The Waking of Orthlund

by Roger Taylor

  ‘I understand,’ Oslang said. Then, with a faint smile: ‘You always were inclined to be a little physical.’

  Most of the tension faded from Andawyr’s face and he too smiled, though sadly. ‘No, you don’t,’ he said. ‘And I pray you never do.’ He paused. ‘Why do you think I’ve put off coming down here so long?’ Oslang did not reply; Andawyr had made little or no effort to hide his fear. Andawyr’s expression became distant. ‘I’m afraid that the Slip from the Gretmearc will trouble my dreams for a long time yet,’ he said softly.

  Oslang looked at his friend. This was the first time he had made any personal reference to his explosive and terrifying return journey from the Gretmearc. Without exception, the brothers of the Cadwanol had been concerned about his silence.

  ‘You faced the creature as it truly is, in the Slip?’ Oslang asked hesitantly.

  Andawyr nodded. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘For the heartbeat that took, but . . .’

  ‘Some heartbeats can last a thousand years,’ Oslang offered.

  Andawyr nodded again, his face distressed. Then his jaw became determined. ‘But I faced it. I was frightened beyond belief. I still am. But I didn’t flinch from it. I saw it, became it, and controlled it, until it too knew fear, I’m sure.’ He put his hand to his head. ‘The Slip seemed to last forever. Dreadful.’ He shuddered. ‘I felt I was becoming so weak. If it hadn’t been for Hawklan’s sustaining touch, I don’t . . .’ He did not finish the sentence. ‘And then suddenly I was here.’

  ‘You were indeed,’ Oslang said, eyes wide and eyebrows high. ‘Every warning in the place screaming out.’ He lifted his hands protectively at the memory.

  But Andawyr was not listening. ‘I became it,’ he repeated. ‘Saw what it saw. Heard what it heard. So much and in so many places – I wonder . . .’

  The two men looked at one another silently. Slowly Oslang’s eyes narrowed. ‘No,’ he said softly, anticipating his leader’s thinking. ‘It’s a corruption. We can’t use it ourselves. That’s His way. A trap baited with the lure of power for a good cause. It would bind us in some way, you know that.’

  Andawyr pulled a wry face. ‘You may be right,’ he said. ‘But it sees and hears many things in many places and we’re woefully short of information. We’ve far greater knowledge of the Old Power than our forebears.’

  ‘True,’ Oslang said. ‘But that doesn’t mean we’re any wiser. He probably knows more as well. For all we know, you might have been allowed to capture this’ – he nodded towards the still struggling bird – ‘this thing, just so that you could be so tempted.’

  The flickering blue light reflected on Andawyr’s face. He scowled. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But I doubt it. Oklar wouldn’t sacrifice such sight for any prize.’

  ‘Oklar will do what He tells him,’ Oslang said, bluntly. ‘And the binding of the Cadwanol would be no small prize.’ He suddenly raised his voice. ‘Good grief, you yourself pointed out how we’ve grown inclined to sit and wait for news to be brought to us. Who knows how that came about? What would we become if we controlled or thought we controlled this?’

  ‘Better informed,’ Andawyr said, his brow furrowed.

  ‘Stop it, you’re frightening me,’ Oslang said heatedly. He jabbed his finger at the bird. ‘With this bound here, Oklar’s as blind as we are. And I’d rather us both be blind than risk sharing his sight.’ His voice fell. ‘Even if we could use it, it would be like a crutch. It would atrophy what’s left of our true inner sight, and it would fail us in the end. You know that, don’t you?’

  For a moment, Andawyr seemed about to flare up at this opposition, but Oslang’s gaze allowed no such excess. Gradually, the little man’s face relaxed and he slumped slightly. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ he said resignedly. ‘I’m sorry. It was just a passing thought.’ Then he stuck out his bottom lip pensively. ‘Even so, we may have no alternative one day,’ he said quietly.

  Oslang grunted. ‘We’ll talk about it on that day, then,’ he said firmly, laying a reassuring hand on Andawyr’s shoulder.

