Awoken

  “It is difficult to explain the bond to one not of the People,” Warmsoil said. “It is what connects the People, that which binds us to one another.” He pointed his staff to a cluster of dollman children across the street, playing some game with a round stone ball. “They are many, yes? Yet, if I wanted to call over only the child who holds the rollstone…” He tapped loudly on the steps with his staff, and every child looked up. “Come to me, little brother,” he called.

  The child with the rollstone picked it up and hurried toward them.

  “You see?” Warmsoil said. “Only one child comes. The bond tells him it was to him alone that I spoke.”

  Hugging the rollstone to his chest, the boy ran up the steps and stopped before Warmsoil. “This one has come, Elder.” He spoke in a small, piping voice.

  “That is a fine rollstone, little brother,” Warmsoil said kindly. He motioned to Michael. “I wished the Awoken to see it.”

  The boy’s eyes widened, and then he bowed and extended the round stone to Michael. “The Awoken may have the rollstone. It is old, carved by my father’s father’s father. This one begs forgiveness for the chips and cracks.”

  Michael raised his hands. “That’s okay, kid. You can keep your ball.”

  The boy’s face fell. “If the Awoken wishes, this one shall find him another rollstone. This one would be honored to serve the Awoken.”

  The little dollman sounded so disappointed and eager, Michael didn’t know what to say. He turned to Warmsoil for help.

  The elder rubbed his chin as if considering the problem, but his silver eyes glimmered with mischief. “You are correct, little brother. It would be a great honor to serve the Awoken.”

  Jericho grinned from ear to ear. “You speak wisely, Elder,” he agreed. “A great honor indeed.”

  Lina giggled.

  “Please, Awoken,” the boy begged. “Take this rollstone until this one makes another for you. Do not shame this one before the People.”

  Michael scowled. Now what? He didn’t want to hurt the kid’s feelings, but he wasn’t about to take away a family heirloom. Suddenly, he had an idea.

  “Here, let me show you something.” Taking the rollstone from the boy, Michael let a whisper of stonesong merge in the ball. It was old granite, battered and cracked, with dozens of minute fractures both inside and out. Perfect. “Now, watch close, little brother.”

  The stonesong surged, and the rollstone burst into silver flame.

  The young dollman gasped, and Michael smiled. Sending the stonesong coursing through the stone, he sealed the cracks and smoothed out the dents and scuffs. The children across the street ran over, their faces alight with wonder and excitement. Passing dollmen and women stopped in their tracks, turning their mercury eyes to the stranger who held a ball of silver flame in his hand.

  “It is the stonesong,” someone whispered. “The Awoken has returned.”

  “The Awoken,” echoed others. “The Awoken.”

  Dollmen emerged from doorways or peeked out oval windows as word of the Awoken spread down the street.

  The silver fire suddenly died.

  Face glistening with sweat, Michael offered the now-flawless rollstone to the young dollman. “Here you go, little brother, good as new.”

  The boy took a step back.

  “Take it, little brother,” Warmsoil said gravely. “Do not dishonor the Awoken’s gift.”

  Tentatively, the youngster reached up and took the stone from Michael. “It is wondrous, Awoken.” He ran his tiny hands over the ultra-smooth granite. “This one thanks you.”

  Michael rubbed the boy’s bald head. “You’re welcome. And you don’t need to worry about chipping it anymore. It would take a stick of dynamite to crack that ball now.”

  The boy smiled, and a gaggle of dollman children crowded forward to examine the new ball. Adults drifted closer as well, and soon the tower steps filled with pale spectators.

  A silver-haired woman in a purple gown put her hand on Michael’s knee. “The Awoken,” she whispered reverently.

  Lina lifted an eyebrow at the starry-eyed female. “You’re getting popular, Mike.”

  Another dollwoman sporting a veil of gold mesh put her palm on his shin. “The Awoken.”

  “Maybe too popular,” Michael said. More dollwomen pushed forward, placing their hands on his legs and thighs. “A little help, Warmsoil? I’m starting to get claustrophobic.”

  Warmsoil’s staff tapped sharply on the steps. “Peace, my People,” he said loudly. “You have seen the Awoken. Please, return to your tasks. The Awoken has tasks of his own.”

