Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1)

by Jonathan Renshaw

  Aedan looked around at the people leaping from windows, perched on collapsing roofs, and fleeing between buildings that rained fiery projectiles among them. It felt unreal. The bells had grown distant. Even the screams were muted, lost somewhere in the foggy glare. His mother sat beside him with her arms clasped about her, staring vacantly, rocking in a childlike trance.

  It was morning by the time the blaze had lost its fury and retreated into the blackened ruins. Smoke hung in the air, darkening the sun’s light. When Borr and Harriet appeared, they were clearly exhausted from searching. It was as if Aedan had been waiting to hand over the watch, for in the moment he recognised their voices, his head fell.

  –––

  The chatter of birds and the flow of a cool breeze caused him to stir. It was the second time in a year he had awoken in bandages. He looked around, taking in the small space of a loft where he had been placed on a cushioned bed. He reached for his head which still felt as if it were on fire, but his fingers met with only bandages. The gentle pressure hurt, even through the dressing.

  He climbed from the bed and waited until the pounding in his head subsided enough to be bearable. It left him giddy; he had to be careful while descending the ladder into the room beneath. Nessa sat in a chair, staring out the window.

  “Mother,” he said.

  She didn’t move. “No sign of your father,” she said, her voice soft, eyes unfocussed.

  Aedan had expected as much, yet the words struck a hollowness inside him that rang with a note near to loneliness, but with intruding overtones of anger like the buzz of a string or the rattle of a gong.

  Then Nessa’s look cleared somewhat and she turned to Aedan. “What kind of mother have I been? I never stood up to him, never asked for help to protect you. Even during the fire, what good was I to you? If it hadn’t been for me, you might not have been burned.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Aedan said, sitting beside her on the couch and taking her hand. “I didn’t want to tell anyone about him beating us either. And anyway, you did ask for help, and it was you who pulled me out of the fire in the end and got burned doing it. Don’t try to hide the bandage on your other hand. I saw it when I walked in.”

  She smiled and ruffled his hair. “In some things, you always were older than your age, if that makes sense. You always wanted to be as old as Kalry … Oh, I miss her …”

  Aedan had to look away until the blurriness left his vision. After a long silence, he decided it was time to be open, to share the plan he had been nurturing. “I’m going to make sure that what happened to her is brought to a stop,” he said. “So I’ve decided I want to become a soldier, like the great generals.”

  Nessa looked at him with her quiet eyes. “A soldier … So that’s why we read all those war books on the way here?”

  Aedan nodded and waited.

  “You no longer want to be a forester? Do none of the other trades interest you?”

  “No.”

  “Have you thought this through properly? Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure, very sure.”

  Nessa sighed. “No mother would have the military as her first choice,” she said, “but I suppose if all mothers kept their sons from the army, we would all fall victim to those like Quin.” She looked at him again. “I know it would not have been your father’s first choice either, but he would not be displeased. My father would have been proud.”

  “So … you don’t mind?”

  “I would rather you become a scrivener or a clerk in some high tower where you’d be safe, but I think you’d just die slowly – your veins are filled with as much fire as blood.” She eyed his bandage. “Wait until your injuries have healed, and then perhaps Borr can take you to the barracks. You will need money, and I’m afraid I have none, but I’m sure Harriet will help. She has been a good friend to us.”

  “But she’s such a …” He was about to name the four-legged beast well known to dairy farmers when Harriet, as if drawn by the mention of her name, bustled into the room and began scolding Aedan loudly enough to make his tender head ring. “Off with you,” she said. “Stop disturbing your mother. She needs time to rest, and so do you.” She took him by the arm and returned him to the ladder.

  Later, Aedan climbed down again, but his mother had been moved to another room. He tried the doors that were not locked but all he found was Harriet busy at the sink. He closed the door quietly and retreated to his loft.

