The Waking of Orthlund [Book Three of The Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  Andawyr's face was pained. The felci were subterranean creatures with teeth and claws that could burrow through almost any rock. The thin vein that Kristabel referred to was cyffspar, a strange contaminant of unknown origin which in small quantities caused the felcis to hallucinate, and in larger quantities caused a convulsive and unpleasant death. It was, however, found only near the surface and as such was rarely encountered by the deep-burrowing animals.

  'You were very fortunate,’ Andawyr said. ‘You're not normally so careless. What drew you so close to the surface?'

  Kristabel dropped on to all fours and scuttled around the room. ‘No idea,’ she said, offhandedly. ‘Just following my nose. Still it was all for the best, wasn't it? You were in a mess when they brought you back.'

  'I'm in your debt, Kristabel,’ Andawyr said seriously. The felci chattered to herself and, muttering ‘Silly man,’ stood on her hind legs to peer into the alcove.

  'Oh dear,’ she said, before Andawyr could pursue the matter, her voice heavy with irony. ‘Still here, I see.’ She chattered provocatively at the bird and thrust out a paw towards it. In the blue light her teeth glinted malevolently and her eyes turned into black pits. Unexpectedly the bird, still frantic, retreated to the back of the alcove. ‘I think that's the last time you're going to be allowed to go to the Gretmearc alone, young man,’ she continued, then, laughing: ‘Such trouble you caused with your pet. Who's a naughty boy, then?'

  Oslang intervened before Andawyr could rise to the felci's bait. ‘The defences,’ he said significantly, pointing his thumb at the trapped bird.

  Andawyr nodded and continued the inspection that Kristabel's arrival had interrupted. ‘They're excellent,’ he said finally. ‘You've all done a very good job.'

  Oslang smiled.

  'However...’ Andawyr continued, lifting his hand.

  'Keep away from my seal,’ Oslang said sternly.

  Andawyr looked at him reproachfully. ‘However,’ he repeated, ‘a touch here,’—he ran his hand around the edge of the alcove, Oslang watching him intently—‘and here, should do it.’ He stood back.

  Slowly the flickering blue light steadied and the bird closed its eyes and became motionless. Kristabel made a disparaging noise and dropped back on to the floor.

  'That's better, isn't it?’ Andawyr said. ‘And I'll add my seal to yours if you wish. Just to make sure none of us fall into temptation.'

  Oslang ran his hand around the alcove as Andawyr had done. ‘It doesn't matter,’ he said, his voice awed. ‘You could undo and reseal my work and I'd never know.’ He turned to Andawyr. ‘This work is amazing. How...'

  Andawyr's hand rose to silence him. ‘I've taught you all I can,’ he said. ‘You yourself have improved beyond measure even in this short time, but I can't give you the experiences I had to face. Just keep learning and you'll keep improving.’ His manner became very serious. ‘Trust me, Oslang. Everyone is stronger now than I was when I was tested. Should you be so tested yourself, you'll not find yourself wanting.'

  Before Oslang could reply, Andawyr turned to Kristabel. ‘What did you want, my dear?’ he asked.

  'Nothing at all,’ the felci replied. ‘But they do.’ She looked upwards. ‘They're all sitting around waiting for you, like little schoolchildren. I do think it's sweet the way they all follow you around. They're so excited.'

  Andawyr levelled a cautionary finger at her. ‘Behave,’ he said sternly, opening the door. The felci laughed again and scurried out into the passageway.

  As she loped off, another felci appeared from a side passage and deliberately bowled her over. There was a brief scurrying scuffle which ended with the two animals running off, side by side, laughing uncontrollably.

  Andawyr watched them until they disappeared from sight, leaving only the lingering echo of their distant laughter. He shook his head. ‘They're marvellous,’ he said, smiling.

  'But?’ Oslang caught the doubt in his leader's voice.

  Andawyr's smile broadened. ‘But I can never escape the feeling that they regard us as pets,’ he said. ‘Kept here for their entertainment.'

