Dawn (Society of Dawn Book 1) Page 3

  Her horse’s hooves echoed against the smooth, cobblestone road beneath her as she rode down the mostly deserted street. The houses that led to the citadel were identical, each railing and awning precise in angle and color. It was the custom in Pa’ngarin to have different designs for the different houses, but in Ma’oren only one house was represented: House D’naia. Most of the stores had darkened windows, their shutters pulled tight despite the sun being high in the sky. “Curious,” whispered Aurora as she eased close to one of the dwellings and tapped its stone entrance.

  Faint footsteps echoed from within.

  Aurora could smell whatever was skittering inside.

  “I am Aurora, Maiden of House D’naia. Reveal yourself, I mean you no harm,” she spoke shakily, holding her reins tightly as she turned her horse slowly. “I have come to speak to Eris, Ascendant of House D’naia and Warden of Ma’oren.”

  A woman peeked from beneath the entrance. Gnarled and weathered features hid eyes of black and crooked, broken teeth. When she spoke, it sounded more like a hiss than a voice. “The shadows speak of you, Goddess Aurora, retainer to the Old Shadow.”

  Aurora turned her mount so that she was facing the old woman. An odor rose from her which would have turned away maggots and mosquitoes. “I am no goddess, and I would never serve the bastard heir to the Throne of Shadows. I am heiress to House D’naia and I demand to know why the streets of Ma’oren are so barren.”

  The crone moved closer and touched the silken mane of the Maiden’s horse with her spindly finger. Her wild black hair seemed alive as she looked up at Aurora. “There are Scythians at the borders, my Goddess. The shadows upon the mountains threaten snow and forever winter. They speak of the rise of the Old Shadow, of the end of times for Scythia and Pa’ngarin alike….”

  “But what of Ma’oren? Where is everyone?”

  Stepping closer, the woman touched Aurora’s dress. Her eyes were wide as she pressed the material between her dirty fingers. “All of the frightened sheep are huddled inside the great sphere, my Goddess.”

  Aurora could not be certain about the woman. Was she being purposely creepy? Was there some defect that made her act so strangely? “Many thanks….”

  “I am called Urd of the Marshes, late of the House of Darkness. Beware the shadow that threatens us, Goddess of the Old and New.”

  “Urd then, I must be on my way,” replied Aurora nervously.

  The old woman grabbed the young Maiden of Pa’ngarin by the hand. Aurora could not restrain the shudder that passed over her as she looked down at the old crow.

  “Where is your guardian, Goddess of Old and New? Does a man not haunt your every step? You are quite brave to journey alone.”

  Aurora pulled her hand back. Looking down at the woman, she pressed her mount forward to a slight trot and breathed a sigh of relief as she rode farther away from the strange, old crone.

  Her relief was short-lived.

  A blow caught her across the face.

  As she fell off her mount, her world swam. And as darkness claimed her vision she saw clearly her assailant: a broad-shouldered man with a grim beard, oiled and combed. His cold, brown eyes looked down upon her without expression as he kneeled beside her. She heard voices, distorted and jumbled, as he covered her face and left her in shadow.

  Aeschylus

  Aeschylus had let the boy sleep as the sun rose high above them. With a subtle jostle, he roused young Helius. The boy awoke with a start and looked around. The road ahead of them had remained unchanged. Trees lined either side of the dirt path. Prints led in all directions, some from travelers, others from forest creatures, fearsome and cuddlesome alike.

  “I trust you slept well,” spoke Aeschylus.

  “What makes you believe that?”

  “You were snoring,” chided the guardian.

  Helius sat up tall in the saddle, stretching his slender arms over his head. Yawning widely, he looked at the Pa’ngarin slave. “Why do you serve them?”

  Aeschylus continued looking forward as he considered the question. “I serve only the Lady Aurora.”

  “The men of my village say that all men of Pa’ngarin are cowards, blind slaves to the Ascendants,” challenged Helius.

  “Yet they say that from a great distance, young master. We are born to them, collared and chained before we can do anything about our station. If the men of your lands find our position so intolerable, perhaps they should wage war instead of gossip.”

