By morning, Aedan felt better than he had expected. His wounds, expertly stitched, drained, and bound, felt as if they had already started to mend.
As Aedan had predicted, the wolves were thrown into confusion by the scent, or rather, the stink of the party. After twice approaching, they abandoned this smelly quarry that they could not bring themselves to attack.
The mood in the camp was solemn for a time. More than half their number had died in Kultûhm. Once they were a safe distance from the fortress, they held a quiet memorial, each speaking in memory of those lost.
Osric’s face seldom betrayed tender emotions, but Aedan knew he mourned the loss of the faithful and steady commander whose large presence and billowing pipe had become as reassuring to the party as the campfire. The tears ran freely down Tyne’s cheeks as Osric recalled to them a man whose honour and loyalty had earned him respect among his friends, his troops, and even some of his enemies.
Fergal spoke of the Culver none of them had known – a shy and quiet man with a quick sense of humour and an insatiable craving for tales of adventure and romance. He told with a smile how he had often caught the great man lost in a book full of brave heroes rescuing fluttering maidens from pirates and dragons, instead of attending to more serious duties. Fergal’s expression remained hidden, but his voice revealed the sadness that rested on him.
As was the custom when bodies were out of reach, the mourners placed headstones and buried articles that had belonged to the dead. Aedan thought of burying a pipe Thormar had given him but, after a brief consideration, decided against it. The pipe was inseparably linked to something the man had said, something Aedan never wanted to forget – that the only good reason for war was peace.
He let go of the pipe, allowed it to drop back in his pocket and recalled the face of the rough commander who had shown him nothing but kindness. Yes, Thormar would have understood. He would have approved.
It was only after a week that they decided to discuss what had happened and what it meant. At nightfall, Captain Senbert and Holt were posted on sentry duty, while Fergal gathered the rest around the fire.
“I came here in the hope of answering a question,” he began. “It was this: Did the storm over the Pellamines set in motion something that could destroy our city? Perhaps you felt the disturbances that have been taking place under Castath ever since that lightning bolt?”
“I did,” said Tyne.
“I felt nothing,” said Osric.
“Yes, well, you shake the earth every time you step,” she said, tossing a pebble at one of his massive boots. “Of course you wouldn’t notice.”
Fergal moved on. “There was something in our archives that gave me cause for concern. I knew that there had been reports of strange storms at Kultûhm shortly before it was abandoned. The theory that formed in my mind was that the latched, prolonged bolt of lightning disturbed something in the ground under Kultûhm which led to earthquakes. Nobody wants to be under stone roofs or beside block towers when they are shaking and leaning. I suspected something like that, possibly combined with a release of noxious fumes through a fissure in the earth, might have been enough to drive the inhabitants from the fortress.
“So, if the very security of our own walls and buildings was about to become a threat, it was necessary to know. We had the choice to either wait and find out, hoping that the Fenn army would not be camped outside our walls at the time, or travel to the Kultûhm archives and try to glimpse our future by looking into their history. To quote Agoligh, ‘History is the shadow of tomorrow.’ Though it does sound so much better in the original Gellerac. My ears ache under the dead weight of these limping translations.”
“Gellerac,” said Osric, “sounds like a throat infection. And it was the language of a people cruel enough to be considered an infection themselves. I was forced to learn a little of it during a course in historical tactics and I think it gave me scars inside my mouth. All that snorting and scraping to get your meaning out has never seemed worth the effort to me.”
“Ghavgk krreshûgg.”
“And yet when you produce noises like that, you sound like the uncultured barbarian. It’s enough to make a man’s tonsils bleed.”
Fergal sighed and continued. “What we found in the Kultûhm archives was not exactly what I had expected. According to the records, the storms were first seen about eight hundred years ago. The Gellerac documented observing them over the mountains for some five years before they ceased completely – until now. More surprising than the storms themselves, were the strange things they found at the lightning strike points. These copses of giant trees that we have been seeing all over DinEilan are the points, and I think you can guess what else they found there. All the giant insects, rodents and worse that we discovered in that museum were collected from such points. Being a systematic people, they collected pairs. They believed that the lightning both enlarged and killed whatever it struck.”
“But it didn’t kill the snake,” said Aedan.
“Actually, I’m not sure the lightning killed any of them. I spent my time with the creatures that had not been damaged by skinning and stuffing. I found no signs of decomposition at all. Nothing. It was like they had entered some kind of extreme hibernation that can apparently last for hundreds of years.”
“You mean the others were skinned alive?” Tyne blurted.
“Alive, yes, but not conscious.”
Aedan winced at the thought of those magnificent creatures being cut up in their slumber.
“Some of you might have guessed it by now – the riddle of the missing snake. Remember all the animals had been collected in pairs, yet there was only one snake. That giant beast was the second snake.”
“But it was ten – twenty times the size,” said Osric, “and the shape and markings were different.”
“It has been alive for over eight hundred years, growing, and it would seem, changing in other ways too.”
Everyone was silent, incredulous, waiting for more.
