He did not dry himself by the fire when he returned. Osric came to check on him, asking if he had any wounds. The bitterness of Aedan’s thoughts leaked poison into the tone of his answers. He hated himself the more when Osric left looking confused and snubbed.
Aedan remained in a dark corner, shivering and hoping that Liru would not die in the night.
A little before first light, Merter and a few soldiers crept from the cave and scouted until they were sure none of the Fenn remained. Osric relocated them to a broad valley. Here, the injured rested for three days while the dead were buried. The Fenn were too many to be buried, so they were heaped onto a pyre near the cave and burned, the flames giving off black smoke and a thick stench.
Aedan watched it all with only the dullest interest.
Liru woke but she was in great pain. Twice, Aedan tried to speak to her, but her answers were curt. As much as he wanted to apologise, he could not bring himself to drop his shield in the face of bared teeth and baleful eyes. Instead he talked around the thing he needed to say, asking about her injuries and commenting on the proposed plans – plans in which he no longer had any interest.
If Tyne had given space, he might have been able to unload the thoughts that ate him like acid. But she hovered and glared as if he were contaminating her patient. After a few moments she would chase him off, saying that he was disturbing Liru’s recovery.
Liru never asked him to stay.
Aedan felt eyes on him as he moved through the camp, and often heard laughter in his wake. No mention of his embarrassment was made in his presence, but he almost wished that it would be, just to have it out and over with. Instead, the words and the looks buzzed and darted around him like a cloud of midges.
Holt now shunned him. Aedan was not surprised. After some contemplation, he decided to return Holt’s dagger, and did so with a shamefaced apology. The man snatched the dagger and walked away while Aedan was still speaking. Hanging there in mid-sentence, the anger and embarrassment that rose almost forced tears from his eyes. He needed to get away.
Without letting anyone know, he headed out, aiming vaguely for a hilltop a few miles distant. A blanket of moth-eaten cloud scudded beneath the sun, and branches pitched in the disturbed air. He walked in distracted loops, taking a long time to reach the place. After fighting through the last of the undergrowth and climbing the rocky brow, he discovered it much to his liking – isolated and bare.
He had asked himself too many questions over the past days, and found no answers. So now he sat and watched the land below while a cold, snow-born wind tumbled down from the heights, buffeted past him and raked through the stands of trees and grassy planes, making them ripple like the coat of some great beast. It could not improve his mood, but for a time it helped him forget, and feel nothing.
The sound of breaking sticks and heavy breathing drew his attention to the slope he had recently climbed. His curiosity gave way to annoyance when he saw Fergal’s broad form lumbering upwards. Aedan hoped intensely that the final scramble would be too much, but the oversized cleaner was as determined as he was unwanted. Without invitation the man dropped himself down on the rock. Here he panted and blew with a grimace that revealed just how much the ascent had hurt.
When he could talk, he chose not to and, instead, dug through a pouch and found a letter which he began to read silently. Aedan wondered what kind of man would choose to invade another person’s privacy in order to exercise his own.
He had paid little attention to this servant or whatever he was, and looked across at him now. At first Aedan had thought him relatively young, but the way he behaved around men of rank had made him seem very old. It wasn’t a question of respect given or returned as much as a steady patience, the kind of patience that suggests a greater knowledge of others than they have of themselves, that suggests great experience, great age. But there was something about the way he stretched his arms and grinned at the sunrise or watched with amusement when one of the soldiers was about to put his lips to an overheated tin mug – these and many other almost childlike ways made him seem very young. Part of the difficulty in fixing an age was his hiddenness. He had the appearance of being overgrown in all ways – great falls of charcoal hair lay in thick mats reaching down to his shoulders; his eyes were mostly shadowed under wild hedges of thorny eyebrows; and when he spoke, Aedan remembered, it was only a disturbance somewhere deep within that dark beard that revealed the presence of a mouth. But there was no disturbance now. The silence appeared not to bother this large hairy man in the least.
Aedan, however, was growing uncomfortable and was about to move off when Fergal coughed.
“This is the bit,” he said, “listen to this: ‘Never have I known such courage or resourcefulness under the most trying circumstances. If you were to take that one heart and divide it among a dozen men, they would be a dozen to be reckoned with.”
“Are you trying to mock me?” Aedan cried, standing.
Fergal returned the letter to the pouch. “The letter was written by my brother,” he said. “He was describing a boy who for the love of his young friend, leapt down a gorge two hundred feet deep in a final desperate attempt to save her. I would not have believed such a tale from any other source. My brother saw it with his own eyes and even made a part of the jump himself.”
Aedan was unable to speak, so violent were the emotions boiling within his chest, so Fergal continued.
“My brother is Nulty, and he tells me that he knew you well. Do you remember him?”
Aedan nodded.
“And do you remember the day of which he wrote?”
Aedan nodded again.
“Then sit, please. I would speak with you.” He waited until Aedan had settled down again and recovered. “Nulty also wrote of what he termed a dread association. He made enquiries after your departure and what he learned convinced him that your father had been beating you and your mother. The thing that gave birth to his suspicions was the way you responded when a nobleman, Dresbourn, prepared to thrash you.”
