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

by Roger Taylor

  'Did the ... noise wake you?’ Isloman said, still searching for some point of stability.

  Hawklan turned to look down the tunnels facing them.

  'No,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It was a silence, not a noise. Something ... someone reached out, and...’ He hesitated. ‘...brought me together again, here, now.'

  'Silence?’ said Isloman disbelievingly, remembering vividly the crushing sounds that had borne him to the ground and sent him into oblivion. ‘Someone? I don't understand. Who?'

  Dacu joined the conversation before Hawklan could answer. ‘It was very strange, Isloman,’ he said, an unfamiliar tension in his voice. ‘Tirke and I were struggling with the horses, when we saw both you and Gavor go down. We tried to get to you, but that appalling noise just got louder and louder...’ He grimaced at the memory. ‘It seemed to be almost solid. I thought we were all going to die, then...'

  'Then?’ prompted Isloman impatiently.

  'Then it was gone,’ Dacu said. ‘In an instant.'

  'They stopped?’ Isloman said.

  Dacu shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Something stopped them. Swept their noise aside.’ He paused as if scarcely believing what he was remembering. ‘A great silence ... no, more a silence and a stillness, seemed to well up suddenly from...’ He gestured vaguely around the cave, and his voice fell. ‘...from everywhere. It just rolled over that dreadful din, as if its sheer ... intensity, power ... rendered such a noise irrelevant.'

  Abruptly, the tension faded from both his face and his voice and he began to smile. ‘It was beautiful,’ he said. ‘I've sat in quiet stillness many times and found great solace, but this was far beyond anything I've ever known. And I didn't have to struggle for it. It was given to me, Isloman. Just given. Unbelievable. A gift. A gift to guide me forever. Whoever sent it to us has knowledge and understanding far beyond ours.'

  He paused, obviously profoundly moved by the memory of the event. His manner was such that the peace of the stillness he had woken to returned vividly to Isloman. Who indeed could have created such a thing?

  With an effort he brought himself back to the present. ‘And Hawklan?’ he asked.

  But Dacu too seemed to be having some difficulty in abandoning his preoccupation. He looked at Isloman. ‘Hawklan?’ he echoed, then, nodding, ‘As the silence faded, he just opened his eyes and stood up. Stood up as if he'd only just sat down. Walked straight across to you and Gavor.'

  'And you didn't make this ... silence?’ Isloman asked Hawklan, knowing the answer.

  'No,’ Hawklan replied, shaking his head. ‘I don't know what it was, or where it came from. I felt it and ... heard it, in a way. And when it was gone, I was back with you. Whole again. As Dacu said, as if I'd never been away.'

  He frowned slightly. ‘It had something vaguely familiar about it, but ... ?’ He shrugged.

  'Who cares? Who cares?’ Gavor boisterously interrupted the collective reverie of the group. ‘You're back safe and well, and we can leave. Get back to Anderras Darion.’ He flapped past Dacu's head, startling the Goraidin, and landed on Hawklan's shoulder, where he jumped up and down excitedly.

  Hawklan reached up and touched the side of his beak with his forefinger. ‘Not yet, I think,’ he said. ‘Not yet. We have allies to win here. We have to talk to the Alphraan.'

  Isloman touched his arm nervously. ‘Allies?’ he said disbelievingly. ‘I don't think so. I agree with Gavor. I think we should leave while we can. They nearly killed us just now, and even before that they didn't seem too inclined towards tolerance.'

  'So I heard,’ Hawklan said. ‘But they're also in some doubt, if I'm not mistaken. We have to try and talk to them.'

  'Why?’ said Isloman, almost rebelliously, the memory of his recent helplessness returning to him. ‘If you heard, you know what happened. There was nothing any of us could do when they attacked us. We didn't even see them.'

  Dacu joined in. ‘Hawklan, you above all know how important it is that we get to Anderras Darion and tell your people what's happening in Fyorlund,’ he said. ‘Isloman's right. We're defenceless against these ... creatures ... whatever they are, and there's no reason to suppose they won't come back and attack us again. We must leave.'

  Hawklan nodded. ‘True,’ he said, looking at him. ‘But would you leave such an enemy on what might come to be your supply lines?'

