Awakening

  Awakening

  Lara Morgan

  Awakening

  Lara Morgan

  For two thousand years, the serpents of Salmut and their riders have kept the people of Saranthium safe — but the pact between human and serpent is failing. Rogue serpents are attacking villages, and rumours abound that the banished god of the serpents, Azoth, has returned to resurrect his empire of slavery.

  Orphan, thief and survivor Shaan works in the serpent yards of Salmut and wakes from dreams of blood and death. The surprising discovery that she can speak with Nuathin, the oldest serpent of the yards, brings her to the attention of sept leader, Balkis. Handsome, arrogant and seductive, Balkis is also a man with powerful and dangerous alliances and Shaan becomes the target of the city’s most feared arms men: The Faithful.

  Meanwhile in the deserts, a young man named Tallis defends his clan against rogue serpents, driving them off with supernatural force. When he faces becoming an outcast because of his power, the truth of his birth is revealed and he embarks on a journey to understand the strength locked within his mind.

  Drawn together, Shaan and Tallis become ensnared in the resurrection of an ancient conflict, but on whose side will they stand — that of the serpents or the people?

  About the Author

  Lara Morgan has loved fantasy since her mother first read her The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings (those Dark Riders still give her the shivers) and her book shelves are stacked precariously with more fantastical adventures than she will probably be able to read in one lifetime. She loves feisty heroines and heroes with depth and prefers to create villains in shades of grey rather than black and white, taking a tip from one of her personal heroes Joss Whedon who said: “All villains believe they are the hero of the story”.

  Lara also writes for young adults and you can find her online at www.lara-morgan.com or blogging when she has time at www.laramorgan.wordpress.com and on twitter @Lara_Morgan.

  She lives in Geraldton, Western Australia, with her husband and son.

  Acknowledgements

  Having a book you thought dead and buried brought back to life like a phoenix from the ashes is an honour and a privilege. It brings me great joy to see the lives of Shaan, Tallis and all my beloved characters finding their way once again to readers’ hands, and hopefully their hearts. For that I need to thank my wonderful agent Clare Forster who never, ever gave up and kept telling me it would work out, thank you for believing. To Kate Cuthbert and the lovely people at Escape Publishing for their enthusiasm and for taking this on and resurrecting it.

  For Grant, still the muse, but now also the husband.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  List of Characters

  Glossary

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…

  1

  The city of Salmut, Saranthium

  Shaan jerked awake, her breath coming fast and sharp; she’d been dreaming of fire and death again.

  Rolling onto her back, she stared at the cracks in the ceiling. It was just after dawn and already the heat and humidity were building. Sweat covered her limbs, making the bedclothes stick, and in a fit of irritation she kicked them to the end of the bed, running unsteady hands through her short, dark hair.

  The dream had been more vivid this time and unwelcome images crowded back. Burning flesh, screams, fire devouring the strange city and that voice following, tormenting her. She shivered. She could still hear his sibilant whisper.

  Outside, a refuse collector clattered down the street making her start. Annoyed, she pushed the remnants of the dream away. What good did it do to dwell on it when she had troubles enough already. Getting out of bed, she crossed to the window and pushed open the wooden shutters. The stench of rotted cargo and damp wafted up from the street two stories below and, with a grimace, she lifted her head to try and catch a fresh breeze.

  The sky was washed pink with the dawn. Beyond the flat-topped roofs of the city, the warehouses and jetties of the Great Port jutted out into the dark water of the bay. The massive main pier was like a stone arm pointing to the rim of the world and the sea a sheet of dark silk. The ships at anchor barely moved in the low swell.

  She looked to the mass of whitewashed buildings that sprawled across the red cliff at the opposite end of the bay. The yards, home to the serpents and their riders. She bit her lip her insides churning. The riders’ trials were only two months away. Would yesterday’s mistake go against her? Would he remember it?

  She should have been dreaming of that rather than a burning city. Failure at the trials would mean another two years of cleaning up after the sons and daughters of the city’s elite who practically had their rider positions handed to them. Fail the trials and all her effort would be for nothing.

  She leaned on the windowsill, the splintered wood scraping her skin. Sept Leader Balkis had barely noticed her before, now there was no doubt he’d remember her. Thinking of the way he’d looked at her made Shaan feel ill. She’d given him a real blade instead of a blunted sword. The Fledgling rider he’d been training had needed seven stitches in his thigh. It was the dreams, the lack of sleep. If she hadn’t been so tired it wouldn’t have happened.

  She needed every advantage she could get to win a place as a Fledgling, and irritating the man who could decide her fate was not going to help. Balkis was the youngest person to make sept leader in more years than she could count, and she had to draw his ire. She stared at the yards as though she could sear his brain with her look. Choose me, she thought, choose me.

  A far ranging fishing boat, its sails bright white against the red cliffs, tacked slowly in toward the jetties distracting her and she watched it for a while and then suddenly swore as she remembered she’d promised to get some fish for Torg that morning. With a groan, she pulled a sleeveless, green dress over her head and shoving her feet into sandals, stepped out into the narrow hallway, fastening a wide belt around her waist as she went.