  The crowd bowed to Warmsoil obediently and began to disperse, the dollwomen herding the excited children ahead of them.

  Warmsoil turned to Michael, an unreadable expression on his wrinkled face. “You bring new light to the People of the Mountain, Michael, but perhaps you shine the light a bit too brightly.”

  “He means you’re a showoff,” Lina clarified. “What was with the light show?”

  Michael flicked the elderstone at his neck. “I wanted to try this out before we met up with VEN. I didn’t realize I would attract so much attention.” He shook his head. “I see what you mean about the elderstone, Warmsoil. I can’t channel half the power I did before.”

  “The elderstone is both curse and blessing,” Warmsoil said. “It offers control at the cost of strength. The Betrayer’s waystone will offer no such weakness.”

  “We’ll deal with that when we come to it,” Michael said. “For now, let’s just try to stay alive.”

  Warmsoil tapped his fingers against his staff. “Why carve the roof before the walls? Very wise, Michael. Now, I must gather my clan. I shall see you on the second hour. Farewell, my People.”

  “Farwell, Elder Warmsoil,” Lina and Jericho said together.

  With a parting bow, the elder took up his staff and headed down the street.

  “So, we’re going to fight VEN.” Lina rubbed the waystone in her palm. “Before or after they take this out of my hand?”

  “Hold that thought, Lina,” Michael said. “Jericho, can you do me a favor?”

  “Of course, my Michael,” Jericho replied. “How can this one…how can I serve the Awoken?”

  “Get some of your clan to scout the upper tunnels. Equinox is coming, I’m sure of it. I want to know how close he is and how many VEN he’s brought with him. Can your brothers find that out?”

  “I will speak with Elder Greendown,” Jericho said, scampering down the tower steps. “Rest now, Awoken. I will return soon.”

  Michael and Lina were alone now, and he glanced up at the glowing hourstar, avoiding her gaze. “I wish I could rest,” he said. “We’re supposed to be gathering the clans at the bridge. We are going to try to hold VEN there, but it might already be too late at that point.”

  “They can’t do it, can they?” Lina said dully, staring down at her glittering palm. “The elders can’t fix me.”

  Michael closed his fingers gently over her hand, hiding the waystone from her sight. “I’m sorry. They say I could do it if I had another waystone. But there are only two, and Equinox has the second one.”

  “So, that’s it?” Lina’s eyes hardened and she yanked her hand away. “I’m supposed to just accept this, while you go back to your old life? I’d rather die, or better yet, join VEN. At least they look human.”

  “Don’t say that,” Michael said. “I never said I’d leave you like this. I just need to get Equinox’s stone away from him. We can figure out the rest from there.”

  “Yeah, right.” Lina turned her back on him and started down the steps.

  Michael grabbed her arm. “Come on, Lina. You have to trust me.”

  “How can I, Mike?” she demanded. “You said Equinox is stronger than you. Now, suddenly, you think you can beat him?”

  “No,” Michael admitted. “Not in a fair fight, anyway. But I have a plan.”

  “You have a plan?” she sneered.

  “A plan that
gives us an edge,” Michael said. “Please, Lina. Don’t give up on me now. I need you with me.”

  Lina’s eyes softened for just a moment, but then a few strands of her silver hair slithered out to caress Michael’s cheek. Her lips tightened. “I trusted you all the way here, Mike,” she said. “Now, I need to trust myself.” Pulling away from him, she leaped from the steps and, running on all fours, quickly disappeared into the bustling streets of pale dollmen.

  41

  Planning the Battle

  Warmsoil’s staff cut deep grooves into the floor, his art carving into the hard rock as if it were wet cement. A score of lines marked the stone, crisscrossing before branching away to small circles.

  “There,” Warmsoil said, lifting his staff from the floor. “These are the near ways. There are more, but they lie on the opposite side of the city and the Fallen have not found them.”

  Michael leaned in for a closer look at the map. Blacksong, Greendown, and Tallpath crowded in as well. Their gathered clans waited a little way off, between the gate and the Great Bridge—just over two hundred dollmen in scaly metallic armor, ready for battle.

