Ibryen [A sequel to the Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  The words were portentous, but there was no reply. Only a sullen silence.

  'Instruct well.'

  And, to Jeyan, 'Learn well.'

  The hands that were holding her, and to which she was clinging, were gone. Hagen wrapped all about her, she was falling. Faster and faster she fell, the darkness passing through her, possessing her. She screamed in terror, but she could hear no sound. Yet, as the touch of Hagen had rekindled her deep hatred for him, so, in the wake of her scream came the hatred she had for the Gevethen. Fuelled by the awful revelation of the continued existence of Hagen, albeit in some place that seemed to be beyond the world in which Nesdiryn lay, it drove out the darkness, and Hagen's presence shivered. She screamed again, a scream of primeval rage.

  A fine tapering line of light, bright and unbearable, split into the rushing darkness, like a stabbing needle. Her scream continued, though still she could hear no sound. The line widened and penetrated further and others formed at its root, spreading and spreading, tearing apart the darkness like slowly shattering glass.

  She could feel consciousness slipping from her. The frenzy of the pursuit and the fighting in the Ennerhald flashed into her mind; Assh and Frey, bloodstained muzzles and wild eyes. Glinting blades. Abruptly her scream became the shrill whistle that she used to summon the dogs. The lightning-flash cracks spread and shattered the lingering fabric of the darkness that bound her. She felt herself staggering backwards.

  The hands were holding her again. She was gasping desperately for breath and shaking violently. And she was gazing at her reflection in the mirror, the red-lipped moon faces of the Gevethen on either side of her, watery eyes fixed on her. For a moment, the images rippled, as though they were reflections in a disturbed pool. Then they were still, perfect again. And the Gevethen were talking.

  'She is kin.'

  Uncertainty.

  'She is flawed.'

  'She will learn.'

  'Return to your quarters, Lord Counsellor.'

  'Rest.'

  'Ponder.'

  'You will have duties soon ...'

  '... soon.'

  'Much to learn ...'

  '... to learn.'

  Dark amusement.

  The mirror-bearers folded around her and, almost oblivious to what was happening, Jeyan found herself marching from the Watching Chamber and through the Citadel amid a crowd of haunted likenesses. They accompanied her to Hagen's quarters and, as before, the servants had bathed and dressed her, so now they removed her uniform, dressed her in night-clothes and placed her in Hagen's bed. This time she was too shocked to resist, though she managed to stop one of the servants from extinguishing all the lanterns before they left. She needed no more darkness.

  The bed was comfort such as she had not known in years, but she was scarcely aware of it. Her mind was filled totally with what had just happened. But what had happened? Had it all been some strange sleight of hand by the Gevethen? Were they after all no more than street entertainers who had tricked their way into power? The very foolishness of the idea was not without attraction, but it could not be thus, she knew. It was no idle trick that had taken charge of her limbs as she had knelt at their feet in the dungeons, contemplating a desperate slashing attack upon them. Nor was there any deception in the power that had marched her much of the way to the Watching Chamber. As for the force that had threatened to crush her when she had asked about the mysterious person before whom the Gevethen seemed to quail—she put a hand on her chest and took a deep breath at the memory—she did not want to think about that too closely. No, whatever else they were, the Gevethen were not charlatans. They possessed real and awful power the like of which she could not begin to understand. Power that she had never even heard of save in old tales and myths. Impossible though it seemed, she must accept that she had been carried through the two mirrors become one, and into a place that was ... where?

  It did not matter. It had existed, she was certain, though her hands gripped the soft sheet she was lying on for support in the face of such a thought. It had been too solid to have the quality of a piece of trickery. And too, she had felt the Gevethen's reactions. They would not willingly have exposed their fears to her as they came to that mysterious turmoil they called the Gateway to the Ways, for the sake of a petty trick. Nor would they have shown their excitement at the opening of the great tunnel and their frustrated anger as it had vanished despite their efforts. Their whispered exchange, with its all too human quality, and the further revelation of a power beyond even them, returned to her suddenly and hung in her mind like a clarion call. Not only did it reinforce her acceptance of the alarming reality of what had happened, it also revealed to her that the Gevethen were as lost in that strange world as she was. The realization thrilled through her, turning her from fearful prey to cautious predator again. The thoughts of suicide she had been nurturing faded to be replaced by others, older and more familiar. I'll kill you both, yet. I'll lay you dead at the feet of this ... master ... of yours, whoever He is.

