doubting whether I would even be able to hear anyone approaching us in the dark, gradually my mind began to wander. How far would we continue down this tunnel before the crew grew tired of this fruitless venture and demanded we turn back? Or if not, then what might we find waiting for us?

  Perhaps sleep had refreshed my mind more than I realised immediately upon waking, but I found my worries of the night before had faded. I was once more looking forward to exploring further, although I knew it would probably not be long before the soreness of my legs began to sap my enthusiasm.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, alone with my thoughts, but after a while I became uncomfortable with the need to relieve my bladder. I suspected my companions would not be overly pleased with my completing my ablutions so close to them, so I stood and walked a ways along the tunnel. My back and legs were as stiff from yesterday’s exertions as I had feared, but any discomfort was quickly forgotten.

  As I stood, my mind wandering, I felt something that we take for granted above ground, but had not experienced in the past day at all. It was so faint, that at first my brain did not even register what it was, and in the few moments after that I still did not realise its significance. A breath of air brushed past my face. Barely enough to move a strand of my hair, but it was undeniably there.

  For the whole of the previous day, the air in the tunnel we marched along was near-stagnant and as still as the grave. Faint as it was, that waft of fresher air shouted one thing to me, when my addled mind was finally able to recognise it: we were nearing our destination.

  My excited shout had already begun to rouse the sleeping crew when I stumbled back down the tunnel, nearly tripping over my own feet in the dark. Jan asked curtly whether I had found any more rats (I could picture the sneer on his face as he did so), but the captain lit his torch. I told them about the change in the air, and together we walked up the tunnel, where he felt it himself. He congratulated me for the discovery, and said that the passage must open up somewhere ahead, and not very far away at that.

  We broke our fast before setting off once more, but my excitement was such that I could barely eat a bite. I was afraid as well, fearful of what might await us. The combination of the two made my stomach flutter.

  For the first hour, our march continued in the same fashion as the previous day, with one exception. I now took the lead, alongside Captain Brandt, eager to see where the tunnel would lead us. By the time we had walked half a league, by my measure, the movement of the air was undeniable. Even so, an hour is a long time to maintain a state of anticipation, and eventually my enthusiasm began to wane.

  I was not the only one. The further we walked, the louder Jan’s grumbles became, until with an angry bark he called for us to stop. “This is a fool’s errand,” he shouted, striding up to confront me. In spite my own doubts, I pointed out the movement of the air to indicate we were close to discovering something. As I did so, I was dimly aware that the quality of the air had changed again, though as before I did not yet understand its significance.

  Jan sneered and snatched my torch. “I’ll tell you where you can stick your air,” he said. “There’s nothing down here, and I’ll prove it. A dozen more yards I’ll go and no further. When you see there’s nothing there, we’re going back. You can rot down here with your air for all I care.”

  With that, he marched further up the tunnel. When he reached a dozen yards, as he promised, he turned triumphantly. “See, I told you-”, he began. Then his words became a scream. We heard the crumbling of rock, and the light of the torch fell abruptly and disappeared.

  We ran to the spot where we had seen him last, taking care not to stumble into whichever hole Jan had unwittingly discovered. As we did so, I could not help but notice that the walls and floor suddenly vanished before us. There was a muffled cry from below, and as the captain lowered his torch, we saw Jan’s terrified face looking back up at us. His fingers were clinging to the ledge he had fallen from. Several droll observations came to my mind, but in the interests of diplomacy I kept them to myself. I could not help a small smile, though, as Sten reached over and pulled his crewmate back up to us with a small grunt of effort. His strength, as I had noted before, was incredible; he had lifted a grown man with no more difficulty than I might have stooping to pick up a book.

  Jan was shaken by his discovery, and his eyes fired daggers in my direction. That he somehow blamed me for his own carelessness, I had no doubt. The captain continued to brandish his torch before him. Beyond the small ledge on which we were standing, we could see nothing. The change in air I had noted before, but thought little on, now told me that we stood on the edge of a vast open space beneath the mountain. The others began to laugh at the realisation, but I did not join them. “What’s wrong, Caspian?” the captain asked me. “You were right, there is something here after all.”

  “We found nothing, captain, and much of it,” I replied. Where were we to go from here, but back? I felt on the floor for a stone, and threw it out in front of us. It vanished quickly and silently into the darkness. Then, just as I was about to turn back to the tunnel, there was a distant sound, one I had not thought to encounter in such a place. A deep clang of metal, like the sonorous chime of a great bell, far below us.

  “It sounds like something to me,” the captain said. He began to search more closely around us with his torch, examining the mouth of the tunnel and on each side of the ledge. A few moments later, he chuckled to himself. I didn’t catch his words properly, but to my ears it sounded like “why do they never think to put in a handrail?” Before any of us could stop him, he stepped off the ledge.

  I cried out in shock, but the captain just turned and smiled at us, his head now lower than it was previously, but quite clearly not falling to his doom. I looked down and, in the halo of light from his torch, could dimly make out a series of deep cuts in the rock to our left.

  Steps, leading down.

  That marked the end of another page and Captain Brandt chuckled, as he had that day that Caspian recounted. He’d never been able to resist a touch of the dramatic when the opportunity presented itself. The memory of it made him smile now, seeing the boy’s eyes and mouth wide open in shock as he dropped onto that first step. Sten had seen it at the same time, but a glance at his captain was enough to tell him to keep it to himself. Not that he ever needs much convincing not to talk, he thought.

  He remembered the rush of excitement he’d felt when the outline of the steps were visible in his torchlight; the first he had felt since the discovery of the doorway in the cave. “What do we do now?” Caspian had asked, his voice radiating nervousness.

  “We go down,” he’d replied. What else was there to do? Return to the ship and tell the others they had spent two days in the dark, only to turn back the moment they found something? Jan would probably not have objected. After his fall, he had looked heartily sick of the entire endeavour, while Caspian had appeared torn between his curiosity and his fear. Sten, as ever, had b
een impassive. The captain had known he would follow, whichever way he chose. But, for Captain Brandt, there had been no choice to make.

  He searched through the loose pages again, until he found the one that spoke of their descent.

  My first impression was that the carved stone steps followed the rock wall of this vast cavern, but my assumption was soon proven incorrect. The first few were indeed attached to the wall, but after our heads dropped below the level of the ledge on which we had stood, they began to spiral downwards on their own. On one side of us was a narrow stone column, onto which the winding steps were built. The other side of us was open air and impenetrable blackness. The steps were wide, wider than the breadth of a man with both arms outstretched, but I felt very exposed as we descended.

  I cannot say how long it took us to climb down the stone spiral, nor how many steps there were, but it felt as though there were hundreds. I heard someone, Jan I presumed, grumbling that the further we went the further we would have to climb back up. I must admit, it was a thought that had occurred to me also.

  Just as the dawn rises slowly, chasing away the darkness of night so gradually we barely are able to notice it happening, at some point during our descent I realised that I was able to discern the outline of the step below mine. The light from Captain Brandt’s torch had disappeared around a bend a dozen or so steps below me, yet nevertheless I was able to see without it for the first time since entering the tunnel. This was just as well, as my own torch had disappeared with Jan’s stumble.