  The young boy did not seem pleased by the guardian’s goading.

  “Why do you not fight against your captors?”

  The guardian touched the steel collar around his neck. “They keep us cowed. These collars can put down a matus, and can certainly bring a man of any size to his knees. We are also not organized. Most men are illiterate, many more cannot even speak expect to accept or decline.”

  Helius reached down to touch the collar, but the guardian’s quick hand stopped him. “I do not wish harm to come to you, Helius. Touching my collar would visit upon you undeserved pain and anguish,” warned Aeschylus.

  “So I was right to fear travelling to Pa’ngarin?”

  “You are a southern child. They will not fear you as they fear children born north of the Selthan Marshes.”

  “Why do they fear northern men?”

  “Men of the North come from the blood of legends. So they were put in bondage because Pa’ngarin fears that one among them is the heir to the Throne of Shadows. The collars afford some protection in case of such a birth.”

  “What of the Shadows? What of the Nine Lords?”

  Aeschylus smiled. “You speak of myth, young master. The Shadows lived a thousand-thousand lifetimes ago. The Nine Lords were invented by the Scythians as proof of their dominion over Pa’ngarin to fuel their war against the Ivory Throne and the Court of the Nine Blossoms.”

  Helius thought on this carefully.

  “I have heard that men of Pa’ngarin may not wear beards.”

  Nodding, Aeschylus led the horse around a deep gash in the road. “That is true, young Helius. The Ascendants find beards to be signs of aggression and dominance, a symbol of the enslavement of women before the High Sisters of lore collared the Shadow Men. The men of Pa’ngarin are at the whim of the Ascendants and Maidens. We are not allowed names or titles. We may never marry.”

  “No names?”

  Aeschylus nodded. “Men are only known by their job or which House they serve and are selected for their profession as children. The strongest become soldiers tasked with guarding the city and are known only by their rank, while the wisest become craftsmen and scholars, still others become manual laborers or servants in the Houses of Pa’ngarin.” He paused for a moment, a pensive look on his face. “The weakest are thrown into a pit near Lake I’mann or sold into slavery. Though there is talk of small bands of men north of the marshes who rescue these children, but I have never seen them.”

  Helius looked at the guardian critically.

  “But you have a name.”

  “How very perceptive of you, Helius. Perhaps you would make a fine scholar or calculator for the Court of the Nine Blossoms. I, indeed, have a name: Aeschylus, guardian of House D’naia. I am given no surname, no respect for my father or family before.”

  “Do you know your father?”

  “I do not. If he is living, I have no inkling where lives.”

  “Do these things not anger you?”

  Aeschylus sighed, touching the side of his mare. “I am who I am, Helius. I cannot change the actions before this moment and I cannot see the future, no matter how much I think about it. I will serve Lady Aurora until I am no more, and then I will be placed in the dirt or scattered into the wind. We are no more than what we do and who we share our time with, young master.”

  “I did not mean to anger you.”

  “You did not anger me, young Helius. The reality of my position is not lost upon me. Honor, duty: these things urge me forward, compel me to be who I must be.”


  “Tell me more of Pa’ngarin. You said that men are never allowed to marry? In Elitlh there are men with many wives. They have long black beards that are braided and oiled.”

  “The ways of the marshes are very different than those of Pa’ngarin, Helius. There are many women and few men. Women may only marry other women in Pa’ngarin, any other union is considered unclean.”

  The horrified look on Helius’ face did not surprise Aeschylus. He knew that beyond the Society of the Dawn the realm still remained under the rule of men. Women were rarely given equal status, and, more often than not, they were relegated to lower status. This, among other reasons, was why so many women fled to Pa’ngarin from places like Scythia and the villages of the marshes.

  “That is against the decree of I’mann.”

  Aeschylus laughed, drawing another shocked look. “I fear that superstitious behavior is frowned on within Pa’ngarin, young master. I’mann is merely a lake north of the marshes and east of the Arcadians.”

  “Blasphemy,” whispered Helius.

