Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1)

by Jonathan Renshaw

  That sent another wave of laughter through the room.

  When they had the dorm to themselves again, Peashot began singing softly, “Oh the daffodil, such a disgusting wart …”

  “I’ve changed my mind about something,” Vayle announced over the chuckles. “I think it’s only fair to Lorrimer that the truth of Peashot’s sprained ankle be known.”

  The singing stopped.

  Curious heads appeared from the alcoves. All except Peashot’s.

  “Come on,” said Hadley. “Enough suspense. Tell us.”

  “Hadley, if you could push time along the way you push everything else, you’d be an old man before the month is up.”

  Hadley tapped his foot. The others grinned.

  “It begins not in the training hall, as you all assume, but in Mistress Gilda’s class. Those prize quills of hers became too much of a temptation to our friend and I saw him filch one and slip it into his pocket. I think you can imagine that it would have been too long, so he must have pushed it through the material at the bottom of the pocket to keep anything from sticking out the top.

  “It should have worked, but I noticed that in the next class while Dun was speaking, Peashot began gripping the left side of his trousers and getting into the strangest positions. I think the quill had begun to slip down behind his leg. That was when Dun caught him fidgeting, and yelled, setting him off on the blue circuit.”

  Vayle paused for effect.

  Peashot had not emerged.

  “Well, guess what happens when there is a quill with two sharp ends held against the back of your leg and you bend your knee to run?”

  Another pause. Lights were beginning to show in the listeners’ faces.

  “Everyone else was so focussed on his sprained-ankle lie that they didn’t see the little patches of blood higher up. He skewered himself.”

  Lorrimer’s laughter outdid the rest of them this time. And when the fit passed it would start up again. He lay on his back, knees drawn up, feet pounding the mattress. Peashot, surly in his corner, was unable to do anything but wait.

  “And the best part,” Vayle sputtered, “is that he now has a fat cast on a perfectly good ankle and has to hobble around for two weeks and then attend reconditioning classes with Sister Edith for another two. Winter will be here by the time he’s able to stop faking the limp.”

  This time, twice the number of boys jostled at the door begging to know the reason for the mirth rocking the building. But the little secret remained within the dorm. Only Kian would be told, but later.

  Lorrimer was so tickled that after the oil lamps had been snuffed he continued to chortle to himself. And that’s when it happened.

  “Hic! Oh no …”

  There was a brief silence.

  “Hic! Ouch! Blast, that was sore.”

  “Lorrimer, that you again?”

  Silence.

  “Hic!”

  “Yep. It’s Lorrimer. Again.”

  Someone snorted.

  “These blasted hiccups. If I could throttle them and smash them against the – hic! – ouch! – wall … You know how embarrassing it was at the dance. Shut up. It’s not funny!”

  Silence.

  “Hic!”

  It was too much. There was a thump as Peashot actually rolled off his bed with hilarity.

  An assortment of remedies began to roll out from the various points in the dorm:

  “Balance on your head while counting backwards from a hundred.”

  “No. Hiccups are already backwards. You have to be upright and counting forwards, but it only works if you are standing in a tub of rotten sheep intestines – the smell chases the hiccups away.”

  “Fill your mouth with water and block your nose – you’ll be too frightened to hiccup. Of course, if you still do, it’s going to be bad.”

  “Inhale the smoke of a burning goat hoof. Has to be left fore. Just do it outside please.”

  “I tried all those,” Lorrimer complained. “Almost drowned with the water one. The sheep intestines made – hic! – my boots stink for the rest of the summer.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “You mean you didn’t take your boots off first?”

  “And stand in that stinking tub barefoot? No – hic! – way!”

  Another pause.

  “Are those the same boots that are lying somewhere near your bed?”

  “Y – hic! – ow! – yes.”

  The bellows and complaints that filled the air were enough to draw the night guard.

  “Silence!” he barked from the door. “The next sound I hear will have to be explained before the disciplinary committee …”

  All subjects passed. Student promoted to second year.