“It is my guess,” Fergal resumed, “that when the first snake began to stir, the Gellerac quickly closed and sealed that storage room in the hope of suffocating it. But a correct identification would have shown why that was the worst idea. If you ignore the size, it’s –”
“A yellow-eyed mole viper,” said Merter. He was clearly more concerned with safety than looking respectful, because he sat with his back to the fire and the conversation, keeping his vision unspoiled by light as he searched through the surrounding shadows. “Though the proportions are changed and it has learned to spit like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“True,” said Fergal. “Now as you can imagine, a burrowing snake, given enough time, would quite possibly be able to force a way out from what was meant to be its grave. I think we can allow ourselves the liberty of a guess as to why Kultûhm was deserted, and why it remains so. I don’t think earthquakes had anything to do with it.”
Again they were quiet, contemplating what Fergal had just revealed, imagining the horror that the Gellerac must have faced within their own walls.
“The snake also explains the lack of birds,” said Merter.
“Quite so.”
“Then the quest is concluded and the question answered?” Osric asked. “We have no need to fear Castath’s walls being shaken down around our ears. Correct?”
“The question is partly answered,” said Fergal, “but the evidence does not establish a negative like that. All I can say is that there is nothing here to confirm my original theory. The shakings in the earth beneath Castath remain unexplained, and whether or not they pose a threat, I have yet to determine.”
“Bit of a limp conclusion if you ask me,” Osric growled. “You academics are always so timid with your words. Your conclusion sounds like a different form of the question.”
“And so it is, Osric,” Fergal said with a chuckle. “Slightly whittled, sharper, but it is still a question. In time it will be sharp enough to impale the answer.”
&n
bsp; “Fergal,” Tyne interrupted, “you said the shakings in the earth might not pose a threat, but what if that weird lightning bolt over the Pellamines created some awful creature near the city?”
“It is possible. There’s little more than dry rock up on the Pellamines, but it is always unwise to assume security. Perhaps a discreet investigation would be in order. If we do find something threatening, we would need to destroy it without waking it.”
“I’ll see to that on our return,” Osric said.
Aedan had been sitting on a question for days and he decided he wouldn’t get a better time to ask it. “In the museum there were skeletons,” he said, his voice betraying his excitement, “and there were others in the mine below. Massive things. Bigger than any of the animals in the museum by far. What were they?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Fergal. “They were discovered during mining. It was the Gellerac belief that these creatures from a lost age were being returned to the land, but the storms that were returning them were killing them in the process. We know now that the storms weren’t killing them, but the Gellerac learned it too late.”
“So do you think it’s true – that we might see monsters like that?”
“I screaming well hope not!” Tyne snapped. “Aedan, haven’t you seen enough monsters already?”
Fergal laughed. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I do share Tyne’s sentiments, and as she so eloquently put it, I also screaming well hope not. But the simple fact is that these are events for which we have no explanation. We may begin to understand aspects of it, but there is some power moving here that lies outside the frame of traditional knowledge. We may be on the cusp of the incredible, or terrible, and possibly both.”
“There seems to be a lot you don’t know,” said Tyne. “I hope that doesn’t sound rude – it’s just that I expected with all that reading you scholars do, you would have more answers. Didn’t think there would be so many uncertainties for your kind.”
“I do not take offence at that, Tyne. In fact, I am happy that I give that impression. Lukrûggn krarsh mrastrafthi ghevk. Agoligh again. Loosely translated: The confession of ignorance is crucial to the pursuit of knowledge. Another way of putting it is that those who pretend to know never will – they lack the humility to learn. What we have fallen upon is something truly mysterious – not a word we scholars like to use, but a fitting one. I don’t believe anyone understands what is happening or what is to come. If I had given a closed answer to each of your questions, I would not be worth listening to.”
After a lull, Merter spoke, still with his back to them. “Fergal, I know that you managed to get through those locks under the academy. I know that you have some idea of what lies beneath Castath.”
Everyone fell silent.
Fergal gazed long into the coals before replying. “I’ll tell you what I may,” he said, “but it will do little to appease your curiosity. Castath, or Athgrim’s Castle, as you might recall, was built on the grassed-over ruins of a much older civilisation. There is quite a labyrinth of tunnels and caverns beneath the academy and beyond it – this is no secret – but very few know that the tunnels have been cleared of rubble and restored, and even fewer know how extensive they are. One of the caverns ends in a stone door like a mountain on a hinge and with locks that have held since they were set. It took some time and much reading to understand them, but in the end I was able to open the door – giving the credit, naturally, to Culver. Inside is a circular hall with three more doors – none of which I have succeeded in opening – and a peculiar shaft extending down into the earth, the purpose of which also eludes me. But by lowering a pair of lamps at the end of a three hundred foot rope, we were able to observe something that I would struggle to explain even if I were permitted. It is this that has given me cause for worry, and the prince cause to seal off the entrance with sixty feet of solid stone and hard mortar.”
The breathless hush that followed was turgid, even violent with curiosity. But Fergal disregarded it with practiced ease.