  As for Hagen, her first reaction to realizing that he still existed had been one of horror. But so many perspectives had changed since her capture and the close contact she had had with the Gevethen, that the shock was already fading. For what was Hagen now? A misshapen spirit growling in the darkness. Further, she was protected from him in some way, perhaps even by the Gevethen themselves. She smiled at the irony into the shadowy gloom of Hagen's own room. It was fitting that such a man should come to such an end. ‘May you remain there for all eternity and may the spirits of your victims rise up to torment you,’ she whispered. It was the kind of dark and bloody vision that had often warmed her twilight thoughts when she was in the Ennerhald.

  As she slipped finally into sleep, her last thoughts were not of Hagen, or the Gevethen. They were of something she had heard—felt—as she had splintered through the failing darkness to return to the Watching Chamber. She had grasped it tight to herself breathlessly and had hardly dared think about it since for fear that in some way the Gevethen might sense it. But, faint and distant, yet quite distinct, she had heard Assh and Frey baying, hunting.

  * * * *

  Despite the comfort of her bed, she woke the next day as she invariably did, alert and watchful. Though the only light in the room was that of the solitary lantern, she knew that it would be just past sunrise. She lay still as the chaotic and disturbing events of the past three days rushed in upon her. For some time she tried to bring some order to them, but in vain. She could do no other than accept the reality of what had happened, but it made no more sense now than it had before and, despite her optimism of the previous night, or perhaps because of it, the future still seemed to be dark and fearful—suicide and murder sharing it equally.

  Eventually, reaching no new conclusions, she managed to let her thoughts go and made to get out of bed. No sooner had she thrown the blankets back however, than the servants glided into the room. Her first reaction was to oppose them as she had the previous day, but sensing that this would be just as futile, she abandoned the idea. What followed was nevertheless as disconcerting as before, as she was undressed and bathed and then dressed in her uniform. To take her mind off the indignity of the proceedings she took the opportunity to study these strange people. She felt no need to gain friends in this place—her time in Ennerhald had taught her that no one was to be trusted, and these people were probably here as much to spy on her as help her. But she did need to learn what hierarchy existed—who did what, and for whom, who was weak or inept, who strong, who corruptible, who not.

  So she co-operated, helping where she could, and constantly looking into their eyes. And she was rewarded, for there were signs to be read there. Slight, admittedly, but sufficient for a predator such as she was, made acutely sensitive by her hunger for freedom. Mainly they were signs only of fear, but there were hesitant hints of gratitude from time to time. And then there were small tasks that she was allowed to do for herself.

  When the servants had finishe
d with her they set about laying a table. Jeyan went to one of the windows and lifted the corner of a heavy curtain a little. Sunlight flooded in. She felt an agitated stir behind her and turned. The bright beam had dulled the lantern-light and the servants were standing motionless like vague shadows in a dun, unreal twilight. For a moment, Jeyan thought she was looking at an old and soiled picture, then, without knowing why, she said, ‘Sorry,’ and slowly closed the curtain. As the lanterns repossessed the room, the servants became real again and continued their tasks as though nothing had happened. Jeyan watched them.

  'Don't you like the light?’ she asked.

  There was no reply, though one of them turned to her briefly. For a moment, a snarling urge took hold of her to fling the curtains wide and flood these half-creatures with cleansing daylight, but she resisted it. Nothing was to be gained from such a gratuitously disturbing act and perhaps potential allies were to be lost. ‘I didn't mean to upset you,’ she said, making a deliberate decision to talk to them as much as possible to see what response she would get.