  For several days he rested until he could stand without feeling as if his head was about to burst like a squeezed grape. He crept downstairs regularly, and when he was able to find his mother, they shared quiet conversations until Harriet intruded and separated them. With Clauman out the way, she was riding high in the saddle.

  Nessa implored Aedan to stay on good terms with Harriet. Her frequent appeals for him to be accommodating revealed that she saw the discord well enough, but tried to mend it on Aedan’s side rather than where it originated. Without realising it, she was repeating the fault she had so recently lamented. Too fearful to intervene and hold back the tormenter, she was pleading instead with the victim to be more submissive. It was a solution that would resolve the conflict while entrenching the problem. Aedan didn’t have the words to understand, but he could feel the wrongness of it.

  One morning Harriet called Aedan down to the kitchen where she was seated with Borr. Aedan took the place indicated.

  “Your mother is weak,” she said. “Weak in body and in mind. She was a prisoner to fear and guilt for too long.”

  “What guilt?” Aedan asked, annoyed. “She never hurt anyone.”

  “Guilt for not defending you like she should have. Do you think I would have stood by and watched?”

  Aedan bristled. Harriet was treading very freely on ground that was private.

  “We need to discuss your future, Aedan,” she said. “Due to your mother’s weakness, it is necessary for someone more capable to take charge of you. It is time to start again with your lessons where they were cut off. There will be no more hiding behind your father. I am going to set you on a decent path and Borr will see to it that I am obeyed.”

  Aedan looked at her, unsure how to begin. For the duration of their travels he had avoided speaking of his plans because Harriet had shown a readiness to listen in and then peck at him. He had found that the best way to survive was to keep distant, and when that was not possible, silent. But silence would not aid him now. He needed money in order to enter any trade, even soldiering, and who else could he ask in a city of strangers?

  But before he could frame his words, Harriet continued. “You have spent more than enough time dabbling with bows and slings, poking around in forests. These kinds of things are for dirty, reckless boys and trappers, and you will be neither. We have discussed it and have agreed that you are to enter a trade. The best course for you would be something very different to whatever your father tried to teach you. You must be scrubbed of his influence. So we have decided to apprentice you to a chef at the inn nearby. You will start today. During the evenings I will resume the task of improving your character. It is clear to me that your mother’s influence has spoiled you, indulging your irresponsible notions. That will also come to an end.”

  Aedan tried to calm his pulse – the throbbing felt like hammers against his temples. “I want to become a soldier,” he said.

  “Oh don’t be ridiculous, Aedan! Look at you. You’ve been in bandages half the time I’ve known you. Your frame is not sturdy enough for soldiering.”

  “But my mother –”

  “I have spoken to your mother and cleared up that foolishness already.”

  Aedan wasn’t sure if she was lying or telling the truth. It worried him that both were possible.

  “You, my boy, do not have the makings of a soldier. All of us can see it.”

  Aedan knew his face was turning red. He knew his next words would be red too, but he made no attempt to hold them back. “The things that put me in bandages kill
ed grown men! Ask my mother if you don’t believe me. Do you think soldiers don’t get burned, or that they fall from cliffs without getting hurt? What do you know about the army anyway?”

  Harriet’s lips were bunching as her eyes narrowed, but Aedan was not finished.

  “And you talk about getting rid of my father’s influence, but how many times did his trapping or my hunting fill your belly? He taught me. It was his skills that kept us alive on that journey, or have you forgotten all this now that you’re comfortable?”

  Borr placed his hands on the table and rose to his feet. He looked at Aedan, shaking his head. This man they had assumed to be a plodding ox was turning out to be more of a guard dog, silent and watchful until roused.

  Aedan drew back. He knew he had taken the wrong tone. He considered explaining his reasons for wanting to take up arms, but that would mean baring the deepest part of his soul, and he would not do that here.

  “I want to become a soldier,” he said again, more quietly this time.

