Sentinals Awaken: Book One of the Sentinals Series

by Helen Garraway

  “Where did you expect to be?”

  “With Leyandrii at the palace – that’s where we were when the Ascendants attacked.”

  Jerrol swallowed. “You were with the Lady?”

  “And Guerlaire.” Birlerion paused, his voice low. “I don’t remember how I got into the tree. We were defending the palace, Guerlaire broke cover...” He faltered to a stop.

  “I’m sorry, Birlerion, this must be difficult for you.”

  “Nothing looks like it should, even the names of things and places are different. Warren was Lord of Greens, but there is nothing here in memory of him or his family. I searched.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Not for me; they would be expecting me to visit if I was passing; they were my family. I would be in serious trouble if I didn’t stop by.”

  Jerrol froze; he hadn’t considered that Birlerion must have had family somewhere, now all lost. “I thought you said you were born in Vespers?” he asked, not sure what to say.

  “Yes, but a friend of mine, Tagerill, was Warren’s son; he dragged me into his family, and they wouldn’t let me go. They adopted me. So, Greens is home.” His face softened in memory, and then he stood, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’ll go find the baths. The Lady waits for you. She left you a message: Apparently, the Prince has placed a bounty on your head. She bids you be careful.”

  Jerrol watched Birlerion leave. He touched each sentinal as he passed. The air flickered above him, and he raised his hand as the dusk embraced him, and he faded out of sight.

  Jerrol peered after him, before dropping to his knees in front of the altar. He rested his hand on the granite tabletop.

  His fingers strayed to the green stone at his throat; it was polished smooth from constant wear. He had found it in a time of need when he was a child. Once he had created a shrine to the Lady, with sticks for the monoliths and a flat stone for the table.

  His aunt found him and hounded him out of the woods as a malingerer; after that she had washed her hands of him, and he had been fostered to the keep at Stoneford. The Lady had set his feet on another path.

  Head bent, he reaffirmed his commitment to her cause and offered up his prayers and his support.

  Her acknowledgement caressed his face and resonated through his body – along with a touch of possessiveness? No, that couldn’t be right. He gave a shuddering sigh as he grew conscious of the growing chill as the sunset faded. The moon’s glow strengthened above him. He had been communing with the stones for longer than he realised.

  As he straightened, he saw an older woman pause as she entered the stone circle. She was slightly built, shorter than he was even, with silver curls framing a youthful face. She held her hand up in apology. “Sorry, lad, I didn’t mean to intrude.” Her voice was low and velvety. “Folks don’t normally stay this late.”

  Jerrol rested a hand on the tabletop in farewell. “I was about to leave. I’ve been longer than I intended.”

  The woman approached the table, her arms full of late-blooming flowers. “I was just bringing the crumbs for the critters,” she said as she scattered some pulses and grains on the table and laid the flowers in the centre. “They’ll be gone by morning.”

  “The Lady watches,” he murmured, spreading his hand across his heart.

  The woman glanced at him and finished the catechism: “...as the Line protects.” She mirrored his action. “Not too many invoke the Lady these days,” she said, watching him closely.

  His head jerked back. “What, even here in the heart?”

  “Especially here, it seems. Sometimes familiarity breeds contempt, I think. Folk say it, but there is no conviction behind the words, no depth, not like you did. I could feel it, deep inside, that you meant it. If I can tell, then I’m sure the Lady knows,” she said. “It’s even worse when the council encourages it.”

  “The council?” He considered her words. “Of course!” He smacked his palm against his forehead. “That explains how fast it is spreading, The easiest way to instigate change is to say it is the rule of law, through the council. They are actively withdrawing support for the Lady?”

  “Oh, not so obvious yet, not plain-spoken like, but more folks are sniggering at those who invoke the Lady, making them out to be soft in the head like, to believe such a story. As if the Lady was just a story,” she huffed, beginning to get distressed. She took a deep breath and grimaced. “Sorry, lad, didn’t mean to dump my cares on you. I’m just worriting about the lads.” She gestured at the sentinals.

