by Roger Taylor
‘Leave it,’ he said simply. ‘Tend to Allyn.’ She was about to remonstrate with him further, when he turned her round gently and said, ‘Look.’
With Dowinne leading the way, Cassraw’s body was being borne on the shoulders of his Knights down the central aisle of the Debating Chamber. Without any command the crowd had fallen silent and opened a way for the slow procession. Many were circling their hands over their hearts and, as the body passed, they fell in behind it, heads bowed.
‘Like worshippers,’ Skynner said, suddenly afraid.
* * * *
The diamond-hard nothingness that was Allyn Vredech’s awareness hovered amid the flickering lights and shapes that were there and not there, and which danced to the endless gibbering chorus of sounds that could and could not be heard.
It was no longer unfamiliar, but still it disturbed.
Between the dreams, he thought.
Timelessly he waited.
Then into the awareness came memories of the PlasHein. Of his own failure, of Jarry demented, of blood and confusion, of Cassraw falling, Dowinne raging.
Why was he here?
Was it all over? Was Cassraw dead? Had poor simple Jarry with his clear, tormented vision succeeded where he, with his self-indulgent agonizing, had failed?
Futile questions, he knew. However he had come here, he was helpless and, as always, he felt incomplete. Something was missing – something that would guide him.
Then he sensed danger somewhere in this lost, dimensionless world. Terrible danger. The lights and shapes swirling about him became agitated and jagged, slicing and glinting like a myriad tumbling knife-blades. And a swollen redness rose to taint everything. Fear threatened to overwhelm him, but he could do nothing; could not move, could not scream. And soon, in so far as time meant anything here, for this was all that had ever been, he would be tumbling through this fearful, menacing chaos…
A presence stirred.
Vredech was filled with sensations utterly alien to him, strange, overwhelming scents, each bearing its own message, and sounds that should be beyond hearing, acutely heard. And overlying all, a musky lethargy shot through with lusts and greed.
This was not his, yet it would suffice.
The sudden knowledge came from deep within, and though it made no sense to him, yet it was true.
‘What are you?’ he asked into the presence.
The question echoed back through him.
‘I am Allyn Vredech,’ he replied and, though the words merely flickered over the surface of the true meaning, ‘You are my Guide.’
There was bewilderment and denial. ‘I’m Leck. I’m Privv’s. This can’t be.’
Vredech was suddenly angry, as if he were being defied. ‘Thisis,’ he said brutally. ‘Do what you have to do. Guide me, guard me.’
Realization flooded through him – Leck’s realization. This was how it should be. This was her true task. Briefly a surge of regret for things done, time wasted, soured the knowledge, then, though Vredech felt no movement, she was leading him down, through, along, the tangled dreamways of which he was now a part. The bond between them, new-formed though it was, would lead the cat to the place where they were needed.
There was no time to ponder the many thoughts floundering in the wake of this journey.
And, without any sense of change, he was there. He was Cassraw, standing motionless, staring at the summit of the Ervrin Mallos. It moved uneasily within a shifting haze. Vredech had stood in the dreams of others before, albeit briefly, and felt their emotions and thoughts while remaining aloof from them, but here such unbridled desire pulsated that nothing could have protected him from its impact!
Cassraw turned from the summit and looked out across the land. Before him lay the whole of Gyronlandt, subdued and compliant. Armies of his Knights held sway over all the land while, ‘for the greater good’, hooded Judges of the Court of the Provers relentlessly sought out and ‘brought to the light’ those lost souls whose faith was inadequate, or whose thoughts deviated from the True Word. Rivers ran red with the blood of doubters and unbelievers, and glinted in the light of their living funeral pyres. And he himself, with his hand upon the Santyth, which he alone could interpret, stood at the pinnacle of all power, the Judge of Judges. With the least of his gestures, towns and cities were put to the sword. He bore the cries and screams of the slaughtered with stoic fortitude and accepted the adulation that washed across the land to sustain him in his ecstasy.
Chilled to his core by this vision and consumed with guilt at his failure to slay its architect, Vredech remained very still.
Cassraw turned back to the wavering summit.
‘Here is the gift I shall bring You, Lord,’ he intoned. ‘Show me Thy will and that, too, I shall bring to pass.’
As he watched, the summit began to change. Sometimes rapidly and erratically, sometimes slowly and with a strange grace, towers and spires and ramping walls began to rise from it. They shifted and changed as their creator tested them and found them wanting. And as they grew, so Cassraw saw them all simultaneously, from every vantage point at the foot of the mountain, from high above as though cloud-borne, from far horizons and from immediately beneath the sheer walls looking up at the giddying perspective looming above. Inexorably the building rose high into the sky, glistening menacingly against the gathering black clouds, like a blessed hand reaching out to bring forth the Lord.