  ‘Tuon! Tuon, wake up.’ She called down the corridor and knocked loudly on a door at the end. Without waiting for a reply she pushed it open and stuck her head in.

  ‘Tuon, you awake?’

  The room was twice as large as her own. In the far corner a woman was lying diagonally across a wide bed, the sheet pulled up over her head. Only her pink toes were visible, poking out from under the crumpled sheets.

  ‘Tuon, wake up.’ She let the door bang against the wall.

  A tousled blonde head appeared from under the sheets followed by a hand, which flung a pillow in her direction. ‘Leave me be.’

  Shaan watched as the
feather-filled sack hit the doorframe. ‘You’ll have to aim better than that.’ She strode across the room and stood over her, hands on her hips. ‘Come on, I have to go fishing. Come with me for a swim, it’ll wash some of that stink off you.’

  But Tuon didn’t move and Shaan looked down at her in irritation then stooped and ripped the sheet off. ‘Come on, dung worms move faster than you!’

  ‘Aah, all right!’ Tuon rolled over and blinked, leisurely rubbing her naked belly. ‘I see yesterday’s mishap is going to make you pleasant company.’

  Blonde and all curves, Tuon was a favourite with the sailors who came to the Red Pepino. Her skin was pale compared to Shaan’s, she was a head taller and ten years older and was the closest thing Shaan had to family.

  Shaan wrinkled her nose, ignoring her comment. ‘Goddess, it’s stuffy in here!’ She went to the window and opened it with a bang. ‘Why don’t you air it out sometimes?’

  ‘Well, aren’t we in a fine mood today.’ Tuon hoisted herself up to a sitting position. ‘It’s a good thing Torg doesn’t have you making coin for him on your back, looking like that you’d earn him less than a street boy.’

  ‘As if I’d let some sweaty, stinking pig of a sailor mount me.’ Shaan flicked at a sliver of flaking paint with her fingernail.

  ‘Is that right? But you’re not above lifting a purse or two from them.’

  ‘So what?’ Shaan shrugged. ‘They were drunk and stupid, it served them right.’ She picked at more paint, choosing not to notice the eyebrow Tuon was raising at her. She must be losing her touch if Tuon had seen her. When she’d run with the street packs she could lift a purse from a merchant in a crowded market and no one would suspect a thing. Not that she did that anymore.

  ‘Torg won’t be happy if he finds out,’ Tuon said. ‘It makes it harder for the customers to pay his girls – me included.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ Shaan shrugged, glancing at her, ‘that sailor was too drunk to get it up anyway.’

  Tuon’s eyes narrowed. ‘You only steal when there’s something wrong. What is it? You not sleeping again, or are you still worrying yourself over that sept leader?’

  ‘I’m not worried.’ Shaan flicked paint at a cart trundling past below.

  ‘No, of course not.’ Tuon crossed her arms over her bare breasts. ‘Getting shouted at by the man who could decide your fate at the trials is nothing, happens every day. And of course,’ she gave her a knowing look, ‘it doesn’t help that that man is also outrageously pretty.’

  ‘And knows it,’ Shaan snorted.

  ‘Don’t they all,’ Tuon said dryly. ‘But still, a sept leader . . .’

  ‘Is hardly going to look twice at a worker,’ Shaan interrupted her. ‘Not that I want him to.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting you did.’ She gave her a penetrating look and Shaan felt a touch of heat rise in her cheeks. ‘I was going to say,’ Tuon continued, ‘that a sept leader being angry at me, if I was the one who wanted to be a rider, would make me worry. Or is there something else that’s making you spit like a cat caught in a trap?’

  Shaan looked away to stare out of the window. ‘I’m just tired. I have to report to the yards to help serve the mid-meal as well as get some fish for Torg, so if you’re going to come with me then get up, or I’ll just go alone.’

  Tuon didn’t move. ‘Have that dream again, did you?’

  Shaan leaned back against the window frame, looking at her in frustration.

  ‘You better tell me, ’cause you know I’ll get it out of you.’ Tuon’s blue gaze pinned her to the sill. Shaan tried to stare back but she was too weary to keep it up. ‘All right!’ she sighed. ‘Yes, it’s the goddess-cursed dream again.’

  ‘And there was nothing different this time?’

  ‘No, nothing different. There was the burning city and people and . . .’ she hesitated. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about how real it had felt; the smoke filling her lungs, the pungent smell of singed flesh and the voice. ‘It was just a dream, Tuon. The same one I’ve been having for weeks. The same one you’ve heard about over and over.’

  ‘Just a dream?’

  Shaan pushed a hand through her hair, regretting she’d said anything. ‘Yes, just a dream. It was nothing. It doesn’t matter.’ She flapped the front of her dress against her skin. ‘Come on, it’s getting hotter. Let’s just go.’

  But Tuon didn’t move. ‘You have to go to a dream seer, Shaan. These dreams, these nightmares, are becoming more frequent. You should see someone. Maybe even Morfessa.’