  Oslang affected a worldly indifference. ‘Oh, is that all?’ he said. ‘Personally I've never had any doubts about that whatsoever.'

  * * * *

  The atmosphere in the Work Hall was charged with expectation. The only members of the Cadwanol who were not present were those who had been given the responsibility of manning the Caves’ physical defences, and for the most part, these were the younger members of the Order.

  The ceiling of the hall was domed, rising up in contrast to the floor, which consisted of tiers of broad steps tapering gradually downwards to end in a small central circular area. The whole was simple, restful and focussed.

  Three sloping aisles radiated up from the central area and it was down one of these that Andawyr strode purposefully.

  Reaching the centre, he looked round at his waiting brothers. By tradition, when the Order met formally, no one occupied the first tier. Thus the leader would be set beneath all those who had chosen him.

  As he turned round, he held out his hands, palms upwards. ‘These recent weeks have seen profound changes in us all,’ he began. ‘I think now that I've taught you such of my own new knowledge, my new understanding, as can be taught in so short a time. More, I suspect, can be learned only through the passage of time or through terrible individual trial. Neither of those fall within my gift.'

  He paused, and the silence of the mountains above seemed to fill the hall.

  'Soon, many of us must leave to start again the endless search for knowledge that Ethriss charged our forebears with,’ he continued. ‘But for all our vaunted knowledge and our new-found strength, we're as nothing against the power of Sumeral and His Uhriel, and while we're all here together, we must attempt the task that we've charged ourselves with—a task for which we have no guidance, but one which only we can undertake.’ He paused again, as if reluctant to take the final step into the beginning of what must be a new age.

  'Here, today, we must seek out the Guardians and waken them.'

  The step taken, his voice became more matter of fact. ‘We know nothing of the fate of any of them after the Last Battle. Theowart, Sphaeera and Enartion were rarely seen by men throughout the entire War of the First Coming, and it's not recorded where they were during that battle. However, it is recorded that, like Ethriss, they were human in their form on the few occasions they were seen.'

  He began to walk up and down, pausing occasionally to emphasize points with a jabbing finger. ‘Nor do we know anything of the fate of Ethriss. After the mêlée that followed the fall of Sumeral, he was gone. Some say he was struck down by Sumeral's last spear cast, but...’ He shrugged.

  'And of course, we know nothing of the bodies of Sumeral and the Uhriel. They too could not be found after the battle. And so, my brothers. We have ... nothing.'

  He opened his arms wide as if to encompass the entire hall.

  His voice fell. ‘Nothing that is, until I found myself pitched into conflict with an evil so ancient that hitherto I'd only read about it. Nothing, until I found myself aiding a hunted man who could be Ethriss himself, dormant. Nothing, until I found myself held in Narsindal, touched and bound by a power that could only be Sumeral.'

  He looked slowly round his audience. ‘Brothers. If Sumeral and His Uhriel are among us, and are seeking the still sleeping form of Ethriss, then the Guardians will lie somewhere, waiting our call.'

  Then his voice rose. ‘Who doubts this?'

  Interminable discussions over the weeks had laid low all possible doubts, and the Hall remained silent.

  'Who doubts our will?’ he continued, his voice still loud.

  Again, there was silence.

  Then finally, ‘Who doubts our strength and our skill?'

  Yet again no voices were raised, but the Hall filled with a murmuring rustle as all present raised their hands.

  Andawyr laughed, and cut through the silence with a clap
of his hands.

  'Good,’ he said. ‘Our new knowledge has taught us an old lesson and given us a small measure of our ignorance. However, I don't share quite all your doubts.’ The words he had spoken to Oslang earlier returned to him. ‘I told you I've taught you all I can. And that more, much more, you'll learn for yourselves as time passes and circumstances change. But trust me...’ He turned round again, gazing intently at his listeners. ‘Whatever frailty you may feel within yourself, remember that as individuals each of you is stronger by far than you've ever been, and as an Order we're stronger by far than we've been for generations.'

  He relaxed and smiled. ‘Brothers, let me be prosaic. Amongst other things, we're farmers. In our answer to the need for food lies all our answers. We must till the fields we have, with the tools we've made. To do otherwise would be to starve.'

