by Sanders, Dan
Dedication
To my life companion, who saw a special me, took a chance and breathed life into a new future. And to my five freethinkers-thanks, for your smiles, your hearts and your hugs, and most wonderfully, your minds. This tale, and this new life, is for you.
All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
First published in Australia in 2014
Hawkmoth Publishing PL, Sydney, Australia
[email protected]
+612 8003 4492
Copyright © Dan Sanders 2014
Cover illustrations by Aaron Pocock © Hawkmoth Publishing PL 2014
ISBN: 9780992298326 (ebook).
Contents
Cover
Title
Dedication
Copyright
Map of Annwyn
Prologue: In the beginning-The Twin Worlds
Chapter 1: The Spartan Boys
Chapter 2: Cave of Shadows
Chapter 3: Gorgos Instructs Torek
Chapter 4: Daimon’s Surprise
Chapter 5: Eostra
Chapter 6: Xavier’s Errand
Chapter 7: Adros Rabbits
Chapter 8: Xavier’s Visitor
Chapter 9: Rabbit Rail
Chapter 10: Torek’s Assassin
Chapter 11: Adros Dagger
Chapter 12: Emily’s Destiny Revealed
Chapter 13: Mirakoth
Chapter 14: Lupi and the Prophecy
Chapter 15: Xavier’s doubts
Chapter 16: Sabina and the Seer Stone
Chapter 17: Torek’s New Power
Chapter 18: The Ibendari King
Chapter 19: Xavier’s Meets Theni
Chapter 20: Magas and Aldrick
Chapter 21: Sashiel and Aldrick
Chapter 22: Xavier’s Test
Chapter 23: Gala Dinner
Chapter 24: The Circle of Six Bestowed
Chapter 25: TreeBith-Nod
Chapter 26: Alendi
Chapter 27: Battle at the AGate
Chapter 28: Goodbye Aldrick
Chapter 29: Xavier’s Failure
Chapter 30: Finding Thilameth
Chapter 31: Sabina’s Trial
Chapter 32: Lupi Reunited
Chapter 33: Mithrans and Sabina
Chapter 34: Eostra’s Egg
Chapter 35: Korak Prison
Chapter 36: Storven
Chapter 37: Xavier and Daimon
Chapter 38: Errenor
Chapter 39: Gilga’s Kettle
Chapter 40: Xavier Visits Sirakon
Chapter 41: Child of Land and Water
Chapter 42: Emily Meets Torek
Chapter 43: Kato, last of the Fire-Tigers
Chapter 44: Xavier Bargains
Chapter 45: The Elementals
Chapter 46: The War Room
Chapter 47: The First Attack
Chapter 48: The Agramond Lend A Hand
Chapter 49: Sabina Arrives
Chapter 50: The Celestial Battle
Chapter 51: The Egg Workshop
Chapter 52: Eostra Celebration
Chapter 53: Easter to Earth
Prologue
In the beginning-
The Twin Worlds
In the beginning when the universe was still an infant and the energy lattices formed their layered silky web, matter and its brother, anti-matter, burst forth in fury and splendour.
Galaxies, randomly arranged as sisters, drifted side by side in a fathomless work of infinite and naked beauty. Planets with their mother moons and grandfather suns were born in a series of soundless explosions.
Gravity, the canvas of this infinite painting, stretched forever, pulling and pushing in a galactic tug-of-war, its frightening blackness splashed with honeyed yellow suns, dotted with brilliant white stars, hoarding devil-red dwarfs, with ocean-blue planets dusted exquisitely in the gaps.
And it was in these gaps that the Twin Worlds formed, overlaid on each other, unbeknownst to the other, conjoined as twins to play out lives in a cosmic drama with the multiverse as its stage.
When was this world Annwyn, so alive with power and the leading lady in this theatre, first introduced to her significant other, Earth? No one is sure; but for now, this little play, a knot in the belt of time, reveals a drama of exquisite beauty.
Chapter 1
The Spartan Boys
ATHENS, GREECE, EARTH
When Daimon decided to fix the hole in the wall for his mother, he had no idea it might be his last day on the Earth. He scraped his knuckle when he slapped the mortar into the jagged crack. Looking out the window into the streets below, he absently wiped away the droplets of blood. “Those Spartans are dogs, always causing trouble. ” He spat onto the floor.
“They are our allies,” Aspasia said gently, “and you should be careful with your words.”
“Mother,” Daimon said, rinsing his hands in a bucket. “War is only a word away with our so-called Greek brothers.”
“All the more reason to watch our words, darling.” Aspasia stoked the wood fire in the oven and slid two loaves onto the tray.
Daimon picked up his tools. Should he argue? With her back to the window, the noon sun glowed around his mother’s thin frame like a halo from the Gods. But that’s where the similarity ended. Her black hair wasn’t soft or shiny like the general’s women. It was frayed at the edges and often hung around the wrinkles that lined her eyes, lines he hadn’t seen until recently. One day he would look after her like a general.
