Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1)

by Jonathan Renshaw

  Besides merchants, the festival’s incoming tide had brought a flood of minstrels, actors, raconteurs, magicians and acrobats. The boys found them now as they entered a broad grassy walkway between large tents. On either side were stages where various actors performed. Some were roving troupes with large wagons that served as home, change rooms, and stage. A few cloth screens had been put up to keep bystanders from seeing the performances from the lane, and three copper huddies was the standard entry charge. Aedan noticed that there were officials keeping watch on all the players and raconteurs.

  It was one thing for people to whisper to each other of signs in the sky, of dark times, of the approach of fearful things from the eastern mountains – and Aedan regularly heard snatches of such talk from passing groups – but it had become known recently that anyone who spoke those ideas from a platform was quickly and forcefully silenced. Soldiers waited nearby, and they would be ready with gags and chains.

  “Politics,” Vayle said, when Aedan remarked on it. “Remember how careful the prince was about getting only one explanation of the storm to the heralds? I think that storm and the rumours of terrible things stirring in DinEilan concern him more than he’ll admit. And we know he’s petrified of what fear can do if it spreads in the people. He likes to keep a very tight lid on ideas he doesn’t want.”

  “And I wish you’d keep a lid on your talk about that meeting,” Aedan replied.

  “What are you being saying about a meeting?” Kian asked.

  “Nothing!” the other five replied in unison.

  Strains of various kinds of singing and music grew in the air as they entered Song Lane. Their group began to stretch out. Peashot was growing bored and restless. He pushed ahead to the beckoning arena, while Aedan hung back, walking slower and slower as the strands of melody and story-songs began to catch in his chest and tug in ways that were sweetness and ache at the same time. It was when he reached a large green tent that he could go no further. He stopped before the sign that read, The Lilt and Lore of Silrin.

  “Aedan, hurry up!” Peashot yelled back. “This is the most boring part of the fair. The games are up ahead.”

  Aedan looked up with unfocussed eyes, as if he had just been pulled from an afternoon nap. “I think I’m going to go in here for a bit.”

  “But it’s going to cost you your supper money,” Peashot said, returning to talk a bit of sense into his deluded friend.

  “I know. I still want to.”

  “But this stuff is as boring as law class, and anyway, why do you care about Silrin – it’s some wild part of northern Thirna where the people are a bunch of – Oi!”

  Hadley grinned at Peashot, ready to cuff him again. “That’s where Aedan’s from, cabbage-head.”

  Peashot’s eyes cooled. “Oh, yes. Something misty?”

  “Mistyvales,” Aedan said. “Look, why don’t you all carry on. I’ll find you in the stands later.”

  They agreed and hurried away together like a raft freed from a dragging anchor, while Aedan parted with three of his remaining four coins and went into the tent.

  He found a seat on one of benches just as a thickset, middle-aged man climbed onto the stage alongside a woman, presumably his wife, who beamed red and round as a summer cherry. Three sons and a daughter sat on the platform holding various instruments. Among the flutes, fiddles, drums and shakers, Aedan spotted an eilo – four fretted strings over a lyre-like body. He hadn’t seen one of those since leaving his home. About a dozen listeners had seated themselves, and began to quieten down as the man coughed for silence.

  Without any introduction, he nodded to his wife who began to pick on the eilo. The tones were haunting with a depth that struck Aedan before he had a chance to steel himself. To some listeners, the sound may have been only pleasing or alluring; to Aedan, it was as if the secrets of his beloved home had been slipped into the notes and coaxed into the air.

  The children took up their parts with a sensitivity that was no less astonishing. A few in the audience released little gasps of appreciation at the simple yet delicately woven lines of melody and harmony. But the audience fell into a complete hush when the father began to speak in his untamed accent. Aedan smiled as he recognised the northern rillom – a story with a frail strand of wispy poetic rhythm and occasionally rhyme that emerged and broke and re-formed as it pleased. He closed his eyes and listened.

