DAWN OF WONDER
Book 1 of The Wakening
By Jonathan Renshaw
© 2015 Jonathan Renshaw
All rights reserved
Cover art by Richard Allen and JR
Scene sketches by Richard Allen
All characters and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Contents
Title Page
Illustrations
Pronunciations
Map
Chapters
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twnety-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Fifty
Fifty-one
Fifty-two
Fifty-three
Fifty-four
Fifty-five
Fifty-six
Fifty-seven
Fifty-eight
Fifty-nine
Sixty
Sixty-one
Sixty-two
Author’s Note
Illustrations
Spoiler alert!
This table is intended as a reference, not a door for sneak previews.
Map
The cliff
Weapons hall
Autumn festival
Murn’s antics
The museum
West
Pronunciations
of the less obvious names and places.
Allisian—a-LIS-ian
Aedan—AY-din
Castath—CASS-tith
Clauman—CLAW-min
DinEilan—din-EE-lin
Dresbourn—DREZ-born
Kalry—KAL-ree
Kultûhm—kull-TOOM (kull as in full)
Lekrau—LEK-rouw (rouw as in now)
Liru—LEE-roo
Malik—MAL-ik
Mardrae—MAR-dray
Mardraél—MAR-dray-EL
Merter—MER-ta
Nymliss—NIM-liss
Orunea—a-ROO-nia
Osric—OZ-ric
Pellamine—PEL-a-meen
Torval—TOR-vil
Ulnoi—ULL-noy (ULL as in FULL)
Vallendal—va-LEN-dil
Wildemar—WILL-dim-ah
Yulla—YOO-la
Even the wind now held its breath.
A hush of anticipation swept through the trees, causing forest creatures to hesitate in their scratchings and birds to falter in their songs. The woods grew still as everything was pressed under a deep, vast silence.
It came from the east, from the mountain wilderness of DinEilan. It was like a swelling of the air, a flexing of the ground, as if some enormous power had been hurled into the earth hundreds of miles away sending tremors throughout the land.
Directly over a country lane, a young squirrel was clamped to the limb of an ancient walnut tree. Tawny hair all over its body now rose and quivered as moss began to prickle underfoot.
The deep, shuddering stillness flowed through the woods. In and amongst the trees, fur and feather trembled in a vice-grip. The squirrel may have lacked the words for what stole into its mind, but in the same way that it knew the terror of jackal teeth and the lure of high branches, a vague yet frightening awareness was taking shape. Somewhere, many miles distant, something was stirring, changing … wakening.
Then the feeling passed as swiftly as it had arrived and the squirrel released its breath and looked around. It lifted a paw and examined the mossy bark, sniffed, and turned quick eyes to the ground, to the leaves, to the sky – all in vain. As before, there were no answers to be found. It was the second time since winter that this alarming thrill had surged through the air, departing without a trace.
But something else now caused little eyes to dart and ears to twitch, something quite different. The leaves strewn across the forest lane were beginning to quake and shiver. Several pigeons that had been huddling on the ground burst away in all directions with a wild clapping of wings. For the squirrel, this was warning enough. It fled across the branch, disappearing up the walnut trunk and into a knot hole as if drawn by a string.
Before it had a chance to push its head out, a horse and rider hurtled around the bend, apparently unaware of the recent quieting of their surrounds. Hooves slipped on the moist surface, flinging up dark clods, but there was no slowing of pace – wide eyes and foamy flecks suggested that the pace had not slackened for many miles. The tall rider’s green military coat whipped and snapped around him as he leaned forward in the stirrups, head close to the horse’s plunging neck. In his fist, crushed against the reins, was a rolled sheet of paper. The speed, the foam, the clutched paper … Anyone he passed by would have instantly read the look on his face: Please, let me not be too late!
–––
A few miles up the road was the farm of Badgerfields. It held tumbling meadows working their way ever upwards in the early sun, sheep and cattle working away at the meadows, and an assortment of labourers who were engaged in something that did not resemble work at all.
Ploughmen whose harrows lay discarded in the fresh new earth were balancing on a fence for a clearer view. They were placing bets, grinning. On the far side of the river, a cart loaded with dead wood creaked to a halt. The driver scrambled onto the heap of timber where he peered out over a lush green pastureland, chuckled to himself, and dug his boots into the wood pile until he had a steady footing. This was something he was not going to miss.
All around, farmhands dropped their tools, and even the long grass, silvered and heavy with dew, caught the mood and leaned forward.
Everyone’s eyes were fixed on an old stone bridge over the Brockle River. The walkway was narrow, the stones doubtful, the wall slippery, and there was a lot of air underneath. To the farm’s adventure hunter who would give his name as Aedan and his age as almost thirteen – though he had only recently stopped calling himself almost twelve – it was irresistible. It wasn’t just the lure of danger, but something it afforded that was far closer to his heart – friendship.