  Not all the results listed were exemplary, especially not foreign relations, but Aedan was satisfied. He folded the report and sped back across the lawn, through the passages and into his dorm. He got no further than the entrance. The others were gathered around Lorrimer who was crumpled on the floor, face in his hands, crying.

  “He failed,” Peashot whispered, and the excitement of the morning dissolved. They would all be entering their second year after the break, all except Lorrimer who would be put back with the new group of first-year apprentices. They watched him in silence. Hadley turned away and marched to the door.

  “Don’t let him out till I get back,” he said.

  He was gone a long time, and when he returned, he closed the door before speaking.

  “Master Giddard says it was only in languages and history where you failed, both difficult subjects for someone who has only just learned to read. He said, because of your behaviour, he would let you to try those subjects again in two weeks.” Hadley looked around the room. “So we have two weeks to get Lorrimer ready. If we take turns someone can be here all the time.”

  They began immediately by collecting Lorrimer’s books from the various point in the room where he had flung them and tried to brighten him up. Lorrimer was never quick to a mood, but when one took him it carried him deep, and he had a long way to climb from his desolation.

  Peashot insisted on having the first shift. Aedan wondered how much good it would do – Peashot, though sharper perhaps than any of them except Vayle, had lounged through those classes and stuffed most of his knowledge in right at the end. Aedan suspected his little friend had scraped over the bar tightly enough to leave skin behind, but he held his tongue and booked a later slot. A walk to the stables, he decided would be just the thing to pass the time.

  Wildemar had recently begun their horsemanship training. They had mucked out, fed, groomed, and learned how and when to shoe. It was only after several weeks that they had been allowed to tack and ride, and by this time they were quite familiar with the animals.

  The master was a stickler for horsey terminology and pounced on anyone who used the word “horse” for an animal under fourteen-and-a-half hands. The animals that had been assigned to the boys were most certainly ponies. Aedan’s was a young chestnut gelding that showed itself a ready worker with a gentle temperament. All the ponies they rode were small enough for boys to mount without assistance, though some of the boys looked every bit as uncomfortable as Aedan had once. But he was a little taller now, and his pony was a hand shorter than old Bluster, so he was among the more proficient riders.

  They had gone through the basics of the strides and then learned to dismount, run alongside, and spring into the saddle again while the pony was trotting. There had been a few accidents, but nothing serious. With the growing confidence in horsemanship, Aedan had begun to spend snatches of free time at the stables where he had recently made an interesting discovery.

  It was still mid-morning, and the whitewashed stable walls were dazzling in the young light.

  Aedan heard them before he saw them – Osric and Skeet were engaged in what might have sounded like a dangerous argument, but he knew Osric well enough to recognise the tone of earnestness rather than anger.

  “Royal ca
rriage or not, seeing any fine horse tied to an overgrown, dandified cart heats my blood.”

  “But what is a fine horse?” Skeet retorted. “No marshal will sit a ruthrek. These animals are three parts fire and one part mischief. They offered us twenty gold carak for this little beast. I would be robbing them at twenty carak less.”

  “What could you have against him? He’s the most perfectly formed colt I’ve seen in years.”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Except that he sank his perfectly formed teeth into my arm, twice, and put his perfectly formed hoof through the door, and none of the grooms want to go anywhere near him.”

  “Well if you let him bite your arm twice then … Oi! Aedan, back away, he’s more dangerous than he –”

  The jet-black colt was straining his neck and twisting his head in a blissful trance as the boy scratched inside his ear.

  “– looks. Or maybe he isn’t.”

  Aedan had been visiting the colt for the past few weeks, winning its trust with carrots and apples and anything else he could beg off Enna who was always happy to oblige. Though he had never been the best rider at Badgerfields, he had always been comfortable around the animals, especially the difficult ones. Winning their affection had never failed to give him extraordinary pleasure.