  “It was a black and disturbed night high upon the inland hills where the summer days are patient but the winter snows lie deep. A pup too young to know its way now slipped the watchful eye and lost itself chasing shadows upon the moor. Without lamp or coat, his young mistress dashed out in frantic search, but in her haste she missed the way and became lost herself.

  “A girl alone in those frozen woods, long she cannot last, and soon she saw her folly plain and knew her fate was come. But then a great rugged shape grew from the darkness and she found herself before the gaze of a wild forest bear. Trembling she stood and wept in her arms, waiting for the teeth and claws to gouge and tear, while the beast looked down, hesitating now. At last it moved, but not to devour. It drew her near, curled upon the ground and warmed the child against the wind and the storm-filled night.

  “When morning came they walked to the town, and the people came to see. But as she drew near, leaning on the bear, they began to shout, “Witch! Wood-spirit! Ghost of our daughter!” With clubs and arrows they chased girl and bear from their home, and from hers.

  “One day, when a full three years had passed, a townsman found a bear cub in the forest deep. Home he bore the starved young whelp unable to run it was so weak. And the townsfolk gathered around to marvel at the soft fur and tender eyes. Then they all fell quiet as a young woman stood among them with tattered garments and soiled hair. As they stepped away she pointed at the cub, and with trembling voice she cried, ‘Now do you not see? The compassion you feel for your enemy’s child once moved her heart for me. The only witching I ever knew, was that which this cub has done to you.’”

  While listening, Aedan had felt as though he were among his spellbound friends in the Mistyvales town hall where they had first heard the story from a travelling raconteur. Their faces appeared again – Thomas horrified, Dara indignant, and the soft hazel eyes beside him had looked … sad.

  The musically blanketed tale now rose into a song so moving that Aedan had to drop his head and hide the feelings coursing through him. There was no one here that knew him, so he allowed himself to feel and remember much of what he had locked away.

  As the songs continued to flow, old adventures played out in his thoughts, and for a little while he lived again in the Mistyvales and spoke with old friends now lost. It caused him to wonder about his father – and hope.

  When the music was over and crowd had applauded and begun to move, Aedan lingered until the room was quiet. The bench moved as someone sat beside him. He took his head out from his hands and saw the cherry-cheeked lady smiling by his side.

  “You are northern, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes Ma’am. The Mistyvales,” Aedan said, though his accent said it for him. “Thank you for giving me a breath of the north again.”

  She smiled. “We are Bregan and Velrie. Wherever you find us, you will also find welcome at the door of our wagon.”

  Aedan was worried he would be drawn into a long discussion, but she only planted a kiss on his head and left him to his thoughts as the family slipped out the back to rest before the next performance. When Aedan emerged from the tent, he felt refreshed. Though old aches and losses had been uncovered, they had reminded him why he carried a staff strapped to his back.

  He took a quiet stroll to gather himself before searching for his friends. On his way, he stopped to watch groups of men competing to catch and pen pigs – one of which bit a man’s foot and caused a terrible commotion. There were children playing foxes and hounds – a more interesting game of catch where two foxes could take on a hound. A robed priest stood before a large silve
r idol of Urmullas, the deity of fortune, and announced that the storm was a portent of coming prosperity – he covered this with a reluctance that was explained when Aedan glimpsed soldiers idling nearby. But the priest became far more animated when he explained how personal prosperity could be assured only by making an offering to this deity whose offering box stood at his elbow.

  A riddler was challenging a small group, “I have a dozen arms to each of yours, a hundred spears for each arm and a …”

  “Thorn tree,” Aedan called, then ducked and ran when he saw the look on the riddler’s face. He’d heard that one from a riddler in the north.

  Peashot spotted him from a long way off, and the group reassembled.