  Jerrol smiled at her affectionate term. “I don’t think you need to worry about these trees; they are sentinals, they can protect themselves. You need to take care of you and yours.” He glanced around the circle; they were still alone. “How many know you are a Guardian?” he asked.

  She jerked back, raising her hand to her mouth, and she glanced around the circle. Jerrol reached out a reassuring hand. “We are alone,” he murmured. “You will need to dissemble better when the next person comes by. I agree there is a risk, not just yet, but the pressure is building. The Guardians are the Lady’s power here; she cannot afford to lose them and nor can the rest of us.”

  “Who are you?” the woman asked, her eyes large in the dim light. “How do you know so much?”

  “Jerrol Haven is my name, lately a King’s Ranger, though for my sins not anymore,” he said as she gasped. “I think the same powers that are trying to discredit the Lady are working from the top down as well. I’m a follower, no more, aware that she is under siege and trying to help where I can. I have permission to travel and assist where possible. I was working my way towards Scholar Torsion at Velmouth. I thought he would have a clearer idea of what is going on, but if you are saying the councils are wavering...” He paused, frowning in thought.

  “You know Torsion? He won’t waver, no matter what he has to say publicly,” the woman remarked. “He should have an idea of what is being said and by whom, and maybe even why.”

  “Good point, I think I need to visit him next.” Jerrol tucked her hand in his arm and turned her back towards the gap in the stones. “I think you will be missed soon,” he said, steering her out of the circle.

  “They know where I am if they need me,” she said, but the air was starting to cool now the sun had set. She gripped his arm more tightly. “The smith is my son. I live with him now, close to the trees.” She smiled in greeting as they passed under the broad leaves, which rustled as they walked. “My name is Sylvie, though just mention the smith and you’ll find me. Come to dinner tomorrow, Mr Haven, and we can talk more. It’s a relief to talk with someone without having to curb your tongue.”

  Jerrol ducked his head. “Thank you kindly, a meal would be welcome and the good company,” he said. “I’m travelling with friends.” He paused as she waved her hand.

  “Bring them too.” She looked at him sharply. “I can’t see you travelling with a veil-shredder.”

  “A veil-shredder?” he said with concern.

  “Hush, I’ll tell you more tomorrow,” she whispered as they turned into the high street, and she pushed him away as their paths separated.

  Chapter 8

  Black Hen, Greenswatch

  Jennery was sitting on a stool at the bar nursing a mug of ale when Jerrol entered the taproom. The barkeep inspected him. “Well, you’re looking better,” he said as he placed a mug on the bar in front of him.

  “Lady’s blessings on your wife,” Jerrol said, hand splayed over his heart. “She is a miracle worker.”

  The ’keep grinned. “Oh, aye? Don’t tell her that, she’ll be crowing for the rest of the year.”

  “And so she should.” Jerrol prepared to move off to a table.

  “You’re a follower of the Lady?” the ’keep asked.

  “You are not?”

  “Oh, aye, I am. There’s not many round here who admit to it, though; many are questioning, and newcomers scoff at the legends.”

  Jerrol raised his brows. “
Here? Where Her presence is felt the most strongly?”

  The ’keep bobbed his head. “Be careful what you say. The doubters are creeping in and causing strife. If the Lady is struggling in Her stronghold, what is it like elsewhere?”

  “Thanks for the warning,” Jerrol said as he joined Jennery in an alcove near the roaring fire. He relaxed back in the seat out of the glare opposite Jennery and considered the barkeep’s warning.

  “Where’s Birlerion?” Jennery asked, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. The shadows flickered over his rugged face as the flames danced.

  “He went for a bath. I expect he’ll be along soon.”

  “Have you had a chance to speak to him? Properly, I mean. He doesn’t say much, does he? Even when he does speak, he tells you nothing.”

  “Would you, in his situation? He is disoriented; the only thing he is clinging to is the fact that the Lady told him to protect me for some reason.”

  “You think he really is a Sentinal?”