  Dacu turned away and looked towards the cave entrance, now brightening with the morning light. Then he turned back and met Hawklan's gaze squarely. ‘My duty—our duty,’ he indicated Tirke, ‘is to bring accurate information from our Lords to your people, Hawklan, so that those who have to make decisions about supply lines and such matters can do so with some confidence. I've also to ensure that you and Isloman arrive safely. Neither of these will be achieved if we wilfully seek out someone who's already shown themselves unwilling to listen and quite willing to kill us.'

  Hawklan smiled slightly. ‘I accept your rebuke, Goraidin,’ he said. ‘You're right. But if these people are uncertain ... ill-informed ... then they're vulnerable also. Vulnerable to manipulation. Words from His agents to pander to their ignorance could turn them utterly against us, and who knows how far their domain extends under these mountains? Perhaps they've been watching us for days. Perhaps they could attack us at any point between here and Anderras Darion. I must try and speak with them while we're here and while they're prepared to come so near.'

  Then, before Dacu could protest, he continued forcefully. ‘You and Tirke take the horses outside and get them loaded and ready to start.’ He looked at Isloman enquiringly. Resignedly, the carver nodded his great head. ‘Isloman and I will stay here for a little while and see if any of the Alphraan return. Whatever's happened, after that strange silence they'll be in a different frame of mind, I'm sure. With luck, they'll be considerably less belligerent.'

  Dacu was unrepentant. ‘I'd rather rely on solid information than luck, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘I think the risk is too great.'

  'So do I, so do I,’ Gavor echoed agitatedly.

  'A few minutes,’ Hawklan offered softly, but resolutely. Dacu looked from Hawklan to Isloman, and then nodded to Tirke to start preparing the horses.

  'A few minutes only, then,’ Dacu accepted, unhappily. ‘And take great care. We may not be able to come in and get you out if there's trouble. And if we're attacked outside we'll have to abandon you.'

  'Yes,’ Hawklan said. ‘I realize that. You must do whatever's necessary to get to Loman and Gulda at Anderras Darion no matter what happens.'

  The two men stared at one another for a moment, then Dacu bowed slightly in acknowledgement and turned to help Tirke who was busying himself saddling the horses. Hawklan and Isloman joined them, and for a few minutes the cave was full of the reassuring sounds of preparation for travel.

  Serian walked over to Hawklan and pushed him gently. ‘I'll stay with you,’ he said. ‘The noise didn't trouble me badly as it did the others. I think they were actually trying not to hurt me.’ Hawklan reached up and embraced the horse's neck.

  Then with a last cautionary look, Dacu and Tirke left, and the four companions walked slowly to the rear of the cave until they came to the tunnel entrances.

  They stood in silence.

  'Thank you,’ Hawklan said softly, after a while, looking at Isloman and Serian. ‘You saved my life, perhaps my soul, at the palace gate and afterwards. I'm sorry for what I led you to in my folly...'

  Isloman took his arm. ‘We all followed you willingly, Hawklan,’ he said. ‘And in ignorance, not folly. I've thought about it a lot while I've been looking after you. I don't think we could have done anything else. Dan-Tor's deeds drew us to him inexorably. The important thing is that somehow we survived. And we're wiser now.'

  'Not much,’ Gavor said caustically, fidgeting on Hawklan's shoulder. ‘Otherwise we'd all be on Dobbin here and off over the horizon.'

  Serian pawed the ground and eyed Gavor menacingly, but before the conversation could continue, another voice wa
s heard.

  'Who are you?’ it said flatly.

  'I really think we should go now, dear boy,’ Gavor whispered into Hawklan's ear, tightening his claw around Hawklan's shoulder anxiously.

  Hawklan gestured him silent and moved towards the waiting tunnels. He motioned Isloman to hold up his torch higher.

  'Stop this nonsense,’ he said powerfully.

  Isloman stared at him. Not only was Hawklan's response unexpected, but his voice had a commanding tone that he had never heard before.

  'You know who we are,’ Hawklan continued. ‘You've been listening long enough.'