  There was nothing happening on the arena while it was being cleared of acrobatics equipment in preparation for the feat of arms – the central event of the afternoon. They decided to take a walk down a noisy lane, and soon they were weaving their way between throngs of idlers. A small boy ran past and bumped into Hadley. Without a word, Peashot flew off in pursuit. When the others caught up, Peashot had the smaller boy on the ground and was prying something from his hand.

  “Here you go,” he said to Hadley, tossing him his purse. “Hold onto it better next time.” Peashot stood and the little thief slipped away between the people like a skink.

  “How did you know?” Hadley asked.

  “Just knew,” said Peashot.

  “You have a good eye for pickpockets.”

  Peashot didn’t reply.

  At the end of the lane, they came across an enormous tent where men, woman and children whirled in folk dances and where Lorrimer was spotted by a group of girls from the academy. The boys tried to duck away, but the girls matched them for speed and caught them easily in the congested lane. Liru flew up, her raven hair streaming behind her, eyes filled with laughter.

  “Oh you poor young men,” she teased. “What grave danger is this at your heels that you run so?”

  They shuffled and looked at the ground.

  “Partners are always scarce for us girls. Would you really be such beasts that you would make us struggle on our own? Lorrimer, I see you slinking away. There is a very pretty third-year student with us who has been complaining constantly about short partners. And I understand that you want to learn to dance?” She winked.

  Lorrimer darted a look at Aedan who made no effort to hide the grin.

  Liru was finished talking. She snatched Aedan’s hand in a grip that invited no debate and led him back to the tent. The other girls giggled and did likewise with the rest of the boys – all except Peashot who had somehow disappeared.

  Aedan found it a lot more enjoyable than he had expected, especially when Lorrimer introduced a comic aspect by attempting more challenging steps – to the alarm of his neighbours. He persevered with a determined set of jaw that reminded the boys all too clearly of Princess Allisian’s parting words.

  Aedan had heard some of these reels in the Mistyvales. One in particular caught his ear. It was a harvesters’ song that all knew and sang as they danced.

  Ring out

  Bells of the town

  And sing out

  Dells and the downs

  For heavy are the sheaf and tun

  Full with a summer’s sun

  Bursting

  Are barrels and the workers

  Thirsting

  (But none for the shirkers)

  Rest for the labour’s done

  And ease from the winter won

  After they had completed several rounds, they were breathing hard and laughing at the numerous missteps and near-collisions. Then a blast of trumpets echoed across the grounds. Crowds came to a standstill as dances and conversations stopped.

  “Feat of arms!” they cried, and began streaming from all parts of the festival towards the huge stands surrounding the main arena.

  Hadley led the now-larger group across the lane, under the stands and through a little gap between supports that he had found earlier, thereby avoiding the crush of people squeezing into the designated entrances. Following Hadley’s lead, they climbed up between the seating boards to the top of the stand where they were able to fit all ten of them along a bench. Peashot was waiting, clearly trying not to look like he had missed out.

  The stands filled up. Almost everyone wore streamers of one of the four colours.

  “Why don’t you have colours?” It was Delwyn, the tall, blonde girl who had danced with Lorrimer. “Here,” she said, and handed out green strips of cloth which they tied around their heads.

  “So we’re all green team?” asked Hadley.

  “All except Liru,” she said.

  Liru gasped, pulled the red ribbon from her head and stared at it with exaggerated horror, then tossed it away, snatched a green one from Delwyn and bound it in place with such an air of mock relief that everyone laughed. Aedan marvelled at how confident she had grown.

  “I love watching from high up like this,” she said.

  “Me too,” said Peashot. “It’s like walking across the bridge over Regent Street where you can see the whole city market underneath you, and there are lots of nice piles of goat and horse dung that … some other children drop on those ratty, bribe-collecting hygiene inspectors that the whole city hates.”

  Liru chuckled. “I have been doing that for years.”

  “So you’re one of us! I’ve never been able to hit the chief inspector though. He’s really been –”

  “I meant watching from the bridge.”