  “You will do no such thing!” Harriet snapped. “If there’s one thing I know how to correct, it is stubbornness. Now get to your room, pack your clothes, and clean yourself up. Then come down here with a better attitude. The chef expects you before mid-morning.” She tapped her knuckles on the table with a look that declared the conversation to be over.

  Aedan dropped his head, turned and left the room.

  He had no choice.

  He did as he was told – went up the ladder to his room, packed his little bag, and cleaned himself up.

  Then he climbed out the window and headed for the city.

  Harriet could tap that table all she wanted. She had been accommodating and kind to his mother, but her kindness did not grant her ownership of him. He was no chef’s assistant, and he was not going to be bullied into this woman’s choices. He covered ground quickly. The last thing he wanted was for Harriet to send Borr after him.

  How he would get into army training without being able to pay fees was a problem that rose tall and stern. But for now his biggest worry was escaping the prison Harriet had built.

  At the gate, Aedan’s bandaged head drew some attention, but the guards did not appear to bother much with children and they let him pass. Cameron was not on duty, so Aedan approached the most friendly looking of the guards.

  “Hello,” he said. “I want to become a soldier. Where should I go?”

  The guard’s surprised face broke into a grin.

  “Oi, fellas, lookee here. We’ve a young one what wants to start soldiering.” A few of the guards looked across and smirked.

  “Looks like he’s had some experience with violence,” one said. The others laughed.

  “Order!” The guard who shouted was clearly the ranking officer. He walked up.

  “Don’t mind them,” he said to Aedan. “Only difference between you and them is that you aren’t pretending to be grown up.” There was some grumbling behind him. “The barracks are in the middle of the north-west quarter. You could go through the Seeps but I wouldn’t recommend it. Rather follow King’s Lane all the way up. You’ll pass the regent’s office on your left and the city market on your right. The road branches at the keep. Don’t stare at the guards. Take the left branch and follow it west until it brings you to a big courtyard and the gates of the barracks. The marshals’ headquarters are nearby. They have an office that faces the same courtyard. Don’t mistake them for the army.”

  “What are the marshals?” Aedan asked, intrigued. “I think I once read something about them, but it was only a mention.”

  “You don’t know about the grey marshals?” The soldier was almost shocked. “Ah, I suppose I should have guessed from your accent. You are new here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, then I’d best warn you that the marshals are not men you want to be mingling with. They are a strange breed, only ever seen where trouble is worst, normally at night. They are wolves in their grey cloaks, sent in to deal with things the rest of us would rather not know about.”

  “Are they soldiers too?”

  “Certainly not! There is a divide between us that not even a common cause would be able to bridge. They skulk about in secret. We deal in the open. A regiment of our men came across a pair of them in the Seeps last week. Tried to question them. When they refused to answer, the soldiers tried to escort them to the barracks. Ten men they were. Spent the next week in the infirmary.”

  “Two marshals!” Aedan exclaimed.

  “Wolves, I tell you. Unnatural and uncivil. Best keep your distance. Soldiers are the ones you want.”

  In Aedan’s mind, the information was having a different effect. If ten soldiers could have the stuffing beaten out of them by two marshals, then how far would a soldier’s skills get him? He needed to grow strong, not jolly and chummy.

  Aedan glanced past the old guard at something that had caught his eye. The young guards were questioning a group of pretty young girls while a heavy-looking cart trundled by unnoticed. He saw one of the girls glance nervously at the cart and realised she was connected somehow. The girls were a decoy.

  “Thank you,” Aedan said. “In return for you kindness, can I point out the cart that has just slipped past your guards. I think you’ll find something in there that doesn’t belong in the city.”

  The old guard knew to act on tips. His orders were crisp and loud, and the big man trundling the cart was apprehended. It cut Aedan when he heard one of the girls screaming for her father.