  There was a brief silence, then Hawklan continued, his voice now almost angry, as if wearying of tiresome children. ‘This is Serian,’ he said. ‘A horse of the Muster, a horse of great and ancient lineage who honours me by allowing me to ride him. This is Isloman, the First Carver of the village of Pedhavin.’ He pointed back to Isloman's carving. ‘A Master, as anyone with an ounce of wit can see.’ Then he reached up and Gavor jumped onto his hand. ‘This is Gavor, who came with me out of the mountains some twenty years ago and has been my companion and shield ever since.’ Gavor flapped his wings noisily for the benefit of his unseen audience. Hawklan pressed on, ‘And I am Hawklan, bearer of the key and the word to open Anderras Darion. A healer, and now, these past months, bearer of the sword of Ethriss.'

  Still there was silence, though Hawklan's words could be heard echoing into the distance.

  'Are you not going to call us liars and thieves again?’ he said after a while, still stern.

  'We are sorry,’ said the voice after another long silence. ‘We were afraid.'

  Hawklan's voice softened. ‘You murder those you fear?’ he said. ‘Even when they try to run away from you?'

  'We are sorry. We were afraid,’ the voice repeated. ‘And confused. We did not wish to harm you, but...’ Sounds filled the cave. Although he could hear no coherent language, it seemed to Isloman that the sounds were full of regret and explanation. The voice re-emerged imperceptibly from the confusion. ‘The one among us who disturbed your ... companions ... no longer...’ Guides? Rules? Teaches? Isloman found himself again struggling with a sound that seemed to contain every possible shade of meaning centred around the idea of leadership.

  'His song here is ended,’ concluded the voice. ‘The...’ Great Silence? Stillness?—Dacu's words! ‘...gave him a deeper truth, and he has chosen it.'

  'I don't understand,’ Hawklan said, his brow furrowing.

  'It is unimportant,’ came the reply. ‘We are not as you. Our ways are very different. We have not the...’ Words? Sounds? Patterns? ‘...gross enough to explain to you ... nor do we wish to try.’ There was both distaste and regret in the voice.

  'We are sorry,’ it continued. ‘This has been another sad meeting. You may go if you wish, we will not hinder you. We too wish to return to our...’ Home? Heart? Warmth? ‘...and be free of the memories that have been awakened.'

  'We can part if you wish, sound weaver,’ Hawklan said, more quietly. ‘But more than memories have been awakened. Your days of peace too are ended. For the sake of each of us we must talk—as well as we can. Isloman told you only the truth, and you must hear it. All must hear it. Sumeral is awake...'

  'No!’ The voice was startlingly loud, but there was no angry denial in it this time; rather it seemed to be trying to shy away. But Hawklan's tone held it.

  'Sumeral is awake,’ he said again, gently. ‘As are His Uhriel. He is unchanged in His intent and He is growing in strength. Derras Ustramel has been built again.'

  'How can this be so?’ asked the voice, still, Isloman sensed, struggling not to flee back to some deeper darker haven, where this terrible light could not shine. ‘He was slain.'

  'I don't know,’ Hawklan said. ‘But He is with us again. We've seen His work and we here have all faced Oklar in his wrath.'

  'But you live.’ The voice was full of doubt and uncertainty. ‘None could face Oklar and live.'

  Slowly Hawklan drew his sword. ‘This protected us,’ he said, holding it out. ‘Perhaps if I'd been more skilled, it might have protected others as well, but...’ He left the sentence unfinished.

  'Your pain is great,’ said the voice, unexpectedly compassionate.

  Hawklan started slightly. ‘It will be lessened when the news of His coming is spread forth,’ he said. ‘Knowledge of Him is the beginning of our protection against Him. Ignorance is His greatest weapon and His greatest ally.'

  There was a silence, then, ‘The great ... stillness ... that returned you here tells of ancient powers abroad again. But humans were ever treacherous and deceitful.’ The voice was almost despairingly frank. ‘How can we know the truth of what you say?'

  'I know too little of you and your history to defend my kind,’ Hawklan said. ‘We too are sometimes afraid and confused.'

  'And wicked.'

  'And wicked,’ Hawklan conceded. ‘But Serian and Gavor too have seen, and their sight is not easily deceived.'

  There was no reply.

  Hawklan pointed towards Isloman's carving. ‘And how could even a Master Carver make such a likeness if he had not seen with his own eyes?’ he asked.

  Still there was no reply.

  Hawklan held out his sword again. ‘You know this is Ethriss's sword. Could this above all things be deceived? Could this be found and wielded by a thief to work at His bidding?'

  'But who are you?’ the voice said again.