  Peashot’s face drained. “Uh, yes, I meant that too. What I was trying to say was that I couldn’t get a good view of him. Sometimes when I use ‘hit’ like that I actually mean ‘see’.”

  The silence was rigid. Aedan squirmed for Peashot.

  Liru turned back after a while. “I got him once,” she said and grinned, jabbing Peashot in the ribs.

  Aedan laughed. “I warned you about her sense of humour,” he said.

  The stands filled up around the huge arena as slanting rays of the afternoon sun cast spectators’ shadows halfway across the field. Another brassy peal of trumpets brought the excited crowd to a gradual hush. Through a large speaker-horn, a golden-robed official announced the rules, as well as the winnings. Princess Allisian would indeed partner the winning knight at the feast. Aedan glanced over at Lorrimer – the tall boy did not cheer.

  Another blast of trumpets, and the gates opened. Four teams of fully armed knights strode with crashing steps onto the field. There was no official rank of knight in Castath. It was an honorary title given to competitors who were chosen from among soldiers and citizens.

  At a gesture from the announcer, they saluted the royal tier, then took up their positions at the four quarters of the field where four flags stood – blue, green, red and white. Knights could engage in any manner they chose. The winning team was the one whose flag was the last standing, the winning knight the one who showed the greatest courage.

  Allisian herself, dazzling in a silken gown, dropped the gold ribbon. It had begun.

  The white team was the first to sally out. Four of their ten knights began stamping towards the red flag, raising swords, maces and flails – all blunted, but all still deadly. The green team saw the weakened white base and sent six of their knights to take it. But as the white team approached the full company of reds, they swerved aside and charged the now-weakened green base.

  A ruse.

  Crowds began to cheer and stamp, and then a harsher din broke through the applause as green and white smashed into each other with weapons swinging and shields denting.

  Red and blue looked to have a mutual understanding of preserving their numbers; a single knight from each strode forward and engaged in combat. When one fell he was replaced. Green and white supporters booed this timid and conservative approach as their own teams whittled each other down at an alarming rate.

  The white flag dropped first.

  The green flag stood, but it was held by only a single totte
ring defender. A small contingent was sent from red to attack him, but as they left, all but one of the blues rushed at the red base. The reds spotted the attack and together they retreated to their flag where, in a clatter of desperate fighting, all fell, including the flag.

  It was down to the single green and blue knight. The green was exhausted, swaying in his armour as he staggered forward. He was able to preserve his dignity by landing a few prods with his sword on his opponent’s shield before the huge sweep of a mace knocked him off his feet.

  Blue took the win, but the green soldier was considered to have been the most valiant, having taken part in three separate confrontations in which he had demolished four opponents.

  Several men had to be carried off the field on stretchers. A few dark stains showed on the cloth when the stretchers returned for more.

  A whole range of contests followed – single combat, archery, wrestling, and another team event in which armed knights had to carry a ripe melon from across the field while their opponents attempted to smash it. The crowd roared with laughter when a melon was damaged near the finish and the frustrated carrier smashed it over his antagonist’s helm, felling the man with the most unexpected of weapons.

  While looking to the side, a movement behind the stands caught Aedan’s eye. He turned to see the same tall man with the hat that kept his face in shadow. It gave him the first tingling of fear. But the next time he looked around, the man was gone.

  As the sky darkened, fires and lanterns were lit, and teams of acrobatic dancers ran onto the field and began to perform. They leapt over each other, built pyramids with their bodies, balanced on horses while throwing flaming torches to each other across the arena, and walked fearlessly along ropes high above the ground. The final applause that rolled from the audience expressed equal parts congratulation and relief.

  It was with an air of satisfied fatigue that the group of friends clumped down from the stands and gathered on the walkway. The boys insisted that the girls accompany them to Enna’s for supper, and told them with no little pride how they had spent their morning. Aedan grinned as he passed the tent where they had added their own creative ingredients – it was empty.