Under a scruffy head and smudged face, there was no missing the eager young eyes that were bright with hope for the morning’s project. Adventures, he had discovered, became cold and lonely things if he couldn’t, at some stage, get friends to share them. And friends, even old friends, were never quite on the level of companions until they shared his adventures.
Whether or not the friends actually wanted to share them tended to have little effect on the outcome. Aedan had become an expert in coaxing and nudging – and pe
rhaps one or two of those nudges might have been misunderstood as shoves, but they had been given with the best intentions. Everyone was always glad afterwards. Mostly.
It had taken much work and perhaps one or two improvements on the facts about the landing, but Aedan had finally convinced Thomas to attempt the dreaded jump. The images he had painted with his words were irresistible – the thrill of the leap, the wonders of soaring flight, the softness of dropping into water. Deep, icy, emerald water that clinked and rattled in the chasm below.
Thomas, after explaining to Aedan once again that he did not want to do this, and being assured in the most ardent terms that he did, finally conceded and lifted his shaking hands from the lichen-coated wall. He raised himself by unsteady inches until he stood wobbling on the cold stones a dizzy height above the river. The soft, pink skin on his back was alive with shudders.
Many eyes watched from various points along the sheer banks but only one other person was on the bridge. Kalry, a year older and half a head taller than Aedan, bit her lip as she glanced at Thomas and then peered beyond him, over the wall. It was a long, long way down.
“W – what if I land on a fish?” Thomas was staring past his toes into the hungry river. “These trout have got spines on their fins. If they are pointing up and I’m going down, it could be like the time I …” He turned a glorious ruby red and glanced over at Kalry.
When she smiled encouragingly at him, he attempted a careless chuckle, swung his arms, and almost lost his balance.
“Oh tripe!” he gasped, regaining control of his shivering limbs only just in time.
Aedan was getting worried. He had to help his friend past this remarkably creative pessimism. How did Thomas manage to think of trout fins?
“Fish always keep one eye looking up,” Aedan said. “They think falling people are eagles, so they get out the way.” He had a strong suspicion that this might not be entirely true, but it should be, which was almost as good.
Kalry’s wrinkled nose told him what she thought of it, but he shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling. Disarming encouragement radiated from this short, scruffy boy.
Mischief lurked.
He tried again, “Once you’re in the air it feels just like flying. The only frightening part is before you jump,” he said.
Kalry frowned at Aedan and opened her mouth to speak, but he fixed her with a stare and shook his head. She narrowed her eyes, but held her tongue.
He was about to try the angle of “If you don’t do this now you’ll hate yourself forever” when he was distracted by a sound that drifted over from the main farm buildings.
The faraway pounding of hooves that had been steadily growing erupted into a harsh cobblestone clatter. He looked just in time to glimpse something pale and green flashing across the gaps between dairy, stables and feed barns. The last opening was broader and revealed a large grey horse and a uniformed rider. They dashed between labourers at a reckless pace. Instead of halting before the main courtyard rail, the horse actually jumped it and pounded up the fine lawn to the very doorstep of the manor house. Then the timber shed blocked the view.
Aedan’s curiosity caught alight, but he stamped the flames down. Nothing could be allowed to distract him now. The interruption, however, gave him an idea, a spark of inspiration that matched Thomas for creativity.
“The rumours of lowland bandits or slave traders could be true this time, Thomas. This might be your last chance before you are made a slave for the rest of your life. Or beheaded. Or … or … locked in your room while our soldiers fight them for years and years until you are too old to make the jump without getting killed.”
Thomas flinched. “You mean people can actually die from this jump?”
“Of course not. Even Kalry’s done it.”
“But you just said it would kill me if I was too old.”
Aedan frowned and kicked the stone paving. “I didn’t mean that part. It sort of sneaked in there without me actually wanting it.” He glared at Kalry with an unspoken demand for help, but the girl’s hazel eyes were now full of laughter. She shook her head and buried her amusement behind a tousled mass of sun-and-barley hair. Aedan had to soldier on alone.
“Think of it, Thomas. Once you jump you’ll be one of us, one of the Badgerfields Elites. And … and you can have my second sling.”
“Didn’t you break it yesterday?”
“It could be fixed.”
Kalry, the smile still lingering, held her hands up with a look that was really a soundless groan. Aedan was equally unimpressed with the strength of his arguments, but he was grasping now. The golden moment of decision was passing by, and it would not come again.
Just then a cloud drifted in front of the sun. Thomas shuddered as an inquisitive breeze explored his soft skin.
“I – I think I’ll wait for it to warm up a bit first,” he said. “Anyway, I want to know what’s going on at the manor house. I can see lots of people running.”