  Michael traced his finger over Warmsoil’s drawing. “These seven circles represent the gates VEN could get to?”

  “Yes, Michael,” Warmsoil said. “Some have not been used in years, but the Fallen may find the paths.”

  Michael tapped the largest of the circles. “This is us. Where’s the tunnel leading to the surface?”

  Greendown, his entire torso covered in green paint, indicated a curving line on the opposite side of the map. “Here is the upper corridor, Awoken.” He moved his finger halfway down the line to a thick cluster of overlapping passages. “And here is where my scouts last placed the Fallen. We have killed many of their trackers, but still, they draw nearer with each passing hour.”

  Michael tugged absently at his shirt collar as he considered the map.

  “Is the weave too tight, Awoken?” Blacksong asked. “I am unused to crafting for one so large. Perhaps the neckline needs adjusting.”

  “The shirt fits great, Blacksong,” Michael said. The dollman had replaced his torn shirt with one made of the same shimmering weave used in Jericho’s kilt. The fabric was far more comfortable than it looked, but it was almost too light. It felt like he was wearing a shirt made of spiderwebs. “Thank you, again.”

  Blacksong bowed. “You honor me, Awoken.”

  Michael nodded to the little man and then returned his attention to the map. “We need to find a way to close these passages,” he said, indicating several lines. “We need VEN to head straight for the bridge, not some side gate. Can your clan seal those tunnels, Blacksong?”

  “My clan could have the four nearest completed by the sixth hour, Awoken,” Blacksong said confidently. “But the other two are further away. They will take longer to reach. Perhaps by the tenth hour all will be sealed.”

  Greendown shook his head. “That will not do, Elder Blacksong. The Fallen will reach the far tunnels before the eighth hour.”

  “My riders are swiftest,” Tallpath said. “Perhaps they could close the paths.”

  “That’s an idea,” Michael said. “What do you think, Warmsoil?”

  Warmsoil’s wrinkled forehead creased thoughtfully. “Tallpath’s riders are swift, but they have little skill in stonework. I fear the Fallen would be upon them well before the work was complete.”

  “I agree with Elder Warmsoil,” Blacksong said. “Even skilled hands take time to bring down the stone. My clan can seal four at least, and perhaps the Fallen will not stray from the main path.”

  Michael thought about it, then shook his head. “We can’t risk it. We have to meet VEN at the bridge, or they’ll run right over us.”

  Tallpath shrugged. “If you wish it, Awoken, I will go into the far ways. But Blacksong is right. My clan is ill-suited to this work. Many will die.”

  Michael chewed at his lower lip and tried to think. He didn’t want to send anyone on a suicide mission. There had to be a way. If only Diggs was here, or Lina. They would have some idea what to do.

  Tallpath’s falcryn ambled over and nuzzled his shoulder, very carefully, with its wickedly hooked beak. It was an impressive specimen, a sleek blending of raptor and feline twice the size of a full-grown lion and with claws to match. So large was the beast, Tallpath’s head barely stood even with his mount’s heavily muscled chest.

  The elder smiled as he gently pushed aside the monstrous beak, then stretched up an arm to pat affectionately at the downy feathers around the falcryn’s throat.

  “Patience, great one. Soon we will ride.”

  “Do you have a spare falcryn, Tallpath?” Michael asked suddenly, as an idea hit him.

  Tallpath gave him a puzzled look. “Of course, Awoken, but there are not enough for my riders and Blacksong’s clan.”

  “And we have not the time to spare even if there were,” Blacksong added. “I shall need all of my clan and their tools to seal the closest ways.”

  “I’m not asking for them,” Michael said. “The stonesong can collapse those tunnels without tools. Tallpath just needs to get me to them ahead of VEN.”

  Greendown scowled. “This is not good, Awoken. Who shall protect you so far from the city?”

  “My riders shall die for the Awoken if need be,” Tallpath said gravely, “as will I.”

  “You are brave, Elder Tallpath,” Warmsoil said. “But there are but forty falcryn. The Fallen choke the tunnels with their numbers.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” Michael said. “We need those tunnels sealed, and I can do it fast.”

