Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1)

by Jonathan Renshaw

  Before dismissing him with a coin, Clauman took the boy aside and spoke to him. Aedan saw the youngster nod with more than a trace of deference before he spun and slipped away into his warren of shadowy lanes.

  After speaking to a few landlords, Clauman began to haggle with a thin, oily-looking man who was clearly more interested in Nessa than in him. Clauman appeared not to notice this and complained about the price which shifted downward with each glance the landlord made over Clauman’s shoulder. Finally they struck an agreement and the family was led up four storeys to an apartment that consisted of a single room and a window. Nothing else. It was dry, in places, and the mildew had not quite completed its conquest of the floor. Other than that, it was acceptable to a man of low means and perfectly horrible to a woman of any means. Aedan knew his mother’s childhood had been a comfortable one. He saw her wince, but she voiced no complaint.

  The landlord scurried to the window and pushed it open. It made a crunching sound and he couldn’t get it closed again, so he pretended to be setting the right angle and left it.

  “There,” he said, with a weaselly smile. “Best view in South Lane.” His eyes wandered to Nessa.

  “It will do,” said Clauman, who held the door for the landlord and closed it after him. He walked to the window, busy with his own thoughts, while his wife and son looked on.

  “Borrow some rags and a bucket and have it clean before I get back,” he said, stepping out the door and closing it behind him with a thud.

  Nessa’s expression was as bleak as the room; she stood in shock. It took her some time before she was able to process the experiences of the day sufficiently to break down and cry. But after a little while, she brushed her tears aside, buried her embarrassment and summoned the courage to request what she needed from the eager landlord. Then she got scrubbing. Aedan decided he would not add to her misery, so he put his back into the labour.

  Clauman returned with blankets, candles, and a loaf of hard, dark bread that had not recently emerged from the oven. They ate their first meal by candlelight on the floor. Little was said; nobody had the energy to talk, though Clauman’s eyes held a flicker of something like keenness. Before lying down for the night, he said something that kept Aedan awake as effectively as one of his roots,

  “Your time of idling has come to an end. For once your small size makes you useful. The forest is gone, but I have a new forest to teach you, new eggs for you to fetch.”

  The words unsettled him more than the thin drizzle slanting in from the open window. When he finally slept, the dreams were dark. That velvet pouch bulging with coins began to take on a new meaning, an impossible meaning, but one that would not be banished. He remembered having once seen such a pouch on Dresbourn’s desk and could imagine no context in which Dresbourn would have willingly handed it across. Then he remembered his father’s panic when he had seen smoke near Borr and Harriet’s home, and constant watching behind them on the trail, the false name given at the gate. Confusion grew into an awful suspicion. What kind of man was his father? Did he know him at all?

  Aedan awoke with his throat on fire and the drizzle still running out his nose. When Clauman heard him cough that morning, he swore and made him stand at the window facing out.

  “Don’t you splutter over me before tonight! Would you ruin our fortunes again?” With that, he dressed and stormed from the room. He did not return for the next two days.

  They were not comfortable days. The room sizzled and steamed during waking hours, the heat unlocking rotten vapours in the soggy boards; and the evening rain continued to spit through the window, replenishing the damp. The landlord knocked several times a day, calling through the flimsy boards to check if they needed anything and if Aedan wanted to go and explore some exciting places he could recommend. Nessa froze at such moments and the look in her eye caused Aedan to grip the handle of his knife and to keep the door bolted, though the bolt would have popped off the frame with the slightest shove. By the end of the first day they were worried. By the second night Nessa was pacing.

  “Do you think we can send a message to Borr and Harriet tomorrow?” she asked.

  Aedan was gratified that she should ask him. He pointed out the difficulty of finding a messenger when they had no money. They could not both go, because one had to remain in case Clauman returned. She proposed, weakly, that she should go, but even Aedan knew that a foreign woman alone was more likely to draw attention than a boy.