  'Twenty years a healer,’ Hawklan replied. ‘Now, a healer and ... something else. I don't know what—a focus for strange and dreadful events. As for who I was before I found myself in the mountains...’ He shook his head. ‘I too have only faith that I'm not the agent of some great evil.'

  There was a long silence. ‘They've gone,’ Isloman said softly.

  'Good,’ said Gavor. ‘Let's...'

  'Is it true that Anderras Darion is open?’ The voice interrupted him. It had changed in some way. There was a restrained excitement in it.

  'Your kin are in the mountains down there,’ Gavor answered unexpectedly, and rather impatiently. ‘Ask them.'

  A babble of sound rose up around the group, making Gavor retreat hastily to Hawklan's shoulder. For a moment both Isloman and Hawklan too looked alarmed. But there was no menace in the sound. The excitement had broken through some restraint. Isloman felt images form in his head. Images of family, joining, the ending of long separations, and many others. An embarrassed eavesdropper, he tried to turn away from the naked intensity of some of them, so poignant were they.

  Gradually the sound merged into the single voice again. ‘Tell us of our kin...’ Soaring shadow? Sky prince? Isloman gave Gavor a sidelong look of disbelieving mockery as these images formed out of the sounds, but Gavor was stretching his head high, and ruffling his wings importantly.

  'They struck down a strange bird that was following us,’ Hawklan said quickly, before Gavor could get into his story-telling vein.

  The babble began again. Struck down a bird? To aid a human?

  'Come with us,’ Hawklan said, cutting across it. ‘Come to Anderras Darion. See for yourself. Speak to others who...'

  The noise stopped suddenly, and the voice spoke again, full of great sadness. ‘We cannot,’ it said. ‘The ways are long sealed since the felci went.'

  Both Hawklan and Gavor started. In the word ‘felci’ came vividly the image of the sinuous creature that had set about the men attacking Andawyr's tent at the Gretmearc. It was pervaded with a deep sense of loss. Also came images of isolation, of glories long decayed, ancient places crumbling, inaccessible.

  'You may travel with us,’ Hawklan said, frowning as he tried to encompass the many meanings in the Alphraan's speech.

  'No,’ said the voice unequivocally. ‘Wait.'

  There was another long silence. Absently, Hawklan replaced his sword in its scabbard, and then peered into the dark tunnels ahead.

  'You'll see nothing,’ Isloman said. ‘Wherever they are
, they're well beyond my vision.'

  'We will come,’ said the voice suddenly. Thanks and expectation glowed around the words, though they were mingled with some fear and uncertainty.

  Hawklan smiled. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘We'll wait for you with the others while you ... make your preparations.'

  'Do not wait,’ said the voice. ‘We will be with you.'

  'But...’ Hawklan began.

  'Do not wait,’ the voice repeated. ‘We will be with you. We do not need your help.'

  The tone was final, dismissive almost, although again thanks hovered around it. With a resigned shrug to Isloman, Hawklan moved towards the cave entrance.

  Dacu stood up from the rock he had been sitting on when Hawklan and the others came out into the overcast, but bright, morning daylight. ‘Take care on the scree,’ he called out needlessly. His voice sounded clear and simple in the cool air, after the disorienting and subtle speech of the Alphraan.

  Hawklan raised a hand in acknowledgement and paused at the cave entrance to look around at the surrounding peaks, solid against the grey sky. Then he extended his arms and took a deep breath. ‘It's good to be back,’ he said.

  Without a word, Gavor launched himself from Hawklan's shoulder and, dipping first low over the scree slope, rose high above his watching friends to settle on the air currents rising up the cliff face. He began to glide round in great arcing circles, pausing occasionally to fold his wings and tumble precipitously downwards before suddenly sweeping upwards again to join yet more of the pathways that only he knew. The mountains echoed back his laughter.

  Hawklan watched him, and smiled. Then he looked at his hands and flexed them again. ‘Very good,’ he added softly.

  'What happened?’ Dacu said, when Hawklan and Isloman reached him. ‘We heard noises, but nothing that sounded dangerous.'

  'They're coming with us,’ Hawklan said without explanation. Dacu looked surprised and then concerned. ‘How many?’ he said, glancing at the pack horses in some alarm. ‘We'll have even less supplies now you'll be eating again. And how are they going to travel?'