by Roger Taylor
‘Ah!’
The Gevethen moved forward, easing Jeyan ahead of them until she was so close to her reflection that she could see little more than its eyes. Still she could see no sign of the line where the two mirrors joined and, still with her, was the fear of what would happen if they moved apart. Warm breath struck her face. It must be her own, she reasoned, standing so close to the mirror. But there was not even a hint of mistiness on the smooth surface. There was only Jeyan, staring at herself.
‘What do you see, Lord Counsellor?’The question came again.
Despite her every endeavour, Jeyan began to tremble again. The hands tightened about her shoulders, coldly supporting her. The trembling ceased. ‘I see myself, Excellencies,’ she managed to say. ‘My reflection.’
‘But which is yourself and which the reflection, Lord Counsellor?’
‘I don’t understand, Excellencies.’
‘Close your eyes, child.’
‘But…’
‘Close your eyes.’
Briefly the idea of struggling free returned to her, but the hands on her shoulders forbade all movement. She closed her eyes.
Alone in the darkness she braced herself for some awful impact – some punishment at last for what she had done – some pain, some torment. But nothing happened. There was only the weight of the hands on her shoulders and the warm breath striking her face, a little more frequently now.
Her ears began to fill with the sound of her breathing. The pressure on her shoulders began to pulse to its hastening rhythm. Then, before she realized what was happening, she was being moved forward.
A soft hissing filled the Watching Chamber, like the release of a long-held breath, as the mirror-bearers moved forward to form a protective circle about the two mirrors made one. None gazed into it, but had they done so they would have seen the reflections of the Hall’s many lanterns and, faintly, fading like ripples in water, the retreating backs of the Gevethen and their new Lord Counsellor.
Chapter 20
‘That way.’
There was urgency in Ibryen’s voice and, without reference to his companions, he set off up the hill. Rachyl and the Traveller watched him for a moment, then, when it seemed he had no intention of slowing down, they hurried after him.
‘What’s the matter? Where are you going?’ Rachyl asked when she finally caught up with him.
‘This way,’ Ibryen said, pointing, but not stopping.
Rachyl frowned. ‘We can’t go much further,’ she protested. ‘This ground’s treacherous enough. There’s no saying what it’ll be like up there. And the light’ll be gone soon. We should camp here. Tackle this fresh in the morning.’
Ibryen did not reply. Rachyl looked at the Traveller. He in his turn looked at Ibryen.
‘What have you heard, Count?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Ibryen replied edgily, still ploughing forward. ‘But something’s changing. Something’s…’ He shook his head. ‘… either beginning or ending, I don’t know. But we mustn’t delay. We must…’
‘Must what?’ Rachyl burst out, seizing his arm and forcing him to a halt. ‘Break our necks going headlong up this slope in the dark?’ She started to shout. ‘Not that we need anyone to break a neck – an ankle will do out here. And it’ll be me who has to carry you back to camp. What in pity’s name are you doing?’
For a moment, Ibryen seemed set to tear free from her grip and start off again, then he looked from Rachyl’s angry face to the Traveller. ‘Can’t you hear it?’ he asked, almost plaintively.
The Traveller shook his head. ‘It’s getting fainter and fainter. Whatever it is. It is this way, but I doubt I’d have found it so easily if you hadn’t pointed it out.’ He gave Rachyl an apologetic glance. ‘Somethingis happening. I don’t think we have time on our side.’
‘We don’t have light on our side either,’ Rachyl announced, through clenched teeth. ‘Nor terrain.’ She took Ibryen’s other arm and only just stopped herself from shaking him violently. Without releasing him, she paused to calm herself. ‘Listen, Cousin,’ she said eventually, and speaking with great deliberation. ‘I don’t know what’s driving you, but I trust you and I’ll back you up, you know that. But unless you’re absolutely sure a dangerous night scramble up this mountainside is going to give us a definite strategic advantage against the Gevethen, then we should camp here, now.’
She spoke not as to her Liege Lord and Commander, but as to an obdurate child. Her manner reached Ibryen. He cast an anxious look up towards the darkening mountain then closed his eyes resignedly.
