Dawn (Society of Dawn Book 1)

by Dan O'Brien

  Aeschylus felt a deep sadness when he looked at the Dawn Sphere. Pa’ngarin had been a great hope: a society where the men of the world did not rule through fear and aggression.

  But this hope did not long last.

  The Agatheon Wars were meant to be the last battles humankind would wage against one another, but Scythia had not withered and died as many Children of the Dawn would have wished. Instead, it thrived, for not all women were prepared to be part of a ruling nation where the wants and desires of the male populace were ignored much as the female populace had been ignored for most of written history.

  The Sollemne district encircled the Dawn Sphere of the Oracle of Pa’ngarin and housed the intellectual classes: oracles, clerics, scholars and calculators. Oracles were not mystics, but those who had communion with the universe and saw the energies of the world through histories and probabilities. And clerics were not conjurers, but healers who used herbs and powders to remedy illnesses of the mind and body. Scholars were charged with teaching and preserving the history of the realm, while calculators were tasked with compiling statistics and managing the monies of the realm.

  Nearly all of these professions were filled by women. The most notable exceptions to this trend were among the scholars, whose ranks contained a few very old men left over from a different age. The Sisters of the Court did not mind that a few old men told the histories and ancient stories of the realm because nearly all of the new students at the scholarly houses were bright young women.

  Leaving the Sollemne district behind, the procession entered the Publicus district where the majority of the population lived. Its squat buildings resembled enormous cubes and housed most of the male population, except for those who were quartered in the greater Houses of the Praesto, where they served as personal guards or slaves.

  The Praesto district contained the grand residences of the elite of Pa’ngarin, ministers and the like, and lay adjacent to the Court of the Nine Blossoms, where the official and public events of the state transpired. Beyond the Court of the Nine Blossoms, at the center of the city, rose the Ivory Throne, a magnificent pearl building one-story tall and as wide as a common house.

  As the Court of the Nine Blossoms came into view, Aeschylus felt his heart sink. Despite all of his mental preparation, he still feared for Helius. The young orphan from Elitlh would not be well received in Pa’ngarin.

  The court was comprised of nine black pillars arranged in a circle.

  At the center of the pillars rose an altar on which sat a simple, iron throne. Before the throne stood two, thick and blackened, wooden poles spaced a meter apart. Leather tethers attached to a ring of bleached steel hung from each pole.

  Stone seating rose around the altar and pillars, forming a kind of auditorium.

  A few women sat in the upper seats; they wore veils over their long summer dresses that already covered them from face to ankle. These women were part of a sect called the Velare, the Hidden Sisters as they were known throughout the realm. Women who took the oaths of the Velare chose to conceal their features from the world. They watched with indifference as Athena led Aeschylus and Helius up to the altar. Aurora followed obstinately, though her grim expression faltered when she saw the Lordess Ascendant sitting on the throne.

  “Aurora, my daughter, I see that you have survived your abduction,” spoke Dione, her voice carrying throughout the Court. “Athena was quite distressed about what might have happened to you.”

  The heiress moved forward and knelt before the Lordess, taking her hand and kissing it lightly. “Mother, I did not mean to frighten you. Aeschylus returned to Duedonia.”

  Dione’s features darkened, her lips twisted.

  “We will get to your guardian, Aurora.”

  The Lordess Ascendant turned back to Tethys, who stood just behind her, and whispered. The other woman shuffled away and returned with another chair and placed it next to Dione’s.

  Aurora rose and sat next to the Lordess.

  “Bring the guardian and the child forward,” commanded Dione.

  Athena grabbed Helius by the hand and pushed Aeschylus forward with her free arm. The guardian took a few steps, and then knelt before the Lordess Ascendant. Helius looked at Aeschylus and then did the same. “Aeschylus, guardian of House D’naia, and mute orphan child of Duedonia, your Grace,” spoke Athena mirthfully.

  Dione looked at the guardian with more compassion than Athena, though her expression betrayed her irritation.

  “Guardian, I have heard what transpired from the Magister. Would you like the opportunity to explain yourself, to perhaps explain why you sent the heiress of this nation on alone and allowed her to be abducted?” Dione’s voice rose at the end, anger seeping into her words.

