Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

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, look-ing 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… ’

‘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 menac-ingly, but before the conversation could continue, another voice was 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? amp;mdashDacu’s words! ‘… gave him a deeper truth, and he has chosen it.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Hawklan said, his brow furrow-ing.

‘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 amp;mdashas 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 uncer-tainty. ‘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 amp;mdasha 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, mak-ing 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 disbeliev-ing mockery as these images formed out of the sounds, but Gavor was stretching his head high, and ruffling his wings importantly.