Aedan’s and Kalry’s eyes met, and something flickered between them. As Thomas bent over – the first of several careful manoeuvres in getting down from the wall – two pairs of hands reached up and provided the “encouragement” that they would later claim he had as good as requested.
The howl of terror that split the morning and echoed down the chasm would live on in Aedan’s dreams for years to come, always bringing a sigh and a smile. The falling boy actually ran out of breath before he hit the icy river, allowing a theatrical pause before the sharp smack of belly and limbs. It was the loudest landing they had ever heard.
“Aedan, I think we might have killed him,” Kalry said, her eyes on the frothy impact point far below.
Without a word, Aedan was over the edge and in the air, plummeting towards his friend. Kalry was not far behind. She was airborne by the time Aedan hit the water.
The river crashed up around him. He always said that cold water felt less wet, more like liquid stones. It certainly felt that way now as the brisk current jostled him downstream. His feet throbbed from the impact, and he’d forgotten to block his nose resulting in a stinging shot to the brain, but there was no time to worry over such things. The moment he surfaced, he spun around looking for Thomas.
Kalry landed about six inches away and gave him the best fright of his young life. By the time he could see again, she had taken the lead in the rescue of their friend.
“Kalry, you wind-brain!” he spluttered. “You – you could have made me shorter!”
Kalry laughed as she swam away with the current towards the disturbance in the water that was Thomas. He was gasping in snatches. Eyebrows raised almost to his hairline indicated that he was still experiencing the full force of the shock and the cold – the Brockle was a river born of snowmelt and hidden by forest until it rushed into the sun only a mile upstream. The two rescuers caught up and guided their friend out of the current onto a sandy bank. He crawled from the water in a series of desperate jerking movements.
“I’m going to kill you Aedan,” he gasped.
“Kalry helped.”
“Then I’ll kill you twice.” He panted and coughed up an impressive quantity of river. “I’m going to hang you and after that I’ll skin you alive.”
“You mean ‘skin me dead’. That’s what people are after you hang them.”
If Thomas was impressed by Aedan’s expertise in the area, he did not show it. He whimpered as he touched his belly. It was blushing like sunrise, as if he’d spent the day sprawled out on the sand and been scorched to a crimson perfection. Even Aedan winced at the sight, but he recovered quickly and leaned forward.
“So did you catch a fish?” he whispered.
“Aedan!” Kalry said.
Thomas glared, assembled his still-wobbly legs beneath him, and clumped away. He seemed to have forgotten that he was a mild boy and stopped after a few yards to cast a very dangerous look back at the guilty pair.
Aedan tried to look apologetic but then realised he didn’t feel apologetic. He
knew Thomas would thank him one day. Well, perhaps not quite thank him, but at least join in the laughter.
Or at least not scowl at the memory.
Though it hadn’t gone exactly as planned, Thomas had finally shared the adventure.
When they were alone, he turned to Kalry, “Another successful mission for the Elites. Thomas is a member at last.”
“I feel horrible,” she said.
“It was good for him. He’ll be happy about it one day.”
“I think I’m going to feel horrible until then.”
“Nonsense. Make him a pearlnut pie and he’ll forget everything after the first bite.”
“Will you help me search for the nuts then? They aren’t easy to find this time of year.”
“As long as it’s quick. I want to see what all the fuss is at the house. And as long as you don’t expect me to bake.”
“We have to give him something nicer than the fall, so you won’t be baking.”
“Wind brain.”
“Frog nose.”
They let the bright spring sun dry them as they jogged over the hayfields towards the mysterious pearlnut tree. This tree, a curiosity known to the whole midlands, was unnaturally big – several hundred feet high, its smooth leathery trunk almost as wide as the hay barn. Every autumn it produced large nut-like seeds with a translucent milky flesh that Kalry described as a mixture of pecan nuts, honey and snow.
But there was more that intrigued them than the size and the magical taste of the kernels. In the last year something strange had happened. It was Kalry who discovered it by putting her ear to the trunk and listening as she often did. With a startled cry, she’d leapt away. But fright dwindled before curiosity. When she pressed her ear to the smooth bark again, her expression slowly melted into quiet wonder.
“It’s sighing,” she explained, “not in a sad way, but big and full with thoughts of delicious soil and warm sun and crisp, clean air that drifts high up where pearlnut leaves can tickle the feet of cheeky low clouds.”
Aedan argued at first that it was just the sound of wind passing down the trunk the same way those hollow, eerie sounds pass down a chimney when the sky is restless and the house is empty. But then he too put his ear to the tree. It was quiet for a long time, and he was almost out of patience when he heard a deep rumbling breath that didn’t sound much like wind and that made him think of soil and sun and air. Still, determined to prove his point, he stepped back to indicate the wind in the boughs.
Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) Page 1