  Aeschylus remained kneeling, his gaze averted. “I have no excuse, your Grace. I accept whatever punishment befits my crime. Lady Athena was present when I argued for my choices in Ma’oren. I honor and trust her recollection of the events,” spoke the guardian.

  Aurora held her breath. Leaning forward slightly, she spoke. “He sent me on alone for the benefit of the Ivory Throne, mother. Aeschylus would never intentionally hurt me.”

  Athena smiled wickedly. “I fear the heiress has become quite attached to her guardian, your Grace. What is to become of the slave and the child?”

  Dione looked at Aeschylus critically. She had chosen him specifically to guard Aurora and she did not regret her decision. He was powerful, conscientious, and fiercely loyal to House D’naia. “Where is the boy from?”

  Athena looked to Aeschylus. “Answer her, slave.”

  “I do not know, your Grace. He has not spoken since I rescued him from Duedonia. He watched as his mother was being raped by Scythians in a barn. I arrived too late to spare her such a fate.”

  Athena could not hide her revulsion, the disgust on her face.

  “Barbarians….”

  Dione reached down and touched Aeschylus’ shoulder, signaling him to stand. She spoke as he stood in a smooth movement. “Guardian, I admire your nobility and strength of character and know of your devotion and servitude to my daughter. And it pleases me. However, I cannot allow your lapse in judgment to go unpunished.”

  “I submit to your authority, your Grace,” he replied coldly.

  Aurora reached forward and gripped her mother’s hand tightly.

  The Lordess did not turn.

  “Twenty lashes, guardian. That is your penance.”

  Aurora whimpered and sat back. Her eyes were glassy as she watched Athena come forward and grab Aeschylus’ shackles. The Warden of the South undid them and lifted the guardian’s hands, one by one, and tied them to the steel rings on the poles.

  Athena stepped behind the guardian and drew a blade from her side. Pulling his tunic taut, she sliced it open, the fabric falling off his back and folding over his arms. Scars from previous lashings scored his muscular back, forming a kind of strange, brutal language. Aurora turned away as the blonde Curator came forward and handed the Magister of the Inquisitors a braided whip.

  Pulling at the length of the whip, Athena smiled viciously.

  Taking a few steps back, she tested the whip, snapping it in the open air. Helius flinched, and then collapsed. Aurora rose from her seat, kneeled, and embraced the child. “Close your eyes, Helius,” she whispered.

  The first snap of the whip against Aeschylus’ back rocked him forward. His skin splintered and bled immediately. The second and third strikes drew a startled gasp from Aurora, a response that elicited a disappointed look from the Lordess Ascendant. Each successive lash made Aurora jump a little, and made Helius bury himself deeper into her embrace.

  By the time Athena had reached ten, Aeschylus sagged against the restraints. Blood trickled and traced down his back, his old wounds opened to the air. The Lordess Ascendant seemed neither pleased nor irritated by the sight, while Tethys looked on with a blank stare, never wavering from her place behind Dione’s chair.

  The Curators watched intentl
y, licking their lips. They were chosen as Curators because of their propensity for violence. And as such, a whipping made them tingle in all the right places. They approached the altar in slow steps, mesmerized by the punishment being inflicted.

  With a resounding crack Athena dealt the last blow. Sweat dampened her brow, darkening her hair in some places. After rolling the whip into a tight coil, she tossed her instrument of pain at the nearest Curator and turned to face the Lordess Ascendant. “Will that be sufficient, your Grace?”

  Dione nodded and the Warden of the South released Aeschylus from the tethers. He slumped to the ground, his hands splaying out on the stone beneath him. Slowly pulling the tunic from his torso, Aeschylus could feel the lacerations and bleeding wounds that oozed down his back.

  Aurora stood, unable to tear her eyes away from Aeschylus.

  “What about the child?” she managed.

  The Lordess Ascendant looked at her with grief. It was not her intention to hurt Aurora, but she had to know the extent of the emotional bond between Aurora and her guardian. “The boy may stay with you at your residence until I have decided what will become of him. You may take your guardian if you please, daughter.”