  He was relieved. Their brief confrontation had been oddly harrowing, but at last Andawyr had voiced his hitherto unspoken fears and desires, and that was highly significant. Mundanely, he said, ‘Now perhaps you’d like to do what you came here for, and check our work. You’ve been putting it off for long enough and I’ve been very uneasy about it. We can’t afford the risk of it escaping, especially today.’

  Andawyr nodded and began looking round the alcove intently. The bird’s frenzy heightened, but he ignored it. Then, seemingly satisfied, he turned his attention to the rest of the room, starting with the door.

  As he reached it, there was a scratching noise and a voice called his name. He opened the door and the sinuous brown form of a felci slid in.

  ‘Kristabel,’ Andawyr said delightedly, kneeling down on the hard floor. With her tail as a counterbalance, the felci stood on her hind legs so that she was face to face with him. She cocked her head on one side, then reaching out with her forepaw she took his nose between her powerful claws and shook it gently.

  ‘Andawyr,’ she said, her voice deep and rich, and full of affection, though slightly ironic. ‘I thought the nose was familiar.’ Then her lip went back, revealing her formidable, rock-chewing teeth, and her silvery chattering laugh filled the room.

  Andawyr gently cupped her head in his hands. ‘Are you better?’ he said anxiously.

  ‘Yes,’ she drawled, disparagingly. ‘A lot of fuss about nothing. I’ve been rocked worse than that. It was only a thin vein I went through, that’s why I didn’t notice it until it was too late.’

  Andawyr’s face was pained. The felci were subterranean creatures with teeth and claws that could burrow through almost any rock. The thin vein that Kristabel referred to was cyffspar, a strange contaminant of unknown origin which in small quantities caused the felcis to hallucinate, and in larger quantities caused a convulsive and unpleasant death. It was, however, found only near the surface and as such was rarely encountered by the deep-burrowing animals.

  ‘You were very fortunate,’ Andawyr said. ‘You’re not normally so careless. What drew you so close to the surface?’

  Kristabel dropped on to all fours and scuttled around the room. ‘No idea,’ she said, offhandedly. ‘Just following my nose. Still it was all for the best, wasn’t it? You were in a mess when they brought you back.’

  ‘I’m in your debt, Kristabel,’ Andawyr said seriously. The felci chattered to herself and, muttering ‘Silly man,’ stood on her hind legs to peer into the alcove.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said, before Andawyr could pursue the matter, her voice heavy with irony. ‘Still here, I see.’ She chattered provocatively at the bird and thrust out a paw towards it. In the blue light her teeth glinted malevolently and her eyes turned into black pits. Unexpectedly the bird, still frantic, retreated to the back of the alcove. ‘I think that’s the last time you’re going to be allowed to go to the Gretmearc alone, young man,’ she continued, then, laughing: ‘Such trouble you caused with your pet. Who’s a naughty boy, then?’

  Oslang intervened before Andawyr could rise to the felci’s bait. ‘The defences,’ he said significantly, pointing his thumb at the trapped bird.

  Andawyr nodded and continued the inspection that Kristabel’s arrival had interrupted. ‘They’re excellent,’ he said finally. ‘You’ve all done a very good job.’

  Oslang smiled.

  ‘However . . .’ Andawyr continued, lifting his hand.

  ‘Keep away from my seal,’ Oslang said sternly.

  Andawyr looked at him reproachfully. ‘However,’ he repeated, ‘a touch here,’ – he ran his hand around the edge of the alcove, Oslang watching him intently – ‘and here, should do it.’ He stood back.

  Slowly the flickering blue light steadied and the bird closed its eyes and became motionless. Kristabel made a disparaging noise and dropped back on to the floor.

  ‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ Andawyr said.
‘And I’ll add my seal to yours if you wish. Just to make sure none of us fall into temptation.’

  Oslang ran his hand around the alcove as Andawyr had done. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, his voice awed. ‘You could undo and reseal my work and I’d never know.’ He turned to Andawyr. ‘This work is amazing. How . . .’

  Andawyr’s hand rose to silence him. ‘I’ve taught you all I can,’ he said. ‘You yourself have improved beyond measure even in this short time, but I can’t give you the experiences I had to face. Just keep learning and you’ll keep improving.’ His manner became very serious. ‘Trust me, Oslang. Everyone is stronger now than I was when I was tested. Should you be so tested yourself, you’ll not find yourself wanting.’