  Osric and Skeet watched the interaction between the two. The colt was cheeky, no mistake, but it showed no malice. It almost looked as if it were making a fuss over someone it had been missing as it nuzzled Aedan’s neck, mouthed and licked his ear, then tried to dig in his pockets where the smell of apple lingered.

  “Put a halter on him and lead him into the field,” said Osric, folding his arms and leaning against the fence. Skeet looked worried, but Aedan obeyed, eventually – the colt fighting the halter as if it were the object of some new game. He led the tall animal out into the field and tied up the lead rope so it would not catch under the hooves, then let go.

  The colt looked around briefly, tossed its head and shot away at a speed that shamed every other occupant of the paddock. It galloped in a wide circle, bucking and kicking and spraying out clods of earth – a young whirlwind of unleashed horse. After another two or three laps it charged up to Aedan and came to a skidding stop just in front of him.

  He gave it a good scratch on its tufty forehead whorl and then walked across to a nearby pony and brushed its mane. The colt had been following and pricked its ears at this display of rival affection. Ears went flat, teeth appeared, and the long neck stretched out and delivered a solid nip to unsuspecting hindquarters. The pony squealed and raced away to the music of laughter from the fence. When Aedan returned, Osric spoke.

  “Skeet has agreed that if you take responsibility for the colt he’ll end the negotiations with the royal stabler and sell him to me instead. He’ll be yours if you want him.”

  Aedan gaped. He knew how rare these horses were and he had some idea of the breed’s uncanny intelligence and legendary speed. Also the sheer impossibility of training them. But a ruthrek, if it could be trained, would be worth more than a small house. Perhaps even a large one. He thanked Osric with all the warmth of his excitement and proceeded to thank Skeet too until the colt got tired of being ignored and nipped his shoulder, sending him diving away with a yell of pain.

  Skeet laughed all the way back to the main buildings.

  For the next few days, Aedan read everything he could on the training of horses. Though the academy’s trainer was wholly unwilling to take on the responsibility, he said he would be prepared to assist – in a limited capacity.

  Initial results were utterly discouraging. To the colt, everything was a game. The lunging cord was a rope for tug of war, and the training switch something to be attacked rather than avoided. Bridling him was like trying to bridle the north wind during a hailstorm, and by the time Aedan finally managed to get the girth strap fastened, the saddle had been bucked off and trampled a hundred times. The leather was gouged and torn, but he could not afford a replacement. For the time being, it made little difference – the purpose of this exercise was to get the horse used to the feeling of carrying a weighted saddle.

  Along with his roguishness, the colt’s intelligence was becoming quickly apparent. He avoided many of the stupid things that other horses did, like windsucking, incessant head-tossing, and kicking the stable to tatters during storms – he only kicked when tired of being cooped up.

  Within days, he took charge of the fields. All of them. Fences were only another game, and he hopped them back and forth for the sheer pleasure of it. He even crossed over to the academy grounds, wandered into a classroom, and scattered the occupants while he rearranged a few desks. He would suffer none but his master to handle him, so Aedan had to be called to fetch the renegade colt. The episode landed Aedan with the job of raising the fences.

  One morning, Aedan was busy being dragged around the paddock when he spotted Liru and Delwyn sitting on the fence near the stables, faces split with smiles and shoulders bobbing. He dropped the lunging rope and walked over. The colt, now interested in whatever Aedan was doing, trotted across too, dragging the rope between his hooves and watching so as to avoid stepping on it – very un-horse-like.

  He gave Delwyn a brief inspection, but Liru fascinated him. Her arm was still in a cast and sling, but there was something else about her that piqued his interest. He brought his nose up against her forehead and took a few long, deep breaths, then tried to get his lips around the hair which, though finer, was as dark as his, gleaming with a hint of blue in the sunlight. Aedan saw what was happening and intervened quickly.

  “I think you should tie your hair back,” he said. “I’m still working on his manners.”