  Aurora quickly moved beside Aeschylus. She reached down and touched him gingerly at his side, where there were no deep wounds. He lifted his hand and touched hers gently. Standing slowly, Aeschylus breathed out heavily. He patted Helius on his head and fluttered his eyes several times before he was capable of taking a step forward. Hooking his arm around her neck, Aurora supported his weight as he limped away. Helius followed them, clutching the bottom of Aurora’s dress as she took her guardian home.

  Athena looked to Dione, suspicion in her eyes. “Your daughter, our heiress, has become emotionally compromised, your Grace. I fear that this relationship will complicate her ascension.”

  “As well as her attachment to the child,” replied Dione, standing up.

  The Warden of the South nodded grimly. “How long should we allow this to continue? If she loves him, she will not complete her ascension. Without that, she is little more than a ruler in name only, your Grace.”

  Dione of House D’naia had been alive for two centuries and had never loved, for she knew that the earlier a young Maiden ascended, the longer the life she lived and the more powerful her energies, acritudo, would be. However, if a woman of Pa’ngarin did not ascend by her twenty-fifth year, then she would be traded to Scythia to become a wife to the savages, an unpleasant arrangement that the Lordess Ascendant wished had not been including in the agreement with the Scythians following the Agatheon Wars.

  “She is still young, and her guardian is valuable. Befriend her, Sister Athena. Teach her what you know and convince her that it would be love to ascend. Otherwise, her guardian will be sent to the mines or given to another. Make her understand.”

  Athena bowed. “As you command, your Grace.”

  The Sollemne

  The sun was beginning to set and the tall buildings of the Sollemne district cast shadows into one of the small rooms on the ninth floor of the Third Domus, one of the many edifices in the Sollemne that was built for the instruction of the children of Pa’ngarin. The instruction of the young maidens of the realm was as important as Ascension and every female citizen was expected to know the collected knowledge of Pa’ngarin and beyond.

  Painted a blinding white with purple and gold trim along the ceiling and floor, the small room contained no seats and only one wide window on the western wall. On the bare floor, two dozen girls sat cross-legged and listened as a tall woman lectured eloquently about the histories of the realm.

  The instructor was a Junior Minister of Education named Hera, of House Ios. Her inquisitive, brown eyes were tucked behind thin glasses that sat perfectly on her small noise. As she paced the room, her teal summer dress seemed to float, while her curly, auburn hair fell loosely to her shoulders.

  “Who can tell me what the Rule of Eleven is?” she began, in a clearly feminine, high-pitched voice.

  A young girl, no more than eight, raised her hand. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail and smudges of dirt and oil covered her light dress.

  “Yes, Nephele?”

  Nephele stood and cleared her throat. “The Rule of Eleven is what governs the acritudo and states that a wielder of the energies of the universe may undo the tethers of fate only eleven times before she is rendered mortal once more and stripped of her power.”

  “Not only Ascendants, but also men,” corrected Hera.

  Many of the smaller children made disgusted faces. They already feared, distrusted, and even hated men, sentiments inculcated in them from birth.

  One of the older girls, nearly a woman, raised her hand.

  “Yes, Nina?”

  She was long-legged with slender calves and wide shoulders. With her strong build, she would make a splendid Curator, if she wished. Her black hair spilled over her bangs and obscured her gray eyes. “Is this why we fear men? Why they are collared?”

  Nephele raised her hand again.

  “Would you like to answer, Nephele?” queried Hera sweetly.

  She nodded vigorously and Hera smiled, gesturing for the young girl to stand. Nina lowered her hand as Nephele began to speak. “Not all men can wield the acritudo, only those who have shadow blood. Since the men of Scythia have polluted their bloodlines, they can no longer feel the acritudo, which leaves the men of the North living in Pa’ngarin as the only ones who could wield the acritudo. Thus, we collar them at birth.”

  Hera smiled widely and motioned for Nephele to sit. Turning back to Nina, the younger girl stuck out her tongue. The instructor continued. “What we must remember is that we collar our men because of love, not hatred as some would believe. When the blood mages of the Fatum ruled the realm, men would send legions of soldiers into other nations and exhaust the Rule of Eleven until entire cities were leveled. By restraining that power, we give men a peaceful life that they were not able to find themselves.”