  Before Oslang could reply, Andawyr turned to Kristabel. ‘What did you want, my dear?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing at all,’ the felci replied. ‘But they do.’ She looked upwards. ‘They’re all sitting around waiting for you, like little schoolchildren. I do think it’s sweet the way they all follow you around. They’re so excited.’

  Andawyr levelled a cautionary finger at her. ‘Behave,’ he said sternly, opening the door. The felci laughed again and scurried out into the passageway.

  As she loped off, another felci appeared from a side passage and deliberately bowled her over. There was a brief scurrying scuffle which ended with the two animals running off, side by side, laughing uncontrollably.

  Andawyr watched them until they disappeared from sight, leaving only the lingering echo of their distant laughter. He shook his head. ‘They’re marvellous,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘But?’ Oslang caught the doubt in his leader’s voice.

  Andawyr’s smile broadened. ‘But I can never escape the feeling that they regard us as pets,’ he said. ‘Kept here for their entertainment.’

  Oslang affected a worldly indifference. ‘Oh, is that all?’ he said. ‘Personally I’ve never had any doubts about that whatsoever.’

  * * * *

  The atmosphere in the Work Hall was charged with expectation. The only members of the Cadwanol who were not present were those who had been given the responsibility of manning the Caves’ physical defences, and for the most part, these were the younger members of the Order.

  The ceiling of the hall was domed, rising up in contrast to the floor, which consisted of tiers of broad steps tapering gradually downwards to end in a small central circular area. The whole was simple, restful and focussed.

  Three sloping aisles radiated up from the central area and it was down one of these that Andawyr strode purposefully.

  Reaching the centre, he looked round at his waiting brothers. By tradition, when the Order met formally, no one occupied the first tier. Thus the leader would be set beneath all those who had chosen him.

  As he turned round, he held out his hands, palms upwards. ‘These recent weeks have seen profound changes in us all,’ he began. ‘I think now that I’ve taught you such of my own new knowledge, my new understanding, as can be taught in so short a time. More, I suspect, can be learned only through the passage of time or through terrible individual trial. Neither of those fall within my gift.’

  He paused, and the silence of the mountains above seemed to fill the hall.

  ‘Soon, many of us must leave to start again the endless search for knowledge that Ethriss charged our forebears with,’ he continued. ‘But for all our vaunted knowledge and our new-found strength, we’re as nothing against the power of Sumeral and His Uhriel, and while we’re all here together, we must attempt the task that we’ve charged ourselves with – a task for which we have no guidance, but one which only we can undertake.’ He paused again, as if reluctant to take the final step into the beginning of what must be a new age.

  ‘Here, today, we must seek out the Guardians and waken them.’

  The step taken, his voice became more matter of fact. ‘We know nothing of the fate of any of them after the Last Battle. Theowart, Sphaeera and Enartion were rarely seen by men throughout the entire War of the First Coming, and it’s not recorded where they were during that battle. However, it is recorded that, like Ethriss, they were human in their form on the few occasions they were seen.’

  He began to walk up and down, pausing occasionally to emphasize points with a jabbing finger. ‘Nor do we know anything of the fate of Ethriss. After the mêlée that followed the fall of Sumeral, he was gone. Some say he was struck down by Sumeral’s last spear cast, but . . .’ He shrugged.

  ‘And of course, we know nothing of the bodies of Sumeral and the Uhriel. They too could not be found after the battle. And so, my brothers. We have . . . nothing.’

  He opened his arms wide as if to encompass the entire hall.

  His voice fell. ‘Nothing that is, until I found myself pitched into conflict with an evil so ancient that hitherto I’d only read about it. Nothing, until I found myself aiding a hunted man who could be Ethriss himself, dormant. Nothing, until I found myself held in Narsindal, touched and bound by a power that could only be Sumeral.’

  He looked slowly round his audience. ‘Brothers. If Sumeral and His Uhriel are among us, and are seeking the still sleeping form of Ethriss, then the Guardians will lie somewhere, waiting our call.’