  Jerrol choked on his ale. “You don’t?”

  Before Jennery had a chance to answer the food arrived, a steaming roast and freshly baked bread, closely followed by Birlerion looking even younger, newly shaved and with his damp hair slicked back and dressed in clean shirt and trousers.

  “Well, the Dirty Duck is exceeding all expectations,” Jennery said as they tucked in.

  Jerrol eyed Birlerion as he ate. He was neat and economical, focused on his food, and for such a distinctive-looking man, he seemed to blend into the shadows. He turned his attention to the room as it began to fill with locals, returning from the service at the Landing.

  Birlerion glanced across at Jerrol, as if aware of his inspection. “What are you expecting to achieve here? What exactly are you searching for?”

  “The circuit is a periodic check on the Guardians and the Watches. They are tied to the Lady, the Land and our Liege. The health of the country and the King is enshrined in the Guardians who protect us.” Jerrol paused, struck by a thought, before continuing. “Makes you wonder if this is tied to the King’s illness. It’s said that the first responsibility of the Crown is to protect the Guardians for the Lady. Rumour has it that some Guardians have disappeared and not been replaced. Our job is to check and solve where possible. To help the King keep his oath to the Lady.”

  “Solve what?” Birlerion asked, glancing at the fire as a log shifted on the hearth, causing sparks to fly up the chimney.

  “That is what I hope you can help us find out, discreetly.” Jerrol clapped Birlerion on the shoulder. “I would expect you to know who the Guardians are.”

  “The Watches had only just been created, the Lord Guardians confirmed. I’m not sure I will recognise them any better than you would,” Birlerion replied as he gazed at the Captain. His expression grew withdrawn. “Once I knew this land well, not so much now.”

  “You’ll learn it again. I have maps. You can study them later.”

  “It’s not just the land. It’s the people. It’s the way of life. Everything is so much faster. People are always in a hurry. Moving things from one place to another. I saw a wood mill on the river near Deepwater. They were using the water to power the mill. I’ve never seen anything like it. They wouldn’t let me inside to look.”

  Jerrol scowled. “There is progress, and then there is progress. I’m not sure Deepwater is a good example. The water mills have helped to speed up production, especially as the population grows because growth drives more demand for timber. But Deepwater seems to be taking it to extremes.” He fell silent, considering the sudden ramp in timber production in the Watches.

  A little later as Jennery stood at the bar waiting to get refills, the door gusted open, and a crowd of men blew in on the damp air. “Ugh, trust Mac to end the day with a bit o’ rain. I bet he’s laughing his socks off, watching us get wet sending him off.”

  “Ah, it’s not his fault,” a small elderly man replied. “I expect the Lady’s grieving too; he was an ardent supporter, you know. The fires burned extra bright for him.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Father, was a nice service,” a stocky, red-faced man replied, leaning on the bar. “Hey ’keep, three flagons of ale and...” he paused, counting, “seven mugs,” he finished. The men gathered round, holding out mugs ready to be filled; once served, they moved off to the tables around the fire. They checked to see strangers ensconced in the alcove, but the lure of the bright yellow flames drew them in, and they all settled down comfortably.

  Jerrol dipped his head in greeting. “Turned into a damp night,” he said.

  “Yeah,” sighed the stocky man who had ordered the beers. “And you are?” he asked, casting a suspicious glance at them.

  “Just passing through, had a wondrous experience this afternoon in that bathtub,” Jerrol replied, smiling with remembered pleasure.

  The stocky man snorted. “Yeah, can you believe that fella listened to his wife and is building a room to put it in?”

  “Lady’s blessing on her head,” intoned Jerrol. “That room will be a goldmine.”

  “Truly?” One of the lads, his damp clothes steaming gently, perked up at his words.

  “Truly,” Jerrol grinned. “I never felt so good.”

  “Good for business then?” another put in intently.

  “Oh yes, once word gets round, you’ll have people flocking here,” Jerrol replied.