  “To you, perhaps. In the Society of the Dawn, it is not the will of a god, or gods, that turn the tide of nature, but the will of nature’s wisdom itself. No guiding force, only the force itself.”

  “A force of nature?”

  The road forked and Aeschylus guided the mount onto the northern path, bypassing the southern fork which bent toward, then crossed the Ringe Flod, the smallest of the branches of the great river, Stor Flod, whose source was the mighty Lake I’mann. Twenty kilometers in length, and twice that in width, the lake’s dark depths were believed to be filled with the spirit of I’mann, the translucent deity worshiped before the coming of the Pa’ngarin people.

  “Nature is powerful, unyielding. We may try to impose our will on it, but that will only bring us frustration.”

  Aeschylus looked at some hoof prints dug deep into the dirt and clay of the road and recognized the tense, but light gait of his charge’s mount. His heart raced suddenly and his breath quickened.

  “How far are we from…?”

  “Ma’oren,” finished Aeschylus without looking at the boy.

  Helius nodded. “To Ma’oren, how far is it?”

  “Not far yet.”

  The road soon led into the fog of industry and mining on the outskirts of Ma’oren. The dormitories of men appeared on the right, the mine to the left. The Pa’ngarin slave felt his stomach sink. Something was wrong. Ma’oren was known for its sumptuous splendor, its gaudiness, yet a haze of silt and smoke clung to the air.

  “Why is the air so dirty?” asked Helius.

  “That is a good question. Ma’oren is a city of industry fueled by a vast mine.”

  Helius noticed the shift in Aeschylus’ demeanor. His voice wavered slightly as he spoke. “Is there something the matter?”

  Aeschylus took his unrelenting gaze from the road and looked into the boy’s fearful eyes. The guardian smirked, an action that made his blue eyes twinkle. “I did not mean to alarm you, young master. This was the road Lady Aurora traveled. I am only concerned for her safety amidst this unfortunate haze.”

  The fog thinned as the dirt road became cobblestone. Shining in the sun, rows and rows of identical residences extended toward the Dawn Sphere. Their doors were closed and locked, shutters drawn and windows boarded. The guardian could not shake a profound feeling of uncertainty and suspicion that washed over him.

  There was something wrong.

  “It is so quiet here,” spoke Helius softly.

  “A bad omen, young master. Something has happened in Ma’oren.”

  The Dawn Sphere shone brilliantly even from a distance. Outside the citadel shadowed figures paced the empty streets.

  Aeschylus reached up and lifted Helius from the saddle and placed the boy on the cobblestone streets. He could not hide a smirk as he watched Helius duck-walk and lift his legs high in an exaggerated motion.

  “Is something the matter?”

  Helius looked at him with wide eyes.

  “My rear has fallen asleep. My legs feel like rubber.”

  “I take it that you do not ride much.”

  Helius smiled. “I guess not.”

  Leading the mare, Aeschylus continued toward the Dawn Sphere. The boy fell in step beside him, looking at the passing architecture with curiosity. The stones beneath their feet were bleached white, untarnished by marks and scuffs, while the buildings were painted in pinks and oranges, sun-stained and polished. Fitted into the buildings were yellow and black stones in intermittent patterns along with sea-blue pebbles and translucent stone that glittered in the sunlight above.

  “It is so bright,” marveled Helius.

  “Gaudy might be more appropriate, young master. The Minor Ascendant who governs here has a penchant for vividness. This stands in great contrast to the Lordess Ascendant in Pa’ngarin who prefers buildings of stark, solid colors. There, great spires and towers of white and black are interspersed with squat cerulean and pearl buildings.”

  Ignoring the minor avenues and darkened alleys branching off the main thoroughfare, they continued toward the entrance of the Dawn Sphere. As they neared the spherical monstrosity, it loomed above them, obscuring the sun and casting long shadows. Each of its ribbed outcroppings was as long and as broad as the street they had walked.

  Two guards stood before the entrance.

  Their faces were shaved smooth and, from the look of it, so was the rest of their bodies. Bland leather armor and an uncomfortable chest plate of iron ore concealed their sinewy muscles. They held spears fashioned from wooden splints and topped with jagged, uneven steel points.