  So a little before first light on the following day, he traced his way through the maze of buildings, getting lost and nosing his way back on track. It was unlike pushing through the dense confusion of a forest, but he was soon depending on the same feel for direction he had always used, mostly without thinking – sun, slope of the ground, sounds, smells, temperature, movement of the air, and the general character of spaces. The detours helped him place a few more landmarks on his internal map and he was sure he could find a better way back to South Lane than the one they had first taken.

  As soon as he was through the gates, he began to worry about his mother. He had left quietly, but the landlord had a sharp eye. The mounting worry urged him on. Soon he was running. It was early morning when he reached the area where their company had parted. It was Snore’s crowing that put him on the right path, and with a few questions, he was able to locate the deep-slumbering couple. Harriet’s sleepy face grew distraught and Borr’s grim as they listened. Soon they were bustling out the door and headed for Miller’s Court.

  Aedan made only one wrong turn on the way back and recovered quickly. They could hear raised voices by the time they were half way up the stairs. Aedan heard his mother scream and raced ahead. He threw the door open and ran into the room. His mother crouched against the wall and his father stood over her, his hand raised. He spun on Aedan.

  “Where have you been?”

  “I – I … We thought that it was dangerous here … I went to …”

  “I chose this place,” Clauman said. “Is your judgement now better than mine? It seems you also need another lesson in respect and obedience.” Aedan cringed and fell back against the wall as his father advanced on him, anger rippling his face. But the blow never fell.

  After an extended silence, Aedan opened his eyes and looked up to see Borr and Harriet standing across from his father. There was no friendly recognition.

  “So this is how you manage your family,” Harriet said. “When your anger boils up, you tip it out on them. I thought I glimpsed fear in their eyes before. Thought I saw them flinching when you made sudden moves.”

  “You dare question me under my own roof? The man of the house is to be respected, not like your neutered oaf with a cabbage leaf for a tongue and milk for blood.”

  Borr swallowed, but said nothing. It was clear the insult had struck hard.

  Harriet coloured. “You call this respect,” she said, pointing at the cowering wife and son. “She flinches every time you turn to her. You like that? Those bruises Aedan had after we escaped the wolves. That was you, wasn’t it? Lost your temper after losing the wagon, didn’t you? That’s why you couldn’t look him in the eye for weeks afterwards when he tried to impress you with all that silly hunting of his. I would guess the only time you truly give him recognition is when you’re too angry to hold it back. Isn’t that so?”

  Aedan cringed. For once Harriet had struck the mark. Even he felt his father’s shame and couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He wished, though, that Harriet had understood a little more, enough to know that her tirade would only serve to provoke. Instead she carried on.

  “Clauman, it’s time I put you in your place. If there’s one thing I know it’s how to –”

  “Enough!” Clauman bellowed. The look he turned on her was pure hatred. “Get out of my house you foolish woman before I give you something to flinch at.”

  Suddenly, whatever ran in Borr’s veins began to boil. He stepped in front of his wife and fixed Clauman with a look that had no milkiness to it.
“You … you speak to her like that again … I’ll … I’ll …” His arms were pushed out, fingers twitching. Words, as usual did not serve him well, but he made his meaning clear enough when he smacked a heavy fist into his palm.

  Even Clauman flinched at that. Borr let his eyes linger awhile and then turned to leave, but Nessa called him back.

  “Wait!” she shouted. She got to her feet and spoke in a voice that trembled as though her very soul were quaking. “If it were just me, I could take it. But I cannot stand by and see my son beaten like a dog anymore. Harriet, you have finally said what has died on my tongue for years, and if I don’t speak now, I’ll never find the courage again. Clauman, it cannot carry on.”

  Aedan wished someone would say something. The silence that now filled the room was more threatening than any of the preceding words. His father’s lips twitched and his eyes grew as hard as frost.