Aedan was silent. He wished he did not have to see it all again in such detail. He remembered the gasps as people covered their mouths, staring in morbid fascination at his disgrace. Some had shaken their heads. Some had even laughed. None had understood.
“Why can I stand up to anyone in training?” he blurted. “Why could I fight that gang at the fair but I can’t hold my ground when someone reminds me of how my father used to charge at me?”
“Perhaps because when those patterns were formed, your only possible defence was to cower. That part of your mind has locked onto the idea that there is no other way to survive the ordeal.”
The explanation made sense to Aedan, but it brought no consolation. “Even if I understand it, what use am I to anyone like this?”
“Use is a poor word, a small word. You are of great worth to many just as you are. But that is not to say you should expect to remain with this wound.”
“But how can I get rid of something that’s buried where I can’t find it?”
Fergal was silent and turned his gaze to the sky. Birds chattered, grassy swathes whispered to each other, clouds drifted, but Fergal remained still. Aedan was beginning to suspect that this was no mere dreaminess, no lost internal meandering. Those twinkling eyes were far too sharp. This man had something in common with those that burst into song at the dinner table or ask ludicrously personal questions in public – people’s expectation of him seemed to have little influence on his behaviour. His quirk, however, was neither loud nor indiscrete. He simply felt no discomfort about bringing a conversation to a juddering halt while he had a deep and careful think.
Aedan decided to wait him out, and wait he did. It was a long time before Fergal spoke again.
“Many have overcome their fears,” he said “– of battle, of heights, of loss, of society even. But it was often possible for them to grow by degrees. In your case, the onset of this fear is total. Repeating the experience seems likely to repeat
the result every time, unless something deep in your thoughts could be mended. I don’t have a clear solution for you, but I will certainly help you look for one.”
Aedan sighed. “I’m not sure I want to face the others again,” he said. “They think me a coward, maybe even a traitor.”
“If I were you, I’d not be too concerned with the opinions of soldiers who might have been our murderers. And I have spoken to the others. Osric is not disappointed in you. He is no less your friend now than before, though you might try to be a little less withdrawn. His confidence often deserts him in the area of relationships. If you don’t make an effort to accept his bumbling attempts at kindness you will both end up feeling you are not good enough for the other. I’ll not stand by such idiocy. Your bitterness will not aid you, and it will end up punishing those who care about you.”
Aedan blushed. This cleaner was certainly perceptive.
“What about Liru?” he said. “She and Tyne hate me.”
“I spoke with them too. Tyne’s anger is understandable, though it is short-sighted in her – she knows how you and your friends once intervened on Liru’s behalf. Liru’s anger is emotional. She feels abandoned. It is because of how much she had depended on you that she now feels as she does.”
Aedan was surprised at that and felt a slight warmth. “Will I be able to win her trust again?” he asked.
Fergal chuckled. “If you are asking a man to predict the current of a woman’s emotions, you are asking in vain. But I will say that you should try.”
“Tyne won’t even let me talk to Liru now.”
“When were you ever kept where others placed you? From your first night at the academy you’ve been leaving footprints where they do not belong.”
Aedan stared at him. “How do you know about that?” Then he remembered the size of the man they had disturbed and the mass of hair. Recognition lit his eyes.
“Remember now?” Fergal said.
“That was you?”
“It was.”
“Oh. Kian noticed that you had ink dripping from your hand. Did we make you spill something?”
“And ruin a manuscript I’d been working on since morning.”
“Oops – sorry. Did you tell anyone?”
“No. Neither did I tell anyone about the time you broke into the chancellor’s office and used a three-century-old marble bust to open the door.”
“How did you know that?”
“I know now.”
Aedan ground his teeth, squirming with embarrassment at being found out so easily. “Are you going to put me in the rat cells or prison?”
“I never liked that particular bust. The sculptor must have made his impression from a death mask because it gave all of us the jitters. Unfortunately nobody had the authority to remove such an important likeness of a former chancellor. Your little adventure, it turns out, had a happy result, but you will understand if you are not thanked for your efforts.”
Aedan managed a smile.
“No Aedan. I have no intention to see you incarcerated. In spite of this dread association with your father, you are still the most courageous and resourceful apprentice the academy has seen – if you are prepared to accept a cleaner’s opinion.”
It was the most encouraging thing he had been told in years, but in what Fergal had just said, there was a thorn. His apprenticeship, his training, his prince …
“You are quiet,” said Fergal. “Are you perhaps wondering about the sense in returning to – shall we say – a precarious loyalty?”
“Yes,” Aedan admitted. “But that brings up something I need to ask. If you knew about the conspiracy against us, why didn’t you help slow the party down?”
“We had plans, but you and Liru moved before us. The poisoned broth was an excellent idea though.”
“So you know,” pursued Aedan, “that your master has been sent here to die, perhaps you too?”
“We suspected it, but your overhearing that conversation between our prince and the first councillor was very useful.”