She lowered the baskets she had picked up and looked at him with her usual gaze, her fierce eyes almost black. He looked away and continued repairing the wall.
“What’s really bothering you, son?”
“Nothing.” He pointed to the wall and said, “It’s finished. It should be warmer in here now. If there’s nothing else, my master will be needing me.”
“Your father will return to health, you wait and see.”
He forced a smile and fetched his sword from his bedroom. As he hitched it to his waist he said, “Mother, we need soldiers, not words. You’ve been paying too much heed to Demosthenes. It’s that soft thinking that confirms that education is no use for a woman.”
Aspasia walked over to him and wiped mud from his face. He shied away.
“Times are changing, Daimon. The old way of war upon war is ending. You’re a good squire and I’m sure Xenophon holds you in esteem, but you have a gentle heart and a good mind. I’ll say it again, you should think about studying philosophy and maths.”
“What of courage and honour? Have you forgotten the tales of Homer? It’s the deeds of the heroes that are the backbone of Athens, not words.”
Just then a heavy boy, tall as a man, burst into the room. “A gentle heart, hey? She can’t mean you.”
Daimon thumped his friend’s arm and pointed to the broad-brimmed hat on Alexi’s head. “What’s with the petasos? I can’t be seen with one so fancy. I’m just a sandal maker’s son.”
“It’s hotter than Hades out there,’ Alexi said. “And my skin is softer than yours.”
Daimon rolled his eyes and easily ducked his friend’s swinging hand.
“Mmm, is that warm bread?” Alexi said, sniffing.
“It’s for the festival,” Aspasia said. “But you can have the leftovers from our meal. Daimon’s impatience has removed his appetite.”
Alexi smiled, stuffed a lump of cheese into his mouth and said, “The Panathenaea is my favourite festival on the calen
dar.”
“You only go for the food,” Daimon said distantly. His thoughts had wandered to the Spartan boys that would be drifting in with their fathers. Always trouble. He hated the way they competed in the games just to try and demonstrate their physical superiority. He was proud to check on their whereabouts for his master. His size proved useful when discretion was required.
“Take it easy,” he said to Alexi. “You’ll be too slow in the tournament.”
Still chewing, Alexi said, “Speed is your advantage, my friend. Size is mine.”
A rasping cough with fits of gargled choking came from the other room.
“Is he still not well?” Alexi asked.
Aspasia glanced at Daimon and said, “He’ll recover.”
Daimon nodded. “The general has provided his own physician to care for my father.”
“The general’s a good man,” Alexi said, “if you’re on his side.”
“We’d better be going,” Daimon said, ignoring the barb.
“Alexi, tell my boy he should sing for us at the festival.”
“She’s right, you know,” Alexi said. “You sing like Apollo.”
“And I’ll be laughed at by all the soldiers and squires. Besides, haven’t you noticed my voice is going through the change?”
“Daimon, please?” Aspasia said. “There is no greater voice in all of Athens. You’ve been blessed by the gods.”
Daimon turned away. “I’ll think about it.” In conciliation he offered, “I’ll drop by the Parthenon and see if Socrates or Demosthenes is speaking. Will that make you happy?” He smiled and nudged Alexi.
His mother picked up the two baskets and said, “I’d better get back to cleaning the royal clothes.”
Daimon embraced his mother briefly and whispered, “I’ll take care of you and you take care of Father.”
The two friends dashed through the cramped streets, laughing as they moved past rows upon rows of homes in the hills, not stopping until they reached the agora at the bottom of the valley.
When Daimon saw the bustling town he breathed in the smell of society and forgot his troubles. The sun was warm and the Athens marketplace was a bustling hive of colour, sounds and smells, of chillies and curries, meats and tobacco. The agora was already swollen as throngs of people from the country piled in for the festival games.
“Hey, isn’t that Helena?”
Daimon followed his friend’s hand through the crowd and saw three girls giggling around a fountain. It was Helena and her friends. Helena was the general’s daughter, taller than him, with yellow, silky hair. Daimon hadn’t seen her for days and realised he had missed bumping into her. But the girls had already spied the boys. Daimon hated the girls’ exaggerated giggles, the way they cupped their hands to their mouths and turned away their shoulders. Just be straight with your thoughts, he always said.
“She likes you,” Alexi yelled into Daimon’s ear.
“She’s too high-born for me.”
“Not if you were a scholar. Your mother’s right. You could be one of the great sophists. Don’t waste your time as a soldier.”
Alexi stepped into the crowd toward the maidens. Daimon caught his friend by his tunic and said, “Not today. I have other plans.”
“Not the Spartans again?” Alexi waved his round arm to the crowd. “How will we find them in all this?”