  “You have chosen poorly,” he said to her with deathly composure. “From now on you would be wise to count me among your enemies.”

  With that, he strode from the room and slammed the door behind him, striking them harder with his leaving than he had ever done with fists or boots. Nessa disintegrated into a flood of tears, and Harriet rushed to her while Borr stood silently by.

  Despite Harriet’s insistence, Nessa decided to wait a week, in case Clauman changed his mind. Both Borr and Harriet looked worried as they left. Aedan had never expected to want their company, but as their footsteps faded down the stairwell, the fear that crept up in him was sharp. When he and his mother were alone again in the empty little room, he felt the weight of the city begin to swell and press from all around. Not even in DinEilan had he felt so trapped, so vulnerable. There were enemies here he would not even recognise, enemies against which he could take no precautions.

  The day was interminable. Heat and worry exhausted him. That night he remained awake as long as he was able, but finally a deep sleep fell on him like a thick and heavy blanket, shutting in fatigue, shutting out everything else.

  When the town bells pealed out through the darkness, Aedan thought it might be some midnight celebration. But then other sounds filtered into his dreamy half-thoughts – crashing timbers, panicked voices and a deep roar that sounded at first like a rushing wind. He opened his eyes. A ruddy glow from the gap beneath the door revealed twisting billows of thick smoke.

  “Mother!” he yelled, and burst into a fit of coughing. Smoke was filling the room at an alarming rate, drifting up through the floorboards. His bare feet told him that the boards were dry, for once. And hot.

  He reached his mother and began shaking her. She surfaced slowly, dulled by the thick air, and looked around in a stupor.

  “Is it day already?”

  “Fire!” Aedan shouted. “We need to get out.”

  She staggered to her feet, taking in the scene and grasping its meaning. Flames began to leap up through the gaps in the floorboards as they staggered to the door. They opened it and immediately fell backwards from the heat of flames that surged into the room. Aedan slammed the door closed. It felt as if the skin on his face and hands was bubbling.

  For a moment he was overwhelmed with the pain in his temporarily blinded eyes. When he was able to look around, he saw his mother biting her fingers, eyes travelling the walls helplessly. It was clear she had no idea what to do. Neither did Aedan. A puff of clearer air disturbing the smoke reminded him of the permanently open window.

  He rushed across, leaned out and and looked beneath him. The walls were panelled and sheer. He might be able to climb down, but his mother would have no chance. He looked up. Long beams projected just over the window. It looked as if it would be possible to step from there onto the roof and then move along the row to a building that was not on fire.

  Nessa was still biting her fingers, staring.

  “Mother,” Aedan shouted over the growing rumble. “We need to get onto the roof.”

  His mother looked at him with something between disbelief and horror.

  “Look,” Aedan said, drawing her to the window. “We can’t go down. The only way out is up.”

  She stared for a long time at the people running and screaming in wild confusion. Aedan looked back at the flames growing through the floorboards, and the smoke streaming under the door. At last she agreed.

  Aedan went first. Trying not to think of the fall, he put his left leg over the windowsill and gripped the inside of the frame with his right hand while reaching out with his left for the outer beam. Once he had a firm hold, he released his grip on the frame, leaned out and reached for the next beam. With his hands secure, he stood on the base of the sill, jumped into the air between the beams he was holding – at which his mother gasped – and straightened his elbows, taking all his weight on his arms by pressing down with his hands. This allowed him to swing his feet onto the same surfaces. For a light-bodied tree climber it was nothing much. A step would take him to the roof.

  He shouted encouragement down to his mother over the rumble of the fire and the screams of those fleeing it. But something was wrong. Even over the past days he had noticed a vacancy and slowness in her eyes, an aimless shuffling within some deep internal labyrinths. Now the shuffling had slowed to a halt.

  “Mother!” he yelled. “You have to move or the fire will catch us. I can’t carry you.”