‘Yes,’ he said fretfully. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘Suppose doesn’t come into it,’ Rachyl retorted, her anger slipping through.
The Traveller intervened. ‘That’s settled then. Let’s find somewhere to camp before it’s completely dark.’ He did not wait for any discussion but motioned his companions away from the broken edge of the forest. Ibryen moved after him and Rachyl followed, watching Ibryen warily.
Within minutes the Traveller had found a small clearing and was busy lighting a fire. It flared up quickly and, with much noisy crackling, shrank the world to a flickering dome. The Traveller produced a pan from somewhere and was soon heating up a stew made out of the remains of the rabbit, some of the tubers on which they had breakfasted, and a variety of odds and ends that he had collected during their journey that day. The savoury smell that filled the firelit clearing took all minds away from their immediate concerns.
‘Tree-scented mountain air, fine walking, and the subtle blending of nature’s gifts. What more could one want?’ the Traveller said, lifting a small spoonful to his lips with relish. ‘Here’s to refined and discerning appetites.’
Rachyl gave him a puzzled look, then delved into her pack and produced a small loaf of bread. She tore it up and thrust the mutilated portions at her companions. ‘Here’s to greed,’ she said, holding a plate out impatiently. The Traveller gave a little sigh and looked sorrowfully at the stew before giving it a final stir and ladling it out.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ibryen said, as they ate. ‘I don’t know what happened to me just then. Something seemed to take hold of me. It demanded…’ He paused.
‘Demanded what?’ the Traveller asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Ibryen said vaguely. ‘That I go to it… listen to it…’ He shrugged.
‘Is it still there?’
‘Yes. But I seem to have more control over it – or over what I feel about it. While I have you two to hold me here.’
‘You don’t sound too sure,’ Rachyl said, wiping out her dish with the remains of her bread. She crammed it into her mouth.
‘Did you enjoy that, my dear?’ the Traveller asked caustically.
Rachyl smacked her stomach. ‘Excellent,’ she declared, leaning back against a tree. She peered into the pan. ‘All gone, has it? Pity. We must take some of these herbs back to the camp. In fact, I think I’ll suggest we make you duty cook when we get back.’
‘I’ve rarely been so honoured,’ the Traveller replied in the same acid vein.
Rachyl grinned, then looked at Ibryen, still eating thoughtfully. ‘What’s the matter, Cousin?’ she asked, her heartiness turned to concern. ‘Explain. What do you mean, we hold you here?’
Ibryen replied to the Traveller. ‘It’s almost as if there are two parts to me. One, here, now. The other, wandering somewhere, lost.’ He held up a cautionary hand to Rachyl. ‘It’s all right. I’m neither crazy, nor sick. I’ve thought perhaps I might be over the last few days but it’s like when you’re wandering the ridges in the mist and you see a vague light, in the sky, as you think. And as you get closer to it, it gets clearer until, without you noticing the change, it’s not a light in the sky any more, it’s a lake shining in the valley below. Now I’m closer, things are clearer, less disorienting.’
It was an analogy that Rachyl appreciated. Ibryen’s brow furrowed. ‘Not as clear as a mountain lake, unfortunately. It’s still a strange light in the sky
but itis there. It isn’t my eyes or my imagination playing tricks.’
The Traveller leaned forward earnestly, the firelight deepening the lines on his face and throwing his eyes into deep shadow. ‘Tell us what you can of this other place you’re in.’
Ibryen smiled broadly. ‘Still misty,’ he said. ‘And that’s the best I can do.’ The Traveller looked inclined to pursue the matter but decided against it. ‘But we must leave early and press on urgently,’ Ibryen added. ‘Something is slipping away. Moving from here and disappearing now into the mist. And it mustn’t. We must find it. And soon.’