  'I'm not Lord Counsellor Hagen, you know,’ she went on. ‘If it was he who insisted on your staying silent and on your dancing attendance on him at every moment like the Gevethen's mirror-bearers, this is not something I wish.’ The servants stopped moving and stared at her. Their silent observation threatened to release the anger she had just stilled. It emerged in a different form. She would get a response! Moving to the table she picked up a knife then looked round at the still-watching servants. She spoke slowly and very deliberately. ‘Lord Hagen, your erstwhile master, is dead. I killed him. Killed him with a knife that's probably lying about somewhere in this place. My dogs overturned his carriage and I jumped on to it and stabbed him as he stood in the doorway.’ She pushed the knife into a loaf of bread forcefully. ‘Stuck him like a pig. He was as mortal as you or I. Now he's no more. And I'm in his place.’ Her announcement did not have the effect she envisaged. The servants just continued to watch her in silence. She gazed at them for some considerable time but still there was no reaction. It came to her, frighteningly, that perhaps they were used to seeing violence and remaining silent in its presence. She tried another, gentler approach. ‘Many of the things you did for me, yesterday and just now, I should prefer to do for myself. It is my will that you speak to me and ask what I require. Do you understand?'

  Again, briefly, Jeyan felt that she was staring at a picture as the servants gazed back at her blankly. Then, as if they had never stopped, they were about their tasks again.

  Jeyan snatched the knife from the loaf and stabbed it twice, violently. ‘Do you understand?’ she shouted. At the second blow, the knife passed through the loaf and struck the plate underneath. The point screeched unpleasantly, and the servants became motionless once more. ‘Do you understand?’ she repeated, more softly.

  She was aware of a flittering communication between them. One of them, a woman, turned to her. ‘Lord Counsellor, it is not approved of, speaking,’ she said.

  Jeyan looked at her. It was the woman whose gaze had told her so much when she had recognized Hagen's uniform and tried to tear it off. Jeyan waited, but the woman did not elaborate.

  'Who doesn't approve?’ Jeyan asked finally.

  'Their Excellencies.'

  'Why?'

  There was a subtle stir amongst the still-motionless group. ‘Their Excellencies are not to be questioned, Lord Counsellor.'

  Jeyan remembered again the weight that had threatened to crush the life out of her when she had questioned them. She nodded. ‘Are you servants to their Excellencies?’ she asked after some thought.

  'We are not worthy. We lack the perfection for the way that will be.'

  Jeyan frowned. ‘What way is that?’ she asked.

  There was a faint hint of surprise in the woman's voice as she replied, ‘The way that will come to pass. The way that their Excellencies prepare us for—when all that is imperfect in this world will be destroyed and no flaws shall exist.'

  Jeyan was almost inclined to laugh at the intensity in the woman's voice when the Gevethen's words returned to her.

  'We shall be at His left hand when the great righting of the Beginning is begun.'

  The words meant nothing to her but their utterance had been ominous and, for the few moments before she had been plunged into the darkness, grim images of purging and cleansing had possessed her. Some instinct told her to avoid the subject. It lay too near the heart of the Gevethen's true intent and to venture there recklessly could only be hazardous. She returned to the mundane.

  'Are you my servants then?’ she asked.

  'We are the Lord Counsellor's servants,’ came the reply.

  Subtle difference, Jeyan noted.

  'Then I should prefer that you ask me before you perform ... intimate ... services for me,’ she said.

  'Speaking is not approved of.'

  Back once again at the beginning of the conversation, Jeyan put a hand to her head. Whatever authority she had over these people, she must not abuse it, she told herself sternly.

  'I understand,’ she said. ‘I shall speak to you, then, when you are doing something I do not wish. Is that acceptable?'

  She sensed another bat-wing flutter of communication between the motionless figures. The woman slowly nodded her head but there was a hint of distress in her eye. Without knowing why, Jeyan stepped closer towards her. Scarcely moving her mouth, the woman whispered very softly, ‘But commit no rashness, Jeyan Dyalith; we are theirs, not yours. We are without choice.’ The exposure of this touch of humanity seemed to cause her great pain and, for some reason she could not have explained, the mention of her own name shook Jeyan like a blow. She had difficulty in keeping her emotions from her face as she moved away.