“Did Osric tell you it was me?”
“No.”
“Then how did you … Oh, you didn’t know, did you?”
“Again, I know now. But I had little doubt – who else would have been down there?”
“Fine. Guilty. But let’s get back to the question of home. What happens after the quest? Can we go back, and if we do, for what purpose?”
Fergal thought long about this. “Going back will not be without peril. I’ll not pretend to you that ensuring our safety will be a simple matter, but perhaps we shall think of something. As to purpose, well, we have a long journey ahead and much time to consider that from many angles.”
“Maybe some unpleasant angles too,” said Aedan. “There is a good chance we’ll get to do a lot of our travelling in the bellies of wolves or some other sharp-toothed creatures. Panther almost got my mother last time. And even if we make it past them, there’s the fortress itself. You know what happened to us when we entered?
“I do.”
“So how are we meant to get in?”
“With great care and delicate planning. There are many secrets to that fortress; Culver and I happen to know a few. You’ll see – we have more in mind than tiptoeing through the front gates.”
“But there’s no other way in.”
“Ah, there we have a topic for our first lesson. Can you detect the problem with what you just said?”
Aedan ran through the words a few times and then smiled. “I should have added ‘that I know of.’”
“Just so. You tried to establish a fact from a lack of evidence. Unless the inquiry has been so exhaustive as to explore every possibility, the lack of evidence should never be used to ground a statement of fact. Unlikelihood certainly, but no more. A prematurely assumed fact blocks further inquiry.”
“Can you give me an example?”
“The sea north of Lorfen is endless.”
“But isn’t it? Haven’t ships travelled for a month in that direction and found nothing?”
“Indeed. But the very fact that there was still water to the north when they turned back means that the exploration was incomplete. Who can say that they would not have sighted a great landmass one day on? Another is this: There are no spies in the academy.”
“Are there?” Aedan asked with shock.
“I hope not. But it would be unwise to assume not. Where easier for a spy to hide than in a place where no one believes a spy could exist? People never look beyond an assumed fact. One more: Lekrans have nothing worth respecting.”
Aedan stiffened. “That’s not a good topic for me.”
“But it is a necessary one. Prejudice creates blindness; it is too busy hating to think. No matter how justified it might feel, prejudice will shackle you.”
“But they –”
“Aedan. Use reason, not emotion. Have you made an exhaustive search of the whole population of Lekrau and found nothing worth respecting?”
Aedan’s eyes were hard. “I take your point, but please could we discuss something else.”
As they made their way back to the camp, Fergal illustrated the same principle by detailing several political and military defeats, and Aedan began to see how dangerous this little flaw in reasoning could be.
When they arrived at the camp, Aedan helped Osric with the meal. He understood now that there was no anger in the general’s eyes, only concern. Though it was unpleasant to be in the company of those who had seen him shamed, he bore it. Fergal had given him just a thread of hope to which he clung with slowly recovering tenacity.
Tyne called him aside. “Aedan,” she said in a voice that was as steady as the commander’s. The eyes that Aedan had been avoiding held him, and he did not look away. He realised now that the intensity of her look was perhaps better understood as sincerity.
“I was not aware of your background,” she said. “You have my apologies. The only thing I can find against your behaviour is that you should have w
arned Liru about your malady. She had a right to know because it was your responsibility to defend her. But I am not angry with you, and I’d be glad if you would count me as a friend.” She put her hand on his shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze, then turned and walked to the fire, allowing Aedan the chance to speak to Liru alone.
Liru did not greet him when he sat. He fiddled with a twig he had broken off a sapling, peeling the bark away, exposing the pale wood.
“Liru, I’m sorry. I should have told you. I thought that in a battle it might be different. It’s just very embarrassing to talk about. I’ve actually never talked about it. I hoped it wouldn’t happen.”
“You are right, Aedan. You should have told me.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose I deserve it. Thank you for stepping in front of me. It was brave of you. I hope you don’t regret it.”
“I regret it with every aching breath.”
“You would rather have me dead?”
“I am happy that you are alive and unhappy that I had to save you.”
Aedan shuffled. “Well, I’m glad that you are feeling strong enough to speak your mind,” he mumbled.
“I am Mardrae. Even dead Mardrae will speak their minds. Now go away. You are giving me a headache.”
Aedan slunk back to his fire. Liru was angry and would stay that way for a long time, but at least she would talk to him. That was something. Tyne went back to her, leaving Aedan and Osric alone.
They had not spoken openly since the battle. Neither seemed to know how to begin. When they did overcome their silence they spoke at the same time. Both stopped and insisted the other proceed, pressing with equal vehemence. It was Osric who got frustrated first.
“Have you eaten?” he asked with a huff of exasperation.
Aedan looked surprised by the question. “Oh. Yes, I ate a little earlier. But I’m not that hungry.”
“Not enough exercise today?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Oh, of course,” Osric mumbled. “Did you see the spoor outside the camp this morning? There are deer for the taking. Maybe you should head out with Merter. It might help to … to get back into the motions again.”
Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) Page 55