  As he watched, he caught sight of someone riding a horse through the crowd. Through the clutter, he couldn’t tell if it was Borr, but decided it would be best to avoid finding out. Aedan ducked into the first alley and began weaving his way north-west. It wasn’t the path the soldier had recommended, but it was now necessary to avoid open roads. He pulled his jacket from the pack and wound it round his head to hide the bandage lest he leave a trail of observers who could point after him through the entire city.

  The girl’s wails kept echoing in his thoughts. It reminded him of one awful day when he’d slipped off to watch a hanging at Crossroads. He had promised to avoid it and spent the next year wishing he’d kept his promise. For some reason the man’s wife had been present. He could still hear her scream. Sometimes he still felt angry at the hangman.

  Was the law just another tyrant? Was it better to let all people go their own way and not interfere? He wondered if his father might have said yes.

  He paid little attention to the surroundings while he busied himself with his thoughts. He didn’t notice how the lanes grew narrower, darker, and the idlers more watchful.

  Part of what eased his thoughts was a presence of another boy a few years older than him, fifteen or sixteen he thought. They had been walking a few yards apart for several blocks now. Though they shared no words, they exchanged a look or two, found each other unthreatening, and established a kind of neighbourliness, the peculiar bond often felt by travellers on uncertain roads.

  Though taller, the other boy was slight and shrew-like in his movements, almost timid, but he seemed familiar with the area. When a split in the alley offered a broader road to the right, he hesitated. Aedan, eager to show some initiative and pluck, walked on, but quickly wondered if it had been a good decision. A large group of older boys was gathered here. It looked as if they were doing some kind of dance.

  They stood on either side of the road, eyes fixed on each other. One at a time they would leave their line and walk up to the other side with jaunty steps and cold, challenging stares. The stares were returned with such vehemence that it seemed the prelude to a fight, but it never went further than these threatening gestures. Apparently the boys were gaining some enjoyment from the performance.

  Encouraged by this, Aedan decided to walk on and slip past. He assumed it was just another unusual aspect to this city’s culture. But instead of continuing, unaware of him, this strange dance immediately re-formed around him, placing him at the centre.

&nbs
p; He smiled and tried to excuse himself, but there were no smiles in return. Everywhere he stepped, a glaring face appeared, blocking his way. He was sure the looks of hatred were given in jest and would soon be cast off.

  Then he was not so sure.

  But how could they possibly be in earnest? He had given no cause for offense.

  It was when the first shove threw him off balance that he knew he had made a mistake.

  The blow that took him from behind almost split his head apart. He dropped to his knees, and even before he hit the ground, a quick hand snatched the bandage and ripped it away.

  Cries of disgust filled the alley and several boys spat at him.

  “This here is my ground, Ooze-head. Who gave you permission to enter, especially with a filthy pus-drenched head like yours?”

  Aedan’s thoughts were clearing.

  The words drifted past unheard. Deep, wild instincts were taking over.

  “Oi! When I am talking –”

  No rabbit ever bolted from a circle of hounds the way Aedan took off now.

  He darted between a pair of legs before anyone could reach him, felt the whoosh of something through the space he had just occupied, and put on a wild burst of speed. A big hand lunged towards him but he struck it away, veered, and almost had his teeth knocked out by a swinging stick.

  He dived beneath it and tumbled to the ground where he slipped and sprawled through rotten vegetables and filth that was even more evil-smelling. Before he had stopped sliding, he pushed himself up, filling his hands with the mush as he did so. He was almost quick enough.

  The gang was behind, but one of their number had been loitering near the far end of the alley and now pounded to a stop in front of the slime pond. He gripped Aedan by the neck with steel hands.

  “I’ve got the little –”

  That was all he managed, because he suddenly got something he had not expected when Aedan lunged up and slapped both handfuls of muck into his eyes. The steel hands released instantly, accompanied by a howl of pain. Aedan slipped past, leapt over a broken crate just ahead of stretching fingers, and hared away down the alley. He didn’t stop until the pain in his bad leg was strong enough to taste.