  What binds these creatures? she thought. Wringing out the message had cost the woman in some way, and it told Jeyan that she must be more careful here than she ever was in the Ennerhald. Here, powers were being used which were quite beyond her comprehension. Here, a patient ambush, a sudden blow and flight were of no value to her. She must start again, learn the ways of this new, far more dangerous Ennerhald. It was no joyous prospect. Try as she might, she could still see nothing in the future other than the Gevethen slain, or herself.

  It was not easy to force the images from her mind. Then, like a blast of icy wind, came the realization that these two alternatives were not the only destinations at the end of the path she was on. They were merely a measure of her inability to see the future, and that could hardly be called a failing. We are without choice, the woman had said. Perhaps they, the servants, were, but she wasn't. Only a few days before, not the wildest conjecturing would have led her to imagine that after the slaughter of Hagen she would be his replacement. And it would not even have hinted at all the other things that had happened. From where she was, for all that two bloody endings dominated her thinking, the reality was that an infinite number of futures lay ahead. And if she was good at anything, it was at adapting to changing circumstances.

  The insight almost made her gasp.

  'What's your name?’ she asked abruptly, turning back to the woman.

  'It was Meirah,’ the woman replied. ‘But names ...'

  'Are not approved of.’ Jeyan finished the sentence for her acidly. Meirah did not respond and Jeyan decided against asking anything further.

  The servants finished their work and left as silently as they had entered. Jeyan returned to the window and tried to draw one of the curtains fully. After a brief struggle she realized that the two curtains had been sewn together. Swearing, she thrust them upwards on to the window sill, but they flopped down releasing a tumbling mist of grey dust. She was loath to eat by lantern-light when the sun was shining brightly outside and, in the end, she propped them up on a large branched candle-holder. It was a bizarrely unsuccessful experiment; the sunlight was too confined to illuminate the room and merely turned it into a dusky cave that was neither sunlit nor lantern-lit.

  The food th
at had been laid out for her was excellent though she tasted everything tentatively at first, despite the fact that she realized the Gevethen were unlikely to resort to poisoning if they wished to be rid of her.

  When she had finished, the servants appeared again and cleared the table. One of them moved to the window to remove the candle-holder.

  'No!’ she said as he took hold of it.

  He released it, but it was patently an effort and Jeyan sensed it disturbing the others.

  'Thank you,’ she said gently and, on an impulse, she lifted the curtain off the candle-holder, snuffing out the sunlight. It occurred to her even as she did this, to ask if the curtains might be separated so that they could be fully drawn, but she recalled Meirah's soft caution and decided against it. She must remember that this place was more dangerous than the Ennerhald and that she was at the absolute mercy of her captors. Little games with the servants and petty restraints would serve no real purpose other than to amuse, or give her momentary reassurance that she had some control over events. In the end, this was the Gevethen's place, and these their people—willing or coerced. If need arose, she must be prepared to sacrifice them.

  After the servants had gone she tried the door. It was locked and nothing was to be seen through the keyhole. A quick search told her that there were also no windows through which an escape could be effected.

  Full of resolve not to plan ahead, she was nevertheless disturbed by what happened during the rest of the day.

  Nothing.

  Used to being constantly on the move and invariably in the open air, this was more of an ordeal than she would have imagined and she became gradually more restless and irritable as that day wore on. For a little while she gazed out of the window but the room was not high enough for her to see over the Citadel wall and across the city, and it was too high for her to see the courtyard below. Then she began prowling to and fro about the room, at first studying it in detail and later quite oblivious to it, her mind buzzing with plans and daydreams involving the destruction of the Gevethen. Her mood oscillated between elation and black despondency. Only her Ennerhald discipline kept her from giving voice to these changes or pounding an angry tattoo on the locked door.