  “The Dawn Sphere of Ma’oren is closed by order of Lady Eris, Minor Ascendant of Ma’oren and Warden of the West,” spoke the guard with sandy brown hair.

  There was a strong possibility that those were the only words he knew, a hypothesis Aeschylus was quick to test. “I am Aeschylus, guardian of House D’naia, and I come to seek an audience with Lady Eris, Warden of the West. My charge, Lady Aurora of House D’naia, traveled by way of Ma’oren and I seek the counsel of your Ascendant.”

  The second guard, who had long, golden hair, looked at Aeschylus strangely. His voice was equally as mechanical. “The Dawn Sphere of Ma’oren is closed by order of Lady Eris, Minor Ascendant of Ma’oren and Warden of the West.”

  Helius looked at the two men with a raised eyebrow. “What is wrong with them? Why did the second one repeat what the first said?”

  Aeschylus knew why.

  The men of Ma’oren were either miners or soldiers. They had no need to learn any words other than what was required to haul ore from the deep caverns or to swing a blade or jam the pointy end of a spear into another man.

  The guardian grasped Helius’ shoulder lightly and turned him. Aeschylus leaned in close as he spoke. “Do not say anything from this point forward, young master. When we enter the sphere, the women there will expect you to be silent. Do not disappoint them. Do you understand?”

  Helius nodded slowly, swallowing as he did so.

  The Pa’ngarin slave turned back to the two guards and looked at them seriously. “Listen carefully, unnamed soldiers of Ma’oren. Iacio,” he commanded.

  The two guards let the spears fall from their hands and then collapsed to the ground, face down. Aeschylus stepped over them and pushed open the door. Helius was at his heels. Once they entered the sphere, the guardian turned and shut the doors behind them. The boy raised a finger as if to say something, but Aeschylus shook his head.

  “You may ask later. No questions until we are on the road again.”

  Twisting his tiny fists and scowling, the orphan from Elitlh did not seem pleased by the command, but he obliged anyway.

  The interior of the sphere was dark with panels of light filtering in from time to time. Beneath their feet lay an enormous burgundy rug whose edges were made of frilled gold ringlets.

  Sensing the boy’s rising questions, Aeschylus explained. “Dawn Spheres are sacre
d among the Ascendants. Men are only allowed inside in times of great distress, and then only at the behest and beckon of an Ascendant. The choice of decoration, however, can be attributed to the superfluous tastes of Lady Eris.”

  Helius nodded then followed Aeschylus through the darkened, twisting halls of the Sphere. Its walls were made of opaque glass, which at times appeared as a cornucopia of colors congregating like a living mass. No furniture lined the halls and corridors; there was only glass and plush rugs.

  As the hall opened into a vast chamber, Aeschylus stopped suddenly.

  He bowed deeply and Helius nearly bumped into him, only stopping because he heard the guardian’s voice. “Honored Maidens and Ascendants of the Hall,” he spoke reverently.

  They stood in a mighty chamber situated at the center of the Dawn Sphere. The ceiling was clear and appeared like the sky outside covered in drifting clouds and splashing rays of sunlight.

  Two women approached Aeschylus.

  The first was tall, taller than Aeschylus, with a braid of red hair down her back. Her haunting green eyes watched him as she extended a slender hand toward him. Aeschylus knelt, taking her hand and closing his eyes. He kissed the back of her hand dryly and continued to kneel. Her skin was pale and freckles covered her face and upper chest. She wore a loose white dress with a blue stripe that ran from her left shoulder to her right knee. Her long fingers and slender wrists were framed by bracelets, whose runes announced their purpose: death and violence.

  She was a Magister of Pa’ngarin.

  “Aeschylus, guardian of House D’naia,” she spoke.

  “Lady Athena, Warden of the South and Protector of the Realm,” replied Aeschylus without looking in her eyes.

  The other woman was shorter with dark raven’s hair pulled into several braids; errant hairs erupted here and there in wispy, angry arrangements. She glared at Helius, her gray, haunting globes boring into him. “Who is the boy? Why have you come to Ma’oren?”