Ibryen

by Roger Taylor

  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 that 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.

  When the servants arrived with her evening meal she was feeling comparatively calm. As they went about their business she watched them with an outward display of cold indifference. Internally however, she was calculating. It was purely fortuitous that the servants had found her thus. Had they arrived at some other time they might have been greeted by a Lord Counsellor either sobbing and plaintive or manically hearty. She must not risk that again. She must be in control of herself at all times no matter what the circumstances. And if she disintegrated merely because she was left alone in a room, what might she do in more testing circumstances? A lesson well-learned, she decided. She must remember her basic resolve – to be like Assh and Frey – endlessly patient, waiting for that movement, that mistake, and then pouncing.

  Had she really heard Assh and Frey in the darkness?

  It had seemed real.

  It hadbeen real. As real as anything else in the eerie world beyond this one to which she had been carried. Just as Hagen’s lingering spirit was bound in the darkness so, somewhere, were the spirits of Assh and Frey. But they were not bound, they had been hunting, there was no mistaking that. She did not know what any of it meant, but the memory felt good.

  The servants left as silently as they had arrived and, for a while, Jeyan picked at the food they had brought. Silently she reiterated her new creed to herself. I am confined here but there is no need for me to roam, because here I am fed. What I must not do is plan, that is merely to push my mind into the future and fasten it to thing
s that cannot possibly be known about. It is to rely on whims and fancies when I need stark reality above all. Nor must I fret about things that I don’t understand. What I must do is watch, listen, wait. Moment by moment, heartbeat by heartbeat.

  The servants came and went again when she had finished but she ignored them. She sat on the long couch and leaned back.

  Some hours later she was still sitting thus when the Gevethen entered the room, the mirror-bearers weaving about them. She stood up and turned to face them, then sank slowly down on to one knee and lowered her head. ‘What is your will, Excellencies?’ she said.

  There was a long silence, then:

  ‘Tomorrow, you will sit in judgement.’

  ‘And as you judge, so shall you be judged.’

  ‘Prepare yourself.’

  Chapter 22

  ‘Douse that fire, quickly!’ Rachyl hissed, drawing her sword as she jumped to her feet. She placed herself in front of Ibryen, one hand extending the sword horizontally, the other held down by her side in a peculiarly protective attitude by the Traveller’s head.

  ‘No, leave it,’ the Traveller said urgently, before Ibryen could respond. He reached across the fire, seized the lantern and turned it up.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Rachyl mouthed furiously, snatching at the lantern with her free hand. ‘We’ll be seen!’

  ‘Precisely,’ the Traveller said, taking hold of Rachyl’s wrist and lifting the lantern high.

  ‘What?’ She yanked her hand free and for a moment seemed set to knock the little man to the ground. Ibryen came between them, his own sword drawn.

  ‘Who is it?’ he demanded of the Traveller.

  ‘I don’t know, Count,’ the Traveller replied. ‘But not your Gevethen, for sure. Nor anyone native to this part of the world.’ His face looked suddenly pained in the flaring lanternlight. ‘Or even to this time,’ he said softly, as if to himself.

  ‘No riddles, Traveller,’ Rachyl said grimly, brushing wind-blown hair from her face. ‘Any stranger in these mountains is an enemy.’

  The Traveller waved an irritable hand at her then uttered a piercing, elaborate whistle. It vanished into the booming wind and he craned forward intently after it. Rachyl looked quickly and significantly at Ibryen, but he shook his head in reply and raised a finger to his lips. Rachyl scowled and returned to her search of the darkness with occasional glances at the Traveller.

  ‘Can you hear anything?’ Ibryen asked.

  ‘Can you?’ the Traveller replied, unexpectedly. Ibryen felt the voice penetrating deep into him, asking him many other questions than that in the words alone. Involuntarily, his eyes closed and almost immediately a desperate longing swept over him.

  ‘It’s here,’ he heard himself saying, hoarsely.

  ‘What?’ Rachyl’s voice seemed to be an unimaginable distance away.

  ‘Come back, Count.’

  Ibryen staggered as though he had suddenly been snatched back to the blustering camp from some other place by the Traveller’s command. Rachyl seized his arm and held him firm, though her sword was still moving steadily through the darkness. ‘What the devil’s…’

  ‘Put your sword away, Rachyl,’ the Traveller said, cutting across her oath. ‘Are you all right, Ibryen?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ibryen replied, gently removing Rachyl’s hand. ‘But what’s happening?’

  ‘Journey’s end, I suspect,’ the Traveller said, though his tone was anxious and his manner uncharacteristically fretful. He turned back to the night and whistled again; this time it was so loud that Ibryen and Rachyl put their fingers to their ears. Again there was no reply that they could hear.

  ‘We’ll have to search for whoever it is,’ the Traveller said. He answered Rachyl’s protest before she made it. ‘I told you, it’s no enemy. No one lives in these mountains, and the Gevethen couldn’t have come here, could they?’ He looked at Ibryen for confirmation. ‘I think it’s who we’ve been looking for, but I fear he’s very weak. There was great desperation in that call we heard.’

  ‘What I just felt was more powerful than anything I’ve felt before,’ Ibryen said, uncertain about the implications of what he was saying.

  ‘Yes,’ the Traveller said, without elaborating, though the news seemed to make him more agitated.

  Rachyl looked at the two of them. ‘You’re sure about this?’ she pressed the Traveller sternly.

  ‘Yes,’ he said again, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if having difficulty in restraining himself from plunging off into the darkness.