  There was a ripple of movement around the audience.

  'Now,’ he said. ‘Who here feels himself so frail that he will not give his best endeavour to this task?'

  The movement stopped and no hands were raised.

  Andawyr closed his eyes. ‘Then the time is now, brothers,’ he said softly. ‘All words must cease.'

  There were no precedents for what they were trying to do, nor any guidance to be found anywhere. Their main hope lay in the certain knowledge that Sumeral and the Uhriel had been wakened, and that therefore such an awakening was possible. Through the weeks of debate they had decided eventually that a raucous display of the Old Power was not the way. Had such a display been used to rouse Sumeral, then surely they would have felt it. And who could have done it? Also, to use the power to such an extent now would be to announce their presence to Him beyond all doubt, and risk bringing Him down upon them.

  Someone, Andawyr could not remember who, had said, ‘Perhaps it was some act of faith that wakened them,’ and from that chance remark had developed the idea they were now about to attempt.

  Let there be a great silence. A man may sleep soundly through hubbub and uproar, yet wake suddenly at the lightest footfall. So might that not be the same for the Guardians, who had slept so long in the interminable clatter of the world they had formed?

  As Andawyr fell silent each of the Cadwanol in his turn closed his eyes and entered into his own stillness, as if preparing for some great trial with the Old Power. Each took with him such knowledge as he had of the four Guardians and their domains.

  Then, very slowly, each reached out to the other.

  A joining of the minds of two or three individuals was not uncommon for certain uses of the Old Power, but it was no easy feat, being easily disturbed by the normal urgencies of daily life and the natural self-centred imperfections of the human personality. For virtually the whole Order to be joined thus would verge on the miraculous. Yet, under Andawyr's new-found strength and calm, it began, imperceptibly, to happen, until soon it was far beyond anything that had ever been achieved in the past. As each doubt came to Andawyr, he acknowledged it and let it pass unhindered.

  There had been little difficulty in dealing with the problem of the cluttering pressure of daily routine, but when questioned about the possible effects of individual weakness, he had simply said: ‘You know the gravity of our need. You know some of your imperfections. Let them, and such others as you find, fall away—sink from sight in the stillness we shall make. Trust me. You have both the strength and the courage to do it.'

  At one point however, doubts and fears began to accumulate and cloud his clear stillness. He felt his own doubts begin to cling about him. Would they fail? Would he fail? Would he, who had had the arrogance to attempt to bring this about, destroy it with his own weakness? If that happened, such a joining could never be achieved again, and who then would even attempt to waken the Guardians? The stillness wavered.

  Then, apparently irrelevantly, the thought came to him that if any force had, over the years, subtly dulled their wish to travel and seek new knowledge, it may not necessarily have been malign. How else could so many of the Order have been here, and been so rested, so introverted, to attempt this extraordinary deed? And if no external force had induced their seemingly inexcusable lethargy, was not this now a fitting atonement?

  Andawyr's reproach about their neglect had struck cruelly at every member of the Order, including himself and, not being fully debated, had grumbled uneasily beneath the surface of their normal activities over the past weeks. Now, the unexpected appearance of this alternative interpretation of their seeming inaction spread through the merging minds like an absolving flux, trailing a great lightness in its wake and carrying all his doubts with it.

  An act of faith, Andawyr recalled, and the lightness spread.

  Then, without a perceptible change, the one mind became freely his and he allowed it to enter into the deepest stillness he had ever known.

  But there was still an unease; the faintest ripple on the surface of this deep and silent lake.

  What breeze blows yet? Andawyr felt the question form around him.

  Expectation, he answered, after a timeless moment. And with sure ease, he let it go.

  The stillness became almost absolute. That it was flawed here and there reassured him.

  Into it he formed the names of the Guardians. And around each name was the totality of his mind's knowledge.

  Share our stillness. Let us know your presence. You are needed. Your creation is threatened again.

  Stillness.

  Silence.

