Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Loman took his elbow and gently turned him round, away from the scene. ‘He probably is,’ he said. ‘But there’ll be worse if we don’t stop this before it starts. Can’t you feel the anger in yourself already?’

The man looked at him uneasily for a moment, breathing unsteadily. Then he moved to intercept others who were running almost compulsively towards the stricken man.

Loman forced down his irritation again and looked into the valley. Down there they had all been together; a large crowd and, for the most part, happy. There they had successfully withstood the Alphraan’s assaults. But here, they were spread out. Without the great stabilizing reservoir of people around them, individuals could be attacked and used as a focus to draw more and more people into an ever greater conflict.

Loman actually felt it happening as he heard in-creasingly angry voices coming from the group around the fallen man.

‘Call out to them, Jenna,’ he said softly. ‘Tell them they’re under attack and to stay as calm as they can until we get more people there.’

Jenna did as she was bidden. At the sound of her voice, several members of the group around the stricken man turned angrily, confirming Loman’s analysis.

Jenna’s voice started to rise in pitch until Loman took her arm gently. ‘They don’t mean it, remember?’ he said. ‘It’s the Alphraan. Tell them the same. Tell them the obvious. We can attend to whoever’s been hurt when everything’s calmed down.’

Loman glanced around. People were gathering be-hind him. He felt afraid. How many could the Alphraan affect at once? They’d wrought havoc in camp six. How effective would the Orthlundyn’s own awareness of the nature of the attack be as a defence against it? If this crowd slipped out of control… up here! He forced the thoughts aside. It was up to him to see that this did not happen.

‘We’re being attacked,’ he said to them quietly. ‘Just remember that we dealt very successfully with many such assaults when we were in the valley yesterday and, by staying calm, we’ll deal with this one too. We must be getting very near to their… homes… now, so this will probably be the first of many attempts to drive us away.’ He looked at the crowd intently. ‘Set aside any feelings of anger you have, no matter how justified they seem. Remember that we’re dealing with a frightened people now, and that calmness and gentleness are our only weapons.’

Angry voices came again from the group around the fallen man. Loman felt his own anger begin to rise in response to the sound, then, unexpectedly, it slipped from him.

He started to move forward. ‘Are you going to per-sist in this, Alphraan?’ he asked. ‘Are you not going to cease until more terrible deeds have been done? Until more people have been killed?’

‘We will not allow you your weapons, human.’ The Alphraan’s voice was fraught and vicious. ‘We will not allow you to scar the world with your evil and treacher-ous ways again.’

Loman looked surprised. He had not expected an answer to his question. ‘We?’ he said ironically, still continuing forward. ‘I still don’t believe you speak for your people, voice, but let that pass. I won’t debate the rights and wrongs of our actions with you further. You’ve heard enough to appreciate them fully, even though you seem to prefer not to listen. And you’ve heard and seen enough to know that, as promised, no matter what the cost, we will protect ourselves and we will move ever into your domain until you release the Armoury and agree to leave us alone.’ A wisp of anger floated into his voice, but it was his own and he used it. ‘We are preparing to fight against the monstrous will of Sumeral Himself. Did you think that we would yield so easily to your petty tyranny?’

A sound formed in the air that might have been the beginning of a reply, but Loman dismissed it with a wave of his arm.

With the Orthlundyn walking silently behind him, Loman reached the fallen man. The group around the man had fallen silent at his approach, and Loman looked at each in turn. ‘Well done,’ he said encourag-ingly. ‘Their will is failing, just as ours is growing in strength. All will be well soon.’

Then he bent down and examined the injured man. He’s got a nasty gash on his head, but I think he’s just unconscious,’ he said after a moment. ‘Take him down to base camp, gently.’

As the man was carried away, Loman turned to the silent, watching people around him. ‘Somewhere around here is one of the entrances to the Alphraan’s… our neighbours’ domain,’ he said. ‘Look for it, carvers.’

Before anyone could move, a terrible screech rent the air. ‘Never, human!’ screamed a voice amp;mdashmany voices amp;mdashcracked with rage.

Loman staggered back under the impact of the ap-palling sound, his hands to his ears. Only instinct enabled him to keep his balance on the uneven boulders. He cried out in pain.

Around him he could see the crowd was similarly affected, people staggering and stumbling on the unforgiving rocks. They were his responsibility, but all he wanted to do was flee this place amp;mdashto run and run until he was free of this dreadful pain. Yet his feet would not respond and, oddly, there was a quality in the sound which encouraged him to stand and oppose.

But there was also desperation. This was a last ef-fort.

Here, smith, you are re-forged or marred forever, he thought.

Then the quality of the sound changed. It lapped around him, mocking, taunting, tearing at him. It unearthed old and fearful memories which rose up and threatened to send him fleeing blindly across the mountainside until he crashed to his death over some unseen cliff.

But it woke another memory. A memory of trials faced and survived.

Loman stood up straight and took his ineffectual hands from his ears. ‘No, Alphraan,’ he said, though he could not hear his own words. ‘You may destroy me, but I will not die whimpering. I will not die dishonouring all those who have made me what I am.’ He opened his arms as if to receive the assault. ‘I have walked the labyrinth, and its ancient power had judged me no enemy. I am not afraid of your petty malice.’

Then, as if moving against a powerful wind, but without bowing, he began to move slowly forward. The sounds filling him became unbearable, and he felt consciousness slipping from him.

‘If I fail, others will follow,’ he said. ‘They will follow always, until you have released what you have unlaw-fully bound.’

He took another step forward, somehow still manag-ing to keep his balance on the uneven rocks.

‘Tirilen… ’ he thought as he felt his last ties break-ing under the terrible onslaught.

But the sound changed again. Abruptly it became loud and shrill, though, Loman realized, it had moved from him. The blackness receded and he was standing again amongst his friends surrounded by a deafening, but harmless clamour.

He looked around. The crowd had been scattered somewhat, but all were now motionless, listening spellbound to the noise rising and falling about them. For even though no coherent language could be heard it was patently a furious argument.

Loman grimaced as he felt anger, frustration and resentment all around him, mingling with regret, fear and denunciation. It seemed to go on interminably, then, as if cut by a sword stroke, it stopped suddenly and for a moment there was silence. Loman stared around in disbelief, thinking briefly that the sound had destroyed his hearing. But before he could speak the noise swelled up again.

This time however, it was profoundly different. This time it was full of disbelief; a disbelief that turned gradually to wonder and joy. Despite his recent ordeal, Loman felt a lump in his throat as he found himself the inadvertent witness to a great rejoining: the coming together again of a family that had been so long apart that each half had thought the other to be perhaps no more than a mere myth.