  Reluctantly, and after a confirming glance at Ibryen. Rachyl sheathed her sword. ‘Turn that lantern down, then,’ she said, bluntly practical. ‘It won’t last much longer burning so high, and it’s destroying what night vision we’ve got. And it’s no use as a signal if whoever’s out there can’t get to it.’ She looked concerned. ‘I suppose we’ll have to leave one as it is, to mark the camp.’

  The Traveller handed her the lantern. ‘You lower this, I’ll mark the camp,’ he said. While Rachyl adjusted the lantern and Ibryen sealed the tent, the Traveller stood looking at the rock in whose lee they had been sheltering. He seemed to be weighing alternatives for a little while, then he opened his mouth slightly and a sound like a distant bell filled the tiny camp. It lingered apparently unaffected by the noise all about them. ‘Remember this,’ he said, tapping his ear as he joined the others. ‘It’ll guide us back better than a light, and it should see the night out.’

  Before anyone could question him, his fidgeting legs finally took charge of him and he was striding into the gloom.

  ‘Come back, damn you,’ Rachyl shouted after him. ‘We must stay together.’

  He stopped with patent impatience.

  ‘I suppose you move in the dark like a bat, do you?’ Rachyl snapped as she and Ibryen reached him.

  The Traveller grimaced. ‘Well, as a matter of fact…’

  But Rachyl was not listening. She flicked an angry thumb towards Ibryen. ‘You might be lighter than he is, mountain man, but I’ve still got no desire to haul you back to the village over my shoulder just because you’ve gone sprawling. We go together, we go slowly and we go carefully. That way perhaps we might find this benighted whistler and be in a condition to help him. Do you understand?’

  The Traveller bridled.

  ‘You go first, Traveller. Slowly. We must stay together,’ Ibryen said quickly, in a commanding but more conciliatory vein. ‘I’ll follow and, Rachyl, you take the rear with the lantern.’

  Maintaining this file order they moved steadily up the mountain. The terrain became steeper and rockier but it was still negotiable without resorting to climbing. Once again, the Traveller demonstrated his uncanny knack of finding the easiest routes, though, on more than one occasion, Ibryen had to call out to him as he went too far ahead. Despite the fact that they were moving relentlessly away from their camp, both Ibryen and Rachyl found that the sound the Traveller had made was lingering with them. From time to time, Rachyl put a hand to her ear and looked over her shoulder with an expression of disbelief and bewilderment on her face.

  As they moved higher, so the occasional patches of snow became more frequent until eventually everywhere was covered. Visibility improved a little as the snow caught the faint lantern-light, but progress slowed markedly.

  ‘I’m not sure this is wise,’ Rachyl said, as they paused briefly after a particularly treacherous scramble.

  ‘It’s very unwise,’ the Traveller replied. ‘But I don’t think we’ve any choice. I can hear only the faintest signs now.’ He turned away and whistled again, an unnaturally loud and penetrating sound that seemed to make the wind fall silent momentarily. Neither Rachyl nor Ibryen heard any reply, but the Traveller nodded urgently. ‘We must press on as fast as we can. I don’t think it’s much further now.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ Ibryen said, leaning back against a rock and putting a hand to his forehead. ‘Something’s wrong.’ Rachyl held up the lantern to see his face. It was haggard
.

  ‘For mercy’s sake, what’s the matter?’ she gasped.

  Ibryen shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I feel as if I’m in two places at once. I’m having to force my arms and legs to move, and my eyes to watch where I’m going. Even talking now, you keep slipping away from me.’ He gritted his teeth as if he were struggling with a great weight. ‘Everything is taking so much effort.’

  Rachyl turned to the Traveller, her face a mixture of anger and fear. ‘What’s happening?’ she demanded.

  Her anxiety mirrored itself in the Traveller’s face as he looked out into the darkness before replying.

  ‘What is there in this other place, Ibryen?’ he asked, with forced patience.

  Ibryen gave a long, laboured shrug. ‘Only hurt. A feeling of failure – no, worse – a trust betrayed, an obligation abandoned.’ Recognition came into his face. ‘It’s grief – terrible grief.’ His eyes became distant.

  ‘Do something, for pity’s sake,’ Rachyl burst out.

  ‘Listen to me, Ibryen,’ the Traveller said, his voice soft but very powerful. ‘Hold to my words – their meaning and their sound. Tell me where you are now.’

  There was a long pause. Rachyl took the Traveller’s arm anxiously. He patted her hand, though more as if he needed her support than in reassurance. Ibryen’s eyes cleared.

  ‘I’m here,’ he said. ‘On this mountain with you and Rachyl, and in this freezing wind.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘In the middle of the pain. Somewhere else. Somewhere that’s near here and yet impossibly far away.’

  The Traveller took a deep breath. ‘You are whole, Ibryen. Don’t be afraid of your fear. The part of you that belongs here is here, and only here. That part of you that belongs elsewhere is untutored and unskilled but not without strength. Say to that which is in pain, what you would say to a grieving soldier who has fought to his limit, back to back, but lived where his companion died – you have not betrayed, you have not failed. You have done well and could not have done more. Go your way in peace and honour and without reproach. Help for your companion in this place is coming. You…’ He hesitated. ‘You must… return… to your own. Perhaps guide his true kin to us for his future needs.’ He took Ibryen’s arms and moved very close to him. ‘Say, in this way you will serve as you have always served, but release me now or you will be a burden.’