  Then he was aware that he was listening to the Guardians.

  ’ ... cannot be as it was. All things are changed.'

  How long had the voice—voices—been speaking? They were faint and distant—tired? Weak?

  Vague images formed in his mind. Three figures, as faint and distant as the voices. Or was it one figure? That they had no reality, he knew. They were images; his mind needed to accept the reality of the voices.

  He let them form and change in the stillness, and he listened. ‘We are not ... as we were. We sleep and ... do not sleep. We are...'

  The emphasis of the last brief phrase eluded Andawyr, but he ignored the temptation to pursue it.

  'Understand...'

  Then he was earth and water and air. Strong yet weak. Resolute yet fearful. Complete but incomplete. Lost. Searching.

  Alone they were not enough. That thought was vivid. All could be lost. The sudden pain was unbearable. Life must fight where life was assailed.

  'Ethriss.’ A cry, a plea? A recognition?

  For the merest instant, his mind, the mind of the Cadwanol, touched a stirring form. But it was bound. Hidden? He sought it again, but it was gone.

  Then the voices too were gone. They would not return. Lingering in the distant echoes of their passing was the sense of their need. Ethriss had to be found.

  * * * *

  That evening, Andawyr and a few of the senior brothers sat in the Council Chamber. They had agreed before the attempt to wake the Guardians that they should meet and discuss whatever had been its outcome. However, while conscientious habit had brought them there, a meditative silence pervaded the room. The torches had been extinguished, and bright moonlight washed in through the window openings.

  Andawyr stared out at the Riddin countryside, its familiar outlines subtly changed in the moonlight. An occasional night bird flew black across the tinted sky, to disappear into the darkness.

  In the silence following the enigmatic passage of the Guardians, Andawyr had slowly guided the Cadwanwr back to the solid reality of the Work Hall until each was himself again. No one had spoken as the companionable silence of gathered friends gradually replaced the deep silence of their strange and unique communion. Then, without command, the gathering had quietly broken up.

  Even now, so many hours later, the spoken voice seemed a coarse, inadequate means of communication.

  That the joining of the minds of the Order had been a success was beyond doubt. A success the like of which had never before been achieved by the Order. But the contact
with the Guardians had been strange and disturbing. What had they expected? Andawyr thought. The proud, armoured figures of children's tales? The icy disdain of creatures too far above humankind to concern themselves further? He did not know. But he had not expected the faint, almost whispering voices with their enigmatic words. Nor had he expected the strange ambiguities he had sensed. Least of all had he expected to be suddenly as they were, sharing their vision and their concerns, and worst of all, sharing their doubts and fears.

  Yet he had shared. They had allowed it. Indeed they had brought it about, for he couldn't have achieved it. It had been thrust upon him. They had deemed it necessary that the Cadwanol understand something. Now each Cadwanwr must ponder what that was.

  'What did it mean, Andawyr?’ A soft voice echoed Andawyr's thoughts. It was Oslang's. Andawyr smiled in the moonlit darkness. Traces of the joining lingered still. Looking round he saw that some of the others were smiling too.

  'It means that we're wiser than we were,’ Andawyr replied. ‘We've reached the Guardians, and they us. It was perhaps foolish to imagine that we could talk with them as if they were ... ordinary people. But for all the strangeness of their words we know now that they live, my friends. They live. And we know that they, like we, search for Ethriss. We have allies that we knew nothing of.’ He paused. ‘But...'

  'Put your faith in the Guardians, but keep your sword sharp,’ Ryath said.

  Andawyr chuckled. ‘A Fyordyn expression I think,’ he said. ‘But apt. We've sought for guidance and it wasn't what we expected, but we needn't concern ourselves too much about that. It was guidance nonetheless and the lessons of today's work may be years in coming.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘They may serve a purpose too subtle for our poor understanding. We shouldn't forget that we're their servants, not they ours.’ Gently he slapped his hands together. ‘The lessons of history, however, we know already. Tomorrow some of us go back out into the world, to listen and learn and teach.'

  'And to search for this man, Hawklan?’ someone said.