  A red-headed girl with bright freckles raised her hand.

  “Pomona?”

  The girl stood and began shakily. “What of the return of the Nine, of the Shadows? Is there truth to the resurrection of Old Shadow? To the prophecy of boiling land and blowing snow?”

  Hera motioned for the girl to sit. “My dear child, sometimes myth intersects with fact and we fear unnecessarily. The Nine are a fairy tale dreamt up by the men of Scythia to frighten people into believing they can win their bid for the realm. Old Shadow is dead. He died before the Agatheon Wars, and long before imbeciles prattled on about I’mann. We have nothing to fear from the darkness.”

  “Was I’mann not the one true god?” asked Pomona innocently.

  Hera felt the slightest irritation toward the girl for speaking without first raising her hand. “The people from the West would certainly want you to believe as such. Though the people from the marshes still worship old voices and ancient gods. Let us move on to the facts of our history, shall we?”

  The young Maidens groaned at the mention of dry history, preferring to hear about the ancient gods and acritudo.

  Hera gave her pupils a disapproving look. “Does the history of our great people bore you? Would you rather talk about the whereabouts of denizens of the shadow or other creatures most unclean?”

  The girls whispered excitedly to each other as their instructor continued. “While that may be an interesting topic of discussion, it is not the reason why we are here. We are here to understand the events that have brought us to this moment in time so that we can be active participants in our history, in our lives.”

  Hera looked at them for a moment before she posed another question.

  “Who can tell me of the Agatheon Wars?”

  The whispering ceased and Nephele raised her hand.

  “Yes, child?” Irritation was still fresh in Hera’s voice.

  “The Agatheon Wars were fought to determine who controls the realm. The war began when the queen
of the realm, the Lordess Ascendant Lady Juno, struck down the king. She hoped to establish a free state where women could cultivate the acritudo and form a peaceful and rational covenant far from the men of the West.”

  “Well spoken, Nephele. You will make a fine scholar someday.”

  Quite pleased with herself, Nephele sat down.

  Hera continued, “But you did not mention anything about the collaring of men. Why did we begin to collar men? Was it because we wished to subjugate them?”

  Pomona raised her hand slowly.

  “Yes, Pomona?”

  “We did not collar men first. The Scythians and those whose blood no longer carried the markers for the acritudo collared any man born east of the Arcadians because they feared that those men might join Lady Juno and lay waste to Scythia. When Pa’ngarin defeated Scythia and sent the men of the West behind the Arcadians, Lady Juno did not undo what had been done because she believed that the collared men presented too great a threat. She feared that one day a man who could wield the acritudo would appear and reclaim Fatum, the ancient city of blood magic.”

  Hera clapped her hands and walked toward Pomona. Placing a hand on her shoulder, the Junior Minister of Education smiled warmly at the young maiden. “Well done, Pomona. You have been studying the ancient texts thoroughly.”

  While they were talking, the sun had sunk behind the other buildings of Pa’ngarin, leaving the room in a haunting, half-light. Hera walked over to the lamps in the corners and lit them; their flames hissed as they basked the room in a soft glow. “Let us end with Juno’s Compromise. Who can tell me about this treaty and what it meant to the people of Pa’ngarin, and to a lesser extent, the people of Scythia?” Hera paused, her gaze passing over each girl’s face. “Rajani?”

  Rajani was by far the smallest Maiden in the room. Her dark, shoulder-length hair complemented her bronze skin and almond eyes. An azure amulet sparkled at her chest. Her voice was small as she spoke. “Lady Juno, in her infinite wisdom, knew that Scythia would not be content with the outcome of the war, so she drew up a trade agreement between the two countries. It was a terrible commodity they wished to trade, but it guaranteed the proliferation of both societies. Pa’ngarin would send women who had not ascended by their twenty-fifth year to Scythia in exchange for fertile men of comparable ages. This would ensure that both nations would not stagnate and collapse under the weight of a single sex.”