“You can’t stop there!” Tyne burst out. “Can’t you give us some idea of what it is?”
“I’m afraid, my dear girl, that I may not offer details. I am bound to secrecy, and in this case I believe the secrecy to be necessary. However, I’ll keep observing and perhaps one day I shall find cause to break my silence.”
“How will you keep observing? I thought you said it was now inaccessible.”
Fergal looked over at her, his expression altogether blank. “No. I don’t recall using the word inaccessible. I only said Burkhart ordered the entrance to be sealed.”
“But don’t they mean the … Ugh, you and your riddles.” Tyne looked away, dropped her chin into her palms and glared at the fire.
Osric laughed. “Very well, Fergal,” he said. “Keep your secrets. We will have to trust you as our watchman. Now, what about Aedan? Why is he unchanged?”
“It would seem that whatever struck Aedan was something different. It could not have been traditional lightning, for he survived a direct strike, nor could it have been the phenomenon that changes things, for he is unchanged.”
Aedan knew this was not true. Thought he hadn’t grown any bigger, something else was different – he could still feel the heat in his chest and a curious tingling in his fingers and occasionally his toes; it also felt at times as if his hands and feet were surrounded by water rather than air. But he was reluctant to speak of it. After Mistress Gilda’s exhibitions of his scar, he had no desire to be scrutinised again as an object of interest. That gave him a thought. He reached up and touched his left ear, then dropped his hand with a sigh. It was still only a half ear. He pulled the hair down over it as he had done times beyond counting.
“Any ideas on the second snake’s unusual behaviour around Aedan?” Osric asked.
“Perhaps the confusion following a sleep of a few hundred years,” said Fergal. “Merter?”
“Perhaps,” the ranger said, not turning around.
Aedan was thoughtful. He could still see the snake’s eyes and feel the way it had appeared to question him. At first he had considered its circling him to be a threat, but the more he thought of it, the more it began to seem like a protective gesture. He shook his head. It was ludicrous to think like this. Perhaps it was worth remembering that he had been near collapse from his wounds. Perceptions would most likely have been distorted.
After a lull, Fergal spoke again. “We need to be clear on what we say to Prince Burkhart, so I need you all to listen very well. Firstly, he is not to know my true position as Culver’s master. Secondly, it is imperative to convince him that none of us foresees any threat. The prince’s objective in allowing this journey was to silence any voice that spoke of danger to the city. If we return and claim that the original suspicions were not confirmed, which is perfectly true, his objective is accomplished and he will probably be relieved that our blood is not on his hands.
“The threat of a Fenn invasion was one thing, but talk of Castath itself being unstable was too much for him. Clearly, he has plans that are threatened by the concerns I raised through Culver. I don’t believe his interest is the peace of the city, in spite of his constant declarations. I am convinced something else is brewing in his political pot. Something he is prepared to defend with extreme measures. If we threaten to spread a warning of danger, I fear we will not see the end of one day in Castath.”
“I hate to admit it,” Osric said, “but every word strikes true as a javelin. We will need to tread very carefully upon our return. I almost repent of bringing Tyne.”
“Because I’m a woman?” she asked. “Would you rather have left Liru without suitable company?”
Osric opened his mouth only to hang wordless and confused. This was a kind of battle he had never learned to fight.
Tyne grinned and lobbed a stick at Osric who snatched it from the air and tossed it back into her waiting hand. His confusion melted into a smile and Aedan wondered, as often before, what the ge
neral was waiting for.
–––
Midsummer was bursting around them and, unfortunately, above them. The cloudbursts were regular and heavy, driving them often to huddle under rocky overhangs or hide in swaying woods that chattered with rain and whistled in the gusts of heavy downpours. Afterwards they would steam themselves beside huge fires if they could find enough dry wood, otherwise they shivered beside little smoky fires that produced little heat and drew much teary coughing. On a few occasions, the wood was so wet that Merter didn’t even bother to attempt lighting it.
But the rain seldom lasted and it was not uncommon for a stormy morning to be followed by a golden afternoon. When riding through open sections, Aedan’s eyes would often wander out across the hills, and beyond them to the spine of the DinEilan mountains, growing blue once more with hazy distance.
Yet it often seemed to Aedan as if something of this wild land was still nearby. It was in the way the horses lifted their noses at night and began to stamp and jostle, in the way he found himself spinning around to look behind him into the darkness. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the camp was being watched. It was a long time before this unease faded and he was able to relax.
Fergal took up his lessons again, and Osric and Tyne resumed their training – though Aedan had to be careful with his injuries at first. Merter also began sharing some of his woodcraft skills, taking not just Aedan, but Liru too when tracking or hunting. His first lesson was to teach her to walk quietly.
He pointed out spoor and explained the habits of creatures from mice to gazelle. Aedan was constantly impressed by how easily the ranger spotted tracks from the saddle that most rangers would only have seen from a crouch, and that were hardly visible to Liru when she put her nose to the ground – slight shifts of thin dust on the clay, blades of grass only marginally bent, a dead branch missing a corner of its bark where a hoof had trod.
Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) Page 66