  The girls both tied their hair in buns while pouring out compliments for the sleek animal.

  “What is his name?” Liru asked.

  “I was thinking of something that would describe him and the best I could come up with was Midnight Hurricane – he looks like midnight and acts like a hurricane, but it’s too long.”

  Liru pursed her lips and looked at the colt. “Why do you not use the letters from that and shorten it to Murn?”

  Aedan tried it out. “Murn, yes, I like that. What do you think Delwyn?”

  “It’s a lot better than the names I’ve heard the janitors calling him,” she laughed. “Oh, and the girl who tried to stroke him and got picked up by the hair.”

  Aedan gave the colt a dirty look. “Sometimes I think he deserves a name like Keepwellaway – painted all over him in stark white.”

  “Do you think he would stand still and let anyone paint him?” Liru asked.

  “No. It will have to be Murn.”

  “Where is Lorrimer?” she asked. “I have seen the rest of you, but it is like he is hiding in his room.”

  “In a way, he is. He didn’t make it through the exams. Hadley got permission for him to redo the ones he failed, so he’s going to be locked away for a while. We’re all taking turns helping him with history and languages.”

  “Why did you not tell me?” she asked, annoyed. “I can help.”

  “I don’t think it would do any good. If you remember, we had to learn two foreign languages this year. A few of us have a decent hold on Orunean but, Fenn, the one we could use help with, you wouldn’t be able to offer anything. It’s really difficult.”

  “Naci lar greila mranta hlon stessa!” she snapped.

  Delwyn laughed and Aedan smiled uncertainly.

  “Loosely translated,” Delwyn explained, “it means, ‘You blithering self-assured males.’ Liru is almost fluent in Fenn. She seems to have an ear for languages. She’s better than me even though I have a two-year start on her.”

  “Oh.”

  “And by this,” said Liru, “I hope that you mean, ‘Sorry for making stupid assumptions and not asking your help for a mutual friend.”

  “Well, isn’t that what ‘Oh’ translates to in Fenn?”

  “Loosely. Now will you tell him to meet me at the tables under the plane
trees or do I need to risk punishment by finding him in his dorm?”

  Aedan unclipped the lunging rope, climbed through the fence and sped away. Murn cantered beside him until he reached the now-higher fence where he stopped, looked, and tossed his head. Then he headed for an adjacent field, sprang the lower fence and set about persecuting the other horses.

  Lorrimer was gushing with appreciation when he came out to meet Liru, but she swept the thanks away and set to work immediately, determining his level of proficiency and engaging him in the kinds of basic discussions that would be examined.

  Delwyn also asked for a turn, but Lorrimer’s blushes were accompanied by a complete lack of concentration. When discussing it with Aedan, she decided it might be best if she left the instruction to the others.

  Over the next few days, Lorrimer was given all the attention he could endure. He was up early and studied late, absorbing as much as he was able.

  Aedan, when he was off duty, continued to spend his time skidding around the paddocks, clutching the end of a lead rope. Liru and Delwyn joined him often. They spent several afternoons attempting to train Murn, the girls providing commentary and laughter. Aedan was beginning to understand Skeet’s original reluctance, but Murn was also beginning to see a determination in his young master that could possibly rival his own. They were gaining almost no ground in training – it generally being unclear who was in charge – but they were forging a fascinating bond that was becoming the talk of those who remained on campus during the recess.

  The big day arrived, and with the good wishes and back-claps of the five boys and two girls, Lorrimer headed for his re-examination.

  The whole group waited on the lawn, fidgeting, pacing, making comments that nobody heard. Peashot was the worst affected. He began throwing stones with uncharacteristically bad aim, then paced, lay down, paced, climbed and fell from a tree, and finally took himself for a walk. He was back to check perhaps before Lorrimer had even begun his exams. The rest tried to make small talk, but it all seemed too small in comparison to the answer they awaited. It was the longest morning of the year; in Peashot’s estimation, about two-and-a-half weeks.