  She gazed at him with semi-lucid recognition, then with no apparent awareness of the danger, repeated the motions Aedan had just demonstrated. She might have lacked his agility, but her greater height made the manoeuvre far less demanding. He grasped her arm and helped her onto the roof. It was built of slippery wooden shingles and it was steep. Barefoot, they were able to creep up to the spine. One shingle leapt out from under Aedan and almost took him with as it spun off the roof into the waiting void.

  When their heads rose over the apex, they reeled, taking in the full force of their enemy.

  The fire that they had seen in the stairwell was but a hatchling. The surging beast that towered before them, its feet planted in Miller’s Court, was a monster, a swelling fiend with blood-red limbs that curled and thrashed overhead. It roared with enough force to shake the ground as it ate its way forward. They stared and blinked, dumbstruck, their eyes dazzled by the glare. The whole city seemed to be lit up, bright as day.

  Once he had recovered his wits, Aedan looked around for some escape. To the right, shingles burst and caught fire ahead of a second blaze as flames surged up from below. He could feel that the roof beneath him was warming quickly. To the left, there was no fire, only a little smoke, but neither was there a way down or a crossing to another roof. It ended in a sheer drop of four storeys. But if they could get into one of the rooms at the end of the wing, Aedan thought, they might be able to find a different stairway.

  “This way,” he called, tugging his mother’s sleeve. When they reached the end of the roof, he leaned over the edge and saw that the shutters of the room beneath were closed, blocking that entry. He decided that this might not be a bad thing as he didn’t want to trust his mother with that climb again.

  Making sure of his footing, he began to work a shingle loose, careful not to drop it on the crowded street below. Once the first was out, he found it easier to remove more. The beams under the shingles were close together but they were weak and old. A few good kicks produced a hole big enough to climb though. The ceiling boards were soft with rot and broke easily, allowing him to see into the room. It was dark. He helped his mother, lowering her down into the room, and followed after her.

  With a pang of fear, he realised that there was smoke in this room too. He ran to the door and pulled it open. Small flames and acrid clouds filled the stairway, billowing into the room, but the heat was bearable. It would not be that way for long.

  He grabbed his mother’s hand and pulled her out onto the landing and down the stairs. At the second floor, the flames had spread across the stairway but were still small enough to be crossed. It was when they reached the first flo
or that their good fortune ended. Two furiously burning trusses had fallen on the stairs, blocking them. There was no way to squeeze past without being set alight.

  As Aedan looked, he heard the growing roar through the wall partitions.

  It was close, he could feel the floor shaking as the monster rumbled forward. This was no time for careful thinking and thorough planning.

  Covering his face as well as he was able, he ran up to the first truss and kicked it, then dived back from the heat. It still stood. He tried again. This time he heard a crack. On the third attempt the truss split and collapsed, but as it fell, it brought down a section of red-hot planking that struck Aedan across the side of his head and pinned him to the ground. The hiss and stink of burning flesh were accompanied by a pain so acute that even his mother’s screams were dreamlike and distant. He was vaguely aware of being dragged through the opening he had created, down the last stairs and into the cool air of the street.

  “Water! Water!” he heard her shouting, but there was no water to be spared for burns.

  As he lay on the ground, he caught a glimpse of a man running wildly down the road. There was something wrong with him because he was glowing as brightly as the fire. Someone doused him with a bucket and Aedan recognised the landlord. All his oily skin was burned away. He stood shuddering for a moment, looking at his red hands, before uttering a single sob and dropping forward onto the ground. Aedan could think no more ill of him, and only wished he would get to his feet.

  Then the pain found him again and he cried out. It felt as if there were glowing embers still clinging to the side of his head. He was on fire himself! He reached up to brush the coals away, but all he felt was a soft ooze, and the sudden agony kept him from touching it again. The street grew brighter and his mother dragged him away from the heat to the city’s outer wall. She crouched down as the whole wing erupted in angry fire. The great beast now towered over all of South Lane.