But where Cassraw saw a fulfilment, a culmination, Vredech saw the work of a dreadful and inhuman intelligence. He felt its every spire impaling him with its awfulness. Its clawing points and edges tore through the fabric of what was and brought together those things which should be kept apart. It was a monstrous creation that would draw through to this world a darkness and horror that even Cassraw’s mind had not yet encompassed.
And as if in confirmation, as the towers rose ever higher, so he received a vision of labyrinthine tunnels and shafts and dank passageways burrowing deep into the heart of the mountain and yet further below, like sapping roots drawing sustenance from the world.
Then, worse by far, came the knowledge that this impossible structure was to be built by men. That the blood and terror of Cassraw’s campaigns across Gyronlandt were merely to supply what was needed in people, materials and skills. That its awful image would be branded in the hearts of all. That the pain and horror involved in its creation were an integral part of it – indeed, they were its bloody heart.
Vredech felt himself reaching out to touch Leck’s consciousness for reassurance. The cat was nearly demented with fear, but she would hold her ground, he knew. The gift that made her what she was, and had brought her to him in his moment of need, carried deep obligations, heightened now by her deep sense of past regret. Yet her fear sharpened his own awareness, and he began to sense a presence in the dream other than himself and Leck. The dream was strained, distorted. It was more than a dream. It reached beyond the dreamways.
This could not be…
He felt Leck’s fear tearing at him but he ignored it.
Then he knew that the terrible crown growing from the top of the mountain was not of Cassraw’s creating. It was being created for him. Through that part of the dream which was not a dream was coming the Will that was forming this monstrosity, embedding its every detail into Cassraw’s mind.
Vredech could do no other.
‘No,’ he said.
The dream moved, and the scene before him became like a faded picture in an old book.
And he was no longer Cassraw. He was himself. And, for some reason, terrifyingly, Leck was gone, although he was faintly aware of her scratching and screaming in some place unknowable. Somewhere she was hunting for her lost charge more ferociously even than she would have defended her own young. But he was alone. Inside and outside the dream. Standing before a portal, he sensed, though neither sight nor sound informed him.
* * * *
Some of the Knights shifted their feet uneasily. They were at the foot of the r
oad which led up to the Witness House and Dowinne had stopped, almost as if she had heard a command, and called them to a halt. Since then she had stood silent, her hand resting on Cassraw’s chest as he lay on the makeshift stretcher hastily rigged from PlasHein pikes and curtains.
It was still raining.
A little way away stood Skynner with Stiel and Kerna. The Serjeant had quickly superintended the removal of Jarry’s body and the safe transporting of Nertha and the unconscious Vredech to their home, then he had set off in discreet pursuit of Dowinne with his two colleagues. Ostensibly, it was to ensure that the new Covenant Member came to no harm through neglect, but his real motives were an unsteady mixture of curiosity, suspicion and alarm at unfolding events.
* * * *
In this timeless place, Vredech waited. Then, seeping slowly about him he felt again the Will that had touched him when he had stood in the darkness on the Ervrin Mallos as he and the other Chapter Brothers had searched for Cassraw.
It curled through him, searching, testing. But where before it had dismissed him scornfully, now it paused.
A long sigh of comprehension passed through him.
He reached out in fearful appeal towards Leck’s frantic clawing. ‘Help me,’ he cried out. But Leck was not of this place.
* * * *
Dowinne’s eyes opened suddenly and she stiffened. Her movement was copied by the tired Knights still supporting their injured master’s body, expecting an instruction to continue their journey.
‘I hear, Lord,’ she said. Then before any of the Knights could react, she drew a long knife from beneath her robe and plunged it twice into Cassraw’s chest. For a moment the Knights gaped then, as she raised the knife to strike again they let the stretcher fall, tumbling Cassraw on to the wet ground. Some of them leapt away while others made to wrest the knife from her. The first who came near died on a single rapid thrust while the second was cut from shoulder to hip by a whistling slash. The others retreated immediately, forming a ragged, uncertain circle about her and the bloodied heap that had been her husband. Then she stabbed Cassraw again, and plunged her hand into the wound.
Skynner, gasping from his sudden frantic charge to reach the group on seeing what was happening, pushed his way roughly through the men to stand facing Dowinne. Stiel and Kerna were close behind him. Dowinne was a grim sight, her eyes wide and crazed, her nostrils flaring and her teeth bared like a cornered animal. As she moved the knife slowly to and fro in front of her, she was hissing.
Skynner drew his baton.
* * * *
All was roaring chaos about Vredech. It was as though he had been caught in an avalanche. Great forces had swept out of nothingness to beat about him, to draw him inexorably into…
What?
Instincts he did not even know he possessed rose to tell him of an appalling danger and that he must escape while he could. But no guidance came with this knowledge. All that sustained him in his terror was the faint, hysterical scrabbling of Leck trying to reach him; a slender, failing thread weaving through the turmoil.