  Then his voice rose. ‘Who doubts this?’

  Interminable discussions over the weeks had laid low all possible doubts, and the Hall remained silent.

  ‘Who doubts our will?’ he continued, his voice still loud.

  Again, there was silence.

  Then finally, ‘Who doubts our strength and our skill?’

  Yet again no voices were raised, but the Hall filled with a murmuring rustle as all present raised their hands.

  Andawyr laughed, and cut through the silence with a clap of his hands.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Our new knowledge has taught us an old lesson and given us a small measure of our ignorance. However, I don’t share quite all your doubts.’ The words he had spoken to Oslang earlier returned to him. ‘I told you I’ve taught you all I can. And that more, much more, you’ll learn for yourselves as time passes and circumstances change. But trust me . . .’ He turned round again, gazing intently at his listeners. ‘Whatever frailty you may feel within yourself, remember that as individuals each of you is stronger by far than you’ve ever been, and as an Order we’re stronger by far than we’ve been for generations.’

  He relaxed and smiled. ‘Brothers, let me be prosaic. Amongst other things, we’re farmers. In our answer to the need for food lies all our answers. We must till the fields we have, with the tools we’ve made. To do otherwise would be to starve.’

  There was a ripple of movement around the audience.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Who here feels himself so frail that he will not give his best endeavour to this task?’

  The movement stopped and no hands were raised.

  Andawyr closed his eyes. ‘Then the time is now, brothers,’ he said softly. ‘All words must cease.’

  There were no precedents for what they were trying to do, nor any guidance to be found anywhere. Their main hope lay in the certain knowledge that Sumeral and the Uhriel had been wakened, and that therefore such an awakening was possible. Through the weeks of debate they had decided eventually that a raucous display of the Old Power was not the way. Had such a display been used to rouse Sumeral, then surely they would have felt it. And who could have done it? Also, to use the power to such an extent now would be to announce their presence to Him beyond all doubt, and risk bringing Him down upon them.

  Someone, Andawyr could not remember who, had said, ‘Perhaps it was some act of faith that wakened them,’ and from that chance remark had developed the idea they were now about to attempt.

  Let there be a great silence. A man may sleep soundly through hubbub and uproar, yet wake suddenly at the lightest footfall. So might that not be the same for the Guardians, who had slept so long in the interminable clatter of the world they had formed?

  As Andawyr fell silent each of th
e Cadwanol in his turn closed his eyes and entered into his own stillness, as if preparing for some great trial with the Old Power. Each took with him such knowledge as he had of the four Guardians and their domains.

  Then, very slowly, each reached out to the other.

  A joining of the minds of two or three individuals was not uncommon for certain uses of the Old Power, but it was no easy feat, being easily disturbed by the normal urgencies of daily life and the natural self-centred imperfections of the human personality. For virtually the whole Order to be joined thus would verge on the miraculous. Yet, under Andawyr’s new-found strength and calm, it began, imperceptibly, to happen, until soon it was far beyond anything that had ever been achieved in the past. As each doubt came to Andawyr, he acknowledged it and let it pass unhindered.

  There had been little difficulty in dealing with the problem of the cluttering pressure of daily routine, but when questioned about the possible effects of individual weakness, he had simply said: ‘You know the gravity of our need. You know some of your imperfections. Let them, and such others as you find, fall away – sink from sight in the stillness we shall make. Trust me. You have both the strength and the courage to do it.’

  At one point however, doubts and fears began to accumulate and cloud his clear stillness. He felt his own doubts begin to cling about him. Would they fail? Would he fail? Would he, who had had the arrogance to attempt to bring this about, destroy it with his own weakness? If that happened, such a joining could never be achieved again, and who then would even attempt to waken the Guardians? The stillness wavered.

  Then, apparently irrelevantly, the thought came to him that if any force had, over the years, subtly dulled their wish to travel and seek new knowledge, it may not necessarily have been malign. How else could so many of the Order have been here, and been so rested, so introverted, to attempt this extraordinary deed? And if no external force had induced their seemingly inexcusable lethargy, was not this now a fitting atonement?