  The men all grinned at each other and relaxed. Talk moved on to a general review of the service. The Father preened as the men complimented him on his sermon. An aroma of unwashed bodies and drying clothes mingled with the wood smoke. The ale kept flowing in memory of Mac and talk veered off to broodmares and the local bloodstock scene, till a slight altercation off to the side began to draw an audience.

  “Yes, it is,” reiterated a dark-headed, solid man, with very thick arms which were resting on the table in front of him.

  “No, it isn’t, that’s just story-telling,” a smaller man said, his blond hair sticking up in all directions as it dried.

  “Father,” appealed the stocky man, “isn’t it true the Lady climbed them sentinal trees to reach the moon?”

  The Father sat up and straightened his robes.

  “Now you’ve done it,” someone muttered into his beer. “Here we go again!”

  “The Sentinals,” the Father said grandly. “Today, you find them tall and proud, leading the way to the Lady’s heart. They have guarded the people since the end of the Bloodstone and the descent of the Veil, but they were guarding long before that.” He glanced around the taproom and inclined his head importantly. “The Sentinals were the Lady’s guard. She chose them herself, and they all pledged personal allegiance to her. All the Guardians had their protectors, but the Lady’s were the most famous.” He paused as he shuffled his thoughts into order.

  “Why were they the most famous?” the pot boy asked.

  “Why?” repeated the Father. “Because they were the most dedicated. No one, but no one, got past her Sentinals.”

  “Then why did she have to leave? They couldn’t have been that good,” scoffed one of the men from the shadows.

  Jerrol gripped Birlerion’s arm as he jerked.

  The Father glared at the man. “I am telling this story.” He gathered himself and began again in a rhythmic tone of voice.

  “In the time before the Veil descended, there were three Guardians of the realm. The Guardians lived in a beautiful palace. The walls were made of the whitest marble, threaded by veins of crystal which glistened in the golden sunshine. It towered over the city, which sprawled down the hillsides below it, and the golden spires reached for the sky.”

  His audience sat listening wide-eyed; they were ensnared in his word pictures, enspelled by the magical world and the splendour he was describing. The fire flared unnoticed, casting shadows against the walls.

  “When the Lady newly ascended to her Guardianship, she was advised to recruit a personal bodyguard for her safety. And with that, she stood and commanded
, and fully two hundred and forty men and women stood forward and pledged their allegiance to her. And as each one pledged she accepted and blessed them, and as they straightened up before her their tabards shimmered a silver-green and their eyes took on a silvery hue.”

  Birlerion ducked his head, keeping his eyes shielded. Jennery stared at him wide-eyed.

  “They were hers for life. They protected her against all threats, but in the end, they were unable to protect themselves from her.” The listening men stirred in expectation. Jerrol’s brow creased, and he glanced at the barkeep. The ’keep raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

  “As time passed, a group of educated men calling themselves the Ascendants began to share their idea for an alternative way of life. To challenge the grip the Guardians held over the world.”

  Jerrol shifted sharply at the blatant twisting of the story, staring in amazement as the men in the bar drank in his every word. His grip on Birlerion tightened; the Sentinal was rigid.

  “But the Guardians would not release their hold,” the Father proclaimed, his voice ringing across the bar, “and the Ascendants challenged the rule of the Guardians. In desperation, the Lady destroyed her family’s power by shattering the Bloodstone. For when she cracked the Bloodstone, she caused the Veil to descend, forcing her family and the Ascendants out of this world and into exile. But her Sentinals could not follow where she led. She had placed a curse on them, tying them to the land, forcing them to stand in front of her altar and set down roots and never move again. They became the sentinal trees you see today scattered across Vespiri.”

  There was a short silence after the Father finished, just the sound of the wood crackling in the hearth. A few hands surreptitiously made the obeisance rather sheepishly to the Lady. Not many though, Jerrol noted as he watched the Father.

  “Well told, Father.” Jerrol lifted his mug in salute. “May I ask where that version originates from?”

  “Version?” the Father spluttered. “That is the true story as validated by the Council itself.”