Roger Taylor - The waking of Orthlund

Blackness welled up inside Hawklan at this new pain, but in the far distance he felt the stirring of an ancient and frightening desperation.

No, it began to say.

But before it rose to possess him fully, there were lights around him, and voices, shouting. Then a flash of steel and a dreadful thud, followed by a piteous howl.

Hawklan felt the life under his hand quiver and begin to fade. Then the weight on top of him was gone, and the howl ended abruptly as two more heavy blows fell.

Hawklan’s ears were filled with the sound of his heartbeat and his breathing as he looked up at the ring of concerned faces forming around him. Dacu, Isloman, Tirke.

‘Is he all right?’ he heard one of them say distantly.

He closed his eyes and nodded. Hands reached down and pulled him up gently into a sitting position. A kerchief wiped his face.

The hands helped him to his feet and for a moment he leaned on someone shakily and breathed deeply to quieten himself. As he did so, he became aware of shimmering, triumphant sounds of elation and joy all around him.

The sounds of the Alphraan’s rejoicing, however, formed a macabre backdrop to the grim features of his friends and the mosaic of pains starting to spread through his body.

‘Some chase you led us, Hawklan,’ Dacu said, wiping blood and matted fur from his sword.

Hawklan nodded and rested a hand briefly on the Goraidin’s shoulder. Partly still for support, partly in gratitude and apology. Then he flexed his fingers and tentatively felt his throbbing arm. His heavy tunic had protected him from the creature’s rending teeth, but its molars had taken some toll. ‘It’s only bruised, I think,’ he said hoarsely but with some relief. ‘Nasty, but it should be all right in a day or two.’

Dacu looked doubtful but Hawklan waved his con-cern aside. ‘Let’s have a look at this creature of His,’ he said anxiously. It was a peculiarly frightening thought that Sumeral’s creatures could be alive and seemingly thriving so long after His passing and so near to Orthlund.

The four men circled the fallen creature. Its eyes were wide and staring and its mouth was agape. The Alphraan’s happiness filled the air.

Pain returned to Hawklan’s face. ‘Is this the creature that killed your people?’ he asked, looking up into the darkness.

No clear answer came, but the sounds told him… yes, yes, yes, His creature, sierwolf, sierwolf… Then they danced away again.

Hawklan knelt down by the carcass and laid a hand on it.

‘Stop it,’ he said softly but intensely. The sounds wavered. ‘Stop it,’ he shouted angrily.

The sounds faded and twisted into questions.

‘This is no corrupt creation from some ancient time,’ he said softly again. ‘This is just an ordinary wolf.’

There was a brief pause, then, ‘It killed, it killed,’ said the voices defensively.

Hawklan ran his hand across the wolf. He nodded. ‘And it would have killed me too if it could,’ he said. ‘It’s half starved. But it’s no creature of His.’

Isloman knelt by him. ‘But it’s not winter yet, why should it be starving? And even a pack of wolves won’t attack a grown man unless they’re threatened or desperately hungry.’

Looking at the dead animal, Hawklan felt again its terrible total commitment to its struggle. He had had to fight for his life but there had been no corruption there. Isloman was right. The wolf’s action made no sense even allowing for its hunger. Animals didn’t fight like that… except…? He turned the animal over gently and put his hand to his head in dismay.

‘It couldn’t be helped, dear boy.’ Gavor’s voice was subdued. ‘We didn’t have any choice.’

The wolf was a female; a nursing female.

‘We were both a threat and food,’ Hawklan said very quietly. ‘That’s why it fought like that. It must have been a late whelper. Wandered in here and got lost.’ He wrapped his arms around himself and shuddered. ‘Its young will be in here somewhere.’ The sounds around them faded to become a single voice again. ‘It did kill,’ it said. ‘Three of us.’

Hawklan remembered his foot slithering from under him. He looked at his boot. It was smeared with blood and flesh. He grimaced. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But for its family, Alphraan. For its family. Not from some ancient malice.’

Tirke handed him his black sword. Hawklan thanked him and looked at it thoughtfully. The twining threads and stars in its hilt twinkled and shone in the torchlight. Ethriss’s sword it might have been, but now it was his beyond a doubt. Yet it had not aided him this day?

No ancient malice. His own words returned to him. That was why the sword had left him to his own destiny, he realized. His arm started to throb.

‘Then we are all the less for this meeting,’ the voice said sadly.

Hawklan nodded again. ‘Listen,’ he said. Out of the darkness came a faint scuffling and a whimper.

‘They’re over there,’ he said, pointing.

After a brief search, the four men found themselves looking down at two small wolf cubs cowering at the back of an alcove lined with dead vegetation and the she wolf’s own fur. They were thin and obviously frightened by the torchlight, but healthy enough and curling back their lips to reveal puppy-sharp teeth.

‘We will tend them,’ said the Alphraan, the voice unexpectedly close and gentle.

Hawklan looked surprised. ‘Thank you,’ he said. Then he hesitated, awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry about your people, Alphraan. I was harsh. I judged.’

‘Do not reproach yourself, Hawklan,’ said the voice. ‘We followed you freely and soon we will have our Heartplace again. But for your guidance and help, and that of your friends, we might have dwindled forever. Now we hear awakenings. No song ever truly ends.’

‘There may be other creatures here,’ Hawklan said, pointing at the wolf’s simple den. ‘If she got in, then others will have. And she must have found something to eat and drink down here.’

‘When we regain our Heartplace, we will send to the kin we left and start to make it whole again,’ the voice said. ‘Then we will listen carefully for other creatures and learn their songs… and make them welcome as of old. Only our ignorance and fear made us behave as we did. We are chastened. The ancient rape of this place lies deep in our lore, Hawklan. His creatures are ever alive in our songs… ’

A quivering excitement suddenly disturbed the voice.

‘It is found,’ it said. ‘The Heartplace is found.’ Then the darkness was filled again with the shimmering sounds of rejoicing, though this time they were free of the angry triumph that had tainted them previously.

‘Come, humans,’ the voice rang out through it all, full of laughter. There was a brief tremor of doubt in the sounds but it was swept away.

Hawklan, however, noted it. ‘If this is your most precious place, we’ll not intrude,’ he said. ‘We must continue on to Anderras Darion and we still have a difficult journey ahead of us. Will you travel with us again?’

‘Of course, of course,’ said the voice, almost dismiss-ively. ‘But this is truly a new beginning. Come to our Heartpl… ’ The voice and the sounds suddenly faded, to be replaced by a hushed awe.

‘Hawklan,’ said the voice softy. ‘They were here. His creatures. We have found them. Come.’

Hawklan looked at his companions.

‘There is no danger,’ said the voice. ‘They are truly dead. Come.’ And a silver tone sang out through the darkness, solid and strong, to guide them.

‘Come on, come on,’ Gavor said, jumping up and down impatiently. Dacu motioned Hawklan forward.

Following the sound, the four men found themselves walking along a tunnel that was broad and spacious, and free from any sense of oppression. Its finely hewn walls were riddled with circular openings of all sizes.