His friend was right. They needed a higher vantage point. “This way,” Daimon said, glancing across at Helena, ignoring her high cheekbones and thin shoulders.
But Helena had seen him notice her and waved. He smiled briefly before pushing into the shoulders of the people moving down the thoroughfare like a school of fish. He would catch up with her later.
The crowd had thinned by the time they reached the Parthenon construction area at the top of the main causeway.
“Will the Parthenon ever be finished?” Daimon said.
“They say only one or two more years.”
“They said that three years ago. It’s been twelve years already.”
Even in its almost finished state, the Parthenon was imposing. Its white marble walls and white columns stood as sentinels to the centre of the modern world. Daimon was intrigued by the group of young men draped in robes, enthralled by the strident discourse of a ratty old man standing on the stairs. His robe was baggy and a bright red sash draped from his right shoulder across his body. Onlookers waved their arms in a mix of threatening and collegial gestures as his vigorous discourse rang over the commercial din wafting from the town centre.
“Is it–?” Daimon asked.
“I think so,” Alexi said.
“I need to get on the stairs near him.”
“I thought you didn’t like him?”
“I don’t. But I need his view of the city.”
Just then dark clouds moved in and the sky blackened in an instant. A gust of wind ripped through the market place, twisting its menace against the stone walls of the Athenian buildings. Stalls were overturned and people knocked to the ground, with food and scarves cast into the air like autumn leaves. And in the next instant the dark shadow faded, the sun moved back in, and the crowd shook their heads in wonder and resumed their festivities.
“What in Zeus’ name was that?” Alexi said, dusting off.
“The Gods must be fighting again. What else could be causing the snap storms and days of molten heat? Mother gets most scared when the fleeting colds arrive; they’re like ice from Persia.”
They gazed at the now clear sky before Alexi refocused and pointed to two Athenian soldiers on the edge of the stairs. “You’ll need to get past them if you want to get closer.”
Daimon recognised them from the general’s secondary guard. Casually he strolled up and hailed them. The sun glinted off their gold helmets and spear tips, their red himations billowing in the breeze. They laughed as he approached.
“What brings the general’s squire away from serving his master?”
“On an errand?”
The soldiers laughed. Their clipped pointy beards and deep voices annoyed him.
“For the general himself,” Daimon lied. He went to move between them but they crossed their spears and blocked his way.
“What could a little squirt like you do for the general?”
Daimon’s heart pumped while he thought up an answer. He leaned in between their helmets until he could smell their stale breath. “I am spying for the general, on this one here.” Daimon nodded in the direction of Socrates. “You may not have heard but the politicians call him a troublemaker. I heard it was Pericles himself who asked for General Xenophon to, let’s say, gather information.”
On seeing the soldiers’ uncertainty Daimon adjusted his chiton and said, “And the general wanted somebody smart enough to understand what was being said.”
Daimon’s knowledge of Socrates’ disfavour with the Athenian hierarchy confused the soldiers. They stared suspiciously at him; he smiled, moved their spears aside and casually stepped onto the marble stairs. He lost sight of Alexi after the soldiers refused to let his friend join him.
Daimon was only a few spans from the middle-aged philosopher who paid him no heed. From his elevated vantage Daimon saw down into the main town. This far north in the town the crowds were thin and aside from the young men enthralled by the orator beside him, only a few scullery maids and apprentice boys carried water and food to the various houses.
In between Daimon and Socrates was a well dressed Athenian with a braided grey beard, tightly woven ringlets for hair and a blue sash. Daimon recognised him. “Excuse me, but aren’t you Herodotus, the historian?”
Without removing his gaze from Socrates the man’s raspy voice said, “I am, young squire.”
“Then why are you here, listening to this man?”
Herodotus turned his steely blue gaze on Daimon and said simply, “The leading actors of history are often found in obscure places, in ignominious beginnings, and often ignominious endings.”
The th
ickset historian grinned then turned his gaze back to Socrates. Who was this man, Socrates? Daimon scratched his head and turned his attention to the heads of the people passing below. After searching for the Spartans a while, Daimon heard Socrates mention his hero, Homer, to an old bearded man called Glaucon.
Socrates cleared his throat, rubbed his wiry grey beard and said, “And now, I say, let me show in a story how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened. Behold! We can see human beings living in an underground den, which has a mouth open toward the light and reaching all along the den. Here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, and between the fire and the prisoners there is a raised way; and you will see, if you look, a low wall built along the way, like the screen which marionette-players have in front of them, over which they show the puppets.”
“I see,” said Glaucon. He looked like a scholar to Daimon, with his bronze robe, a gold braid about his midriff and his soft skin. Why would a scholar and an historian talk with somebody they called a troublemaker?
Socrates continued to Glaucon, “And do you see men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall? Some of them are talking, others silent.”