* * * *
Ibryen was troubled with strange visions again that night. He was alone in the mist, greyness all about him. And the Gevethen were there too, somewhere, as lost as he was. He looked around, but nothing was to be seen. Yet there were voices all about him. Briefly, two of them became Rachyl and the Traveller talking soft and low – tenderly? The campfire was in front of him, glowing through the haze. Then a haunting music floated out of nowhere and swept up the orange glow of the fire and, wrapping it all about him, carried him into places beyond. Places between the pulse of all things, where he debated with learned men, and where great truths were revealed to him, from the Great Heat at the Beginning of All Things to the dancing creation of the mountains and the seas, and all the life that dwelt in them, some seen, some not.
It was so simple, so clear.
And flawed!
He was suddenly wide awake. And the thoughts that were not his were going… were gone. They slithered from his memory and vanished like smoke in a breeze as he strove to grasp them.
He was merely himself again: Ibryen, deposed Count of Nesdiryn, with his Cousin Rachyl and the strange Traveller trekking through long-untrodden mountains.
And too old to be sleeping out like this, he mused ruefully as his shoulder told him he had rolled on to a stone during the night. Gingerly he levered himself up on one elbow and cast a pained eye at the sky. It was dull, but clear. Not yet sunrise, but the fine weather looked as though it might still be with them. That was good. At the moment, he didn’t want to think too closely about the consequences of continuing this journey if the weather turned bad. They must make as much progress as they could today.
Even as the thought formed, the call was about him again, urging him forward.
‘We are coming,’ he replied inwardly, not knowing how he did it.
The call quivered and a rush of familiar emotions ran through him.
‘We are coming,’ he said again. Then he drew himself back to the cold dawn mountainside and stood up, shivering. Stretching himself elaborately to ease the stiffness out of his limbs, he glanced around the little camp. He was alone. Rachyl’s blanket was draped across a branch, but neither she nor the Traveller were to be seen. He reached down and checked the fire. The grey ashes had been carefully raked and it was still hot underneath. He was touched by the thought that they had awoken early and once again left him undisturbed while they went about preparing breakfast. However, the Commander in him determined not to let it happen again. He was not the invalid of the party; he must pull his weight.
‘Ah, you’re awake.’
It was Rachyl. She was smiling and looked very happy. She held up two partly plucked birds. ‘Caught these myself,’ she said proudly, brushing feathers off her tunic. ‘Still got the knack. Can’t have him doing everything for us, can we?’ She winked. ‘Finish these and draw them, will you?’
Taken aback by both her demeanour and the two still-warm birds thrust into his hands, Ibryen answered the questions the wrong way round. ‘Yes. No.’ Then he managed to gather a little authority into his voice. ‘And by the same token, you must stop letting me lie asleep after wake-up.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Rachyl replied with the heavy respect of complete insincerity.
A jaunty whistling speared into the little clearing before Ibryen could assert himself further.
‘A fine day ahead of us,’ the Traveller said, clapping his hands together and smiling.
‘Everyone’s extremely cheerful this morning,’ Ibryen said, almost churlishly.
‘A good night’s sleep, Count, that’s all. An appreciation of… simple pleasures.’ The Traveller patted him on the back and chuckled to himself. When he saw Ibryen fumbling with the birds his manner became quieter. ‘How does he cook?’ he asked Rachyl.
‘Badly,’ Rachyl replied without giving the question any thought. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do them. You brighten that fire up.’
‘You’ll have to make the most of this meal,’ the Traveller said as he bent over the ashes. ‘I’ve picked a few more roots and bits and pieces, but once we get above the trees you’ll have to start using your supplies.’
‘We?’ queried Ibryen. ‘You too, I presume.’
The Traveller was dismissive. ‘Yes, but I need a lot less than you. And I can live on grasses and mosses if I have to. I belong here, don’t forget, just like those birds and the rabbit.’
Rachyl shot him a glance. ‘I thanked the birds,’ she said.
The fire blazed up and the Traveller nodded with genuine appreciation. ‘I know you did,’ he said. ‘I heard you.’ Then, imitating the fire, mischief flared into his eyes. ‘As I heard you catching them. Thought it was another avalanche.’
Rachyl contented herself with a scowl as she snatched the birds back from Ibryen’s unhappy fingers.