  “I can go,” Greendown offered, “as can any of the elders. We too can sing the stone, if not as well as an Awoken.”

  Warmsoil rapped his staff on the ground. “Do not seek to protect the Awoken with half-truths, my brother. I am among the strongest of the elders, and it would take me many hours to do as you claim.”

  “It’s settled, then,” Michael said. “Tallpath, get me a falcryn. We should leave right away.”

  “As you command, Awoken.” Tallpath leapt onto his falcryn’s back and gave a shrill whistle. Immediately, his riders broke away from the rest of the dollmen and came at a run.

  “We have come, Elder,” they chorused before their leader.

  “My People,” Tallpath said loudly. “The Awoken must travel to the far ways, and he has chosen us to guard him on his journey. Let us find him a mount.”

  The riders let loose a howling cheer of delight, and a tawny falcryn was hurriedly brought forward.

  Imitating Tallpath, Michael seized his falcryn’s feathery mane and threw a leg over its back. Though he was much larger than a dollman, the falcryn didn’t move so much as an inch as he settled his weight onto the web-like padding covering its shoulders and back. He glanced around at the other riders, noting how their spindly legs seemed tangled in the crisscrossed webbing of the falcryn’s peculiar saddles. After a few moments of difficulty, he managed to wiggle his own legs through several hoops of the padded webbing. He leaned to one side experimentally, and felt the loops tighten on his legs and thighs. He couldn’t fall off now, even if he tried.

  “The Awoken sits like a rider born,” Tallpath announced, and his riders whooped approvingly.

  Michael smiled. He felt good atop the falcryn. Not quite natural, but good. If only Barbara could see him now. “Jericho!” he shouted.

  A single head popped up amongst the crouched dollmen. “I come,” answered Jericho, hurrying over. “Where do you go, my Michael?”

  Michael shrugged. “We’re gonna race some killer VEN to a couple of tunnels before the world comes to an end. Wanna come?”

  Jericho grinned and leapt up behind him with practiced ease. “Is little sister to come?”

  Sadness closed on Michael’s heart like an invisible fist. “No, Jericho. Not this time.”

  “Come, my brothers,” Tallpath whooped. He leaned back in his seat, tugging at the webbing around the falcryn??
?s wide neck. His mount reared, pawing the air and screeching like an angry hawk. “Let us ride!”

  Michael’s mount reared up as well. It was terrifying, and the sound was deafening. He had never felt cooler in his life. When his falcryn finally came back down on all fours, it was already running. Michael clung to the falcryn’s webbing in a white-knuckle grip, leaning against the animal’s neck as it followed Tallpath’s mount toward the bridge. The dollmen near the bridge broke apart for the riders, and the falcryn galloped across the Great Bridge and into the tunnels.

  42

  Betrayal

  The cavern was the size of a modest kitchen, with tunnels leading to the east and west. Ugly gouges scarred the once-smooth walls where VEN workers had carved earthbone-rich ore from the surrounding rock.

  Diggs breathed deeply of the cool air. He smelled earth, the sweat of men, and other, less wholesome creatures. Blowing out his long whiskers, he continued to quietly strain against the chains attaching his wrist shackles to the wall. The sight of his furry hands on the links drew a feral growl from his lips, and a red wall of rage filled his vision.

  “No,” he said aloud. “I’m not an animal.”

  Forcing himself to remain calm, he ignored the urge to gnaw at the steel links and continued to pull on the chain.

  The six-foot chains were too heavy to break, but given time, he could pry the anchoring piton from the wall. The anger was getting worse. He hadn’t taken his suppressants in days, and the leopard part of him was growing stronger. He had to hurry. Since his capture, VEN had kept him too sedated to consider escape. Why they had left him unguarded and conscious this time was a mystery, but they were certain to return with more sedatives soon.

  The sound of approaching footsteps made him pause.

  Putting down the chain, he closed his eyes and slumped against the wall, as if he were asleep. There was only one set of footsteps. If the guard got close enough, he could overpower the man, retrieve the key to his shackles, and make his escape.

  The footsteps grew louder, bringing with them a soft and familiar scent.