  ‘The Guardian’s Advisor?’ Shaan almost laughed.

  ‘He’s the best dream seer in the city.’

  ‘No. And anyway, I’ve no coin and I hardly think Morfessa would see just anyone. I’m a yard worker, a nobody.’

  ‘I’ll pay for it,’ Tuon insisted. ‘You should see someone. These dreams must mean something, they . . .’

  ‘They mean nothing; it’s just the heat. Come on and get dressed I have to get this fish.’

  Tuon sighed. ‘All right, all right, pass me my clothes.’

  Thankful she had backed down, Shaan retrieved a blue dress embroidered with flowers from the cupboard.

  But Tuon looked up at her as she took it. ‘Promise me, Shaan, that you will at least think about consulting a seer. Will you do that?’

  ‘All right!’

  Satisfied, Tuon dressed quickly and they clattered down the stairs together. In the kitchen, the Red Pepino’s owner, Torg Fair-wind, was energetically punching and kneading bread dough, his bald head covered with a kerchief. A thick ring of gold hanging from the top of his right ear glinted as he moved.

  He grinned as the girls entered the room, his teeth white against the blackness of his skin. ‘Morning.’

  Both women recoiled from the heat coming from the stove.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Tuon gasped, fanning her face. ‘There are bread makers for that you know!’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t trust ’em.’ He slapped a large lump of dough onto the table. ‘No one makes bread like Torg.’ He winked at them and punched the dough so hard the table wobbled.

  ‘You off for my fish?’ He looked at Shaan and she nodded.

  ‘Just getting my gear.’

  ‘Good. And make sure you have yourself a good wash. I can smell the stink of last night’s wine on you! You know, if you washed your hair and put meat on those bones, you could make a little more coin, just like Tuon.’

  ‘No thanks,’ Shaan scowled. ‘I’d rather stick my head in that oven.’ She picked her fish bag off the hook near the back door. ‘Come on Tuon.’

  The sound of Torg chuckling and the steady thump of the dough followed them as they crossed the courtyard and went out through the back gates.

  The streets were mostly empty and the walk through the usually crowded seafarers’ quarter was easy going, but as they neared the market square, the streets became busier. Shouts of stallholders calling out their wares came from ahead and carts loaded with vegetables trundled past pulled by snorting muthu. The market was in a huge square, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings of commerce, eateries and kaf houses. A ring of carts and makeshift stalls filled the open central area, the goods shielded from the sun by multi-coloured cloths strung up on poles. In the middle was a shady garden and water fountain.

  The scene was chaotic and familiar, but Shaan felt a touch of uneasiness in the air as she and Tuon wound their way through the maze. People were not as raucous as usual. Vendors huddled together in groups, frowns on their faces, casting nervous glances at the cloudless sky and muttering to one another, and buyers picked half-heartedly through the goods, their haggling muted and lacklustre.

  ‘Wonder what’s got into everybody,’ Shaan said.

  Tuon glanced at her. ‘Haven’t you heard the rumours?’

  ‘What, of rogue serpents attacking villages? Of course.’ Shaan shrugged.

  ‘But it can’t be anything more than troublemakers telling t
ales.’

  Tuon frowned at her. ‘Why would anyone lie about that?’

  ‘I don’t know. But serpents don’t kill people, Tuon. They made a pact long ago to protect us. Besides, I haven’t heard of any of the serpents here in Salmut doing anything and, working in the yards, I think I’d be one of the first to know.’

  Tuon gave her a dark look. ‘As if they’d tell a worker what was going on. And you know that the histories say the first warning of His return is the serpents changing. We would be better off to take heed of any warnings than dismiss them. If the Fallen one were to return . . .’

  ‘The skies would be painted black with despair,’ Shaan interrupted. ‘I know the words of the Foundation Scroll as well as anyone.’

  But Tuon was not going to be put off. ‘It also says,’ she continued, ‘that serpents turning on humans would be one of the first signs of His return. And the rumours say it is serpents that attacked those villages in the north.’ She frowned and picked up a length of maroon silk from a nearby stall then tossed it back down. ‘I think it would be prudent to heed any warning signs, that’s all.’

  ‘There’s no proof it was serpents,’ Shaan said. ‘It’s probably Scanorians.’

  ‘Scanorians are just dirty little cave dwellers, Shaan. They don’t eat people. They say there were bodies half eaten and others ripped apart. Whole villages were burned to the ground.’

  Shaan shook her head. She’d heard the rumours as well, but the serpents were their protectors, their allies. It didn’t make sense and she was surprised Tuon was taking the talk so seriously. Usually she was the first to dismiss anything she didn’t know for herself to be true. It wasn’t like her. The possibility that the attacks might herald the Fallen’s return was not something she, or anyone, wanted to believe. He was a legend, a myth, a monster of children’s nightmares. To spread rumours about him coming back was . . . She shook her head and pushed the thought of it firmly to the back of her mind, not wanting to dwell on it anymore. She had enough problems already.