* * * *
Though the breakfast was relaxed and pleasant, there was an undertow of restlessness and they did not linger unduly. The sun was just beginning to strike the tops of some of the higher peaks when they broke camp and they were soon moving steadily uphill. For most of the way they kept to the edge of the forest to avoid the chaotic disturbance that marked the passage of the avalanche. Ibryen however, found himself increasingly drawn towards the lower shoulder of the mountain and as they drew nearer to the treeline, he directed them across the damaged swathe. It was slow, unpleasant walking, across loose mildewed rocks and over rotting tree trunks and dead undergrowth tangled about with creepers and new foliage. Progress was not helped by a series of fast-moving but wide and shallow streams still uncertain about the route they should be taking through this new landscape.
Eventually reaching the other side they began moving up the rocky shoulder without pause. It was steep and craggy but still negotiable with care. For the first time, Ibryen gained a small insight into the Traveller’s climbing abilities as the little man clambered effortlessly from rock to rock while he and Rachyl laboured along behind. Further, he had an uncanny eye for routes which made the climb much easier than it might have been. Nevertheless, despite the guidance he was giving, he was constantly having to stop and wait for them although he showed no impatience at their relative sluggishness. The sun was high when they reached the top of the shoulder and the view of the surrounding peaks and valleys was breathtaking. Despite the cold wind that was blowing over the ridge, they stood for some time gazing around before taking a brief rest in the lee of a small outcrop.
Ibryen took the opportunity to examine the record that Rachyl had been keeping of the route they had followed so far, then they went over it together verbally, to ensure that it was clear in their minds.
‘We’re moving generally south-east,’ Rachyl announced. Then, with a hint of irony, ‘How much longer before we reach this Girnlant of yours, Traveller?’
‘Quite a time,’ the Traveller replied, tilting his head back as though he were scenting the air. ‘It’s more south, south-west from here. If we carry on long enough in this direction we’ll come to the ocean.’
Rachyl looked impressed. ‘I’ve never seen the ocean. Have you?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s it like?’
The Traveller raised an eyebrow. ‘Very flat,’ he replied. ‘And wet.’
Rachyl’s eyebrows came together. ‘Very droll. What’s it really like?’
The Traveller thought for a moment. ‘It’s not my place,’ he said. �
�I find it beautiful but very frightening. It’s like and unlike the mountains. Where the mountains are sheer and immobile, the ocean’s flat and full of movement. But they’re both powerful and indifferent, full of grim chances that can sweep you aside like…’ He pulled a stray feather clinging to his sleeve and released it into the wind; it leapt away from him, flying high, twisting and turning, then it was gone. ‘… like the merest feather. And too, if you don’t pay heed, forget who and where you are…’ He drew a finger across his throat. Then he became agitated. ‘And not a foothold to be found anywhere. How people can get into boats and go wobbling across it defies me. The merest thickness of timber between them and those dark cold depths.’ He concluded with a violent shudder.
Rachyl, who could swim and who had rafted on mountain lakes, was about to allow herself a touch of disdain but the Traveller forestalled her. ‘It’s not like the puddles you find round here. Even the largest are as nothing. I’ve stood high above where the mountains and the sea meet. Eavesdropped on their mighty discourse. Heard the rumbling belly of the water and the creaking roots of the mountains. Listened to the whispering chatter of the air and the spuming spray. Watched waves many times the height of your Council Hall storming in like crazed horses and smashing into cliffs, time after time, then fuming up them as if they were trying to bring the peaks themselves down.’
Both Rachyl and Ibryen were listening enthralled by the Traveller’s passionate description. ‘Will we see it?’ Rachyl asked.
The Traveller smiled and shook his head. ‘Wherever we’re going, it’s much nearer here than the ocean.’ When Rachyl looked disappointed, he raised a hand for silence, and tilted his head to one side. ‘Close your eyes and listen. Both of you. There’s enough material here for me to bring the sea to you.’
Ibryen was reluctant. ‘We should be pressing on,’ he said, making to stand up.
‘The merest moment, Count,’ the Traveller protested. ‘Close your eyes. Listen.’