A soft, kindly voice spoke to him. ‘Do not oppose what must be, Allyn Vredech. Follow your true destiny.’ And it seemed to Vredech that a great roadway was opening before him, one which would lead him calmly from this fearful maelstrom.
Leck’s distant frenzy redoubled itself. It stirred something deep within Vredech, and even as he was about to step forth on the road before him, the knowledge rose to the surface, scorching in its urgency.
‘You are in the dream of a dead man. Flee!’
It was primitive and irresistible, like the force that powers the struggles of a drowning man.
‘Allyn…’ repeated the voice, still honeyed and alluring, but now Vredech saw to its corrupted heart and he shouted.
‘To me, Leck! To me! I hear you!’
And suddenly the clawing, slashing presence of the cat was all about him and he was tumbling over and over, caught up in its killing fury.
Then he was free of the dreadful lure and crashing through into wakefulness. But even as he did, to his horror, he felt Leck’s heart bursting.
‘Too ignorant. Didn’t know,’ the cat gasped feebly. ‘All my life. Didn’t know. Sorry. And not truly yours. There is a companion for you somewhere. Learn what you are, Allyn Vredech. This isn’t finished yet.’
And spiralling, dwindling, into a never-attainable distance, she was gone.
‘No!’ Vredech cried.
He lurched forward.
* * * *
Skynner felt the hairs on his neck stand on end as he looked at Dowinne, her crazed eyes staring at him, the bloodstained knife extended in front of her and her gore-covered hand beckoning him forward. Dealing with women who tipped over into violence was always particularly frightening because of their almost suicidal lack of restraint in such circumstances. And dealing with someone wielding a knife had its own special terrors. But it was not simply the combination of these two fears that was disturbing him. It was something else. Something namelessly awful.
Then Dowinne canted her head as if she was listening to someone and her eyes rolled upwards, replacing their manic stare with a dead whiteness. But Skynner could still feel her gaze on him.
‘As You will, Lord,’ she said.
Her eyes closed and she sank to the ground.
Chapter 38
Vredech scrambled rapidly to his feet and looked around wildly. He was at the summit of the Ervrin Mallos. Rain was drizzling down and all about was greyness.
‘Allyn!’ The cry was accompanied by a vigorous shaking of his arm. Terrified, he snatched himself free and spun round poised to defend himself, only to see Nertha, her eyes wide with fear. ‘For pity’s sake, what’s happened? Where are we?’
Without thinking he put his arms around her and held her tightly. He wanted to say, ‘Don’t be afraid,’ but he couldn’t. There had always been truth between them, and it held even now. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Just stand by me. And be aware.’
‘Allyn, how can this be?’ Nertha burst out. ‘Tell me I’m dreaming.’
Vredech shook her. ‘Listen,’ he shouted. ‘You’re not dreaming. I don’t know how or why we’re here, but as you love me, stand by me.’ He closed his eyes. He was different. Something within him had been awakened by his mysterious contact with Leck. ‘We are here,’ he said softly. ‘And we are in the Witness House also. I can feel it.’ His voice was full of awe, then a hint of irony came into it. ‘Asleep to anyone who sees us.’
Nertha looked at him, still fearful. ‘This is madness,’ she said. ‘Iam dreaming.’
‘No,’ Vredech said. ‘This place is as surely as Troidmallos is. Whether it should be or whether we should be in it, I don’t know. I’ve no answers to any of your questions, but trust your senses, and be alert. Something dreadful’s happened. I think Cassraw’s dead.’
Nertha clutched at his hand, her grip desperate. She was taking slow deep breaths, her mind demanding control over her shaking body. ‘We can’t be in two places at once, it’s not possible,’ she muttered, as if she needed to hear the words spoken out loud before she could continue.
‘This is the darkness where your ability to measure ends,’ Vredech said. ‘You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?’
‘Not at noon,’ Nertha retorted immediately.
A smile formed inside Vredech at this hint of recovery, but it barely reached his face, so strained did he feel.
‘“Fabric’s torn ‘fore all was born”,’ he quoted.
‘Iwondered who would come to this dismal place in such weather.’
The voice made both of them start, for all that Vredech recognized it. The Whistler emerged from behind a rock. He looked at Vredech thoughtfully. ‘I was going to call you “night eyes”, but I see you’re not any more.’ He flicked the flute to his eye and squinted along it. ‘It’s a marked improvement,’ he said. ‘You look almost human.’ Then, before Vredech could reply, the Whistler turned his attention to Nertha. Hi
s eyes gleamed, at once mocking and lustful. ‘Ah, you must be the sister who isn’t a sister. The wonderful Nertha.’ He held out his hand. ‘My dear, you’re as lovely as I’d imagined. Quite the kind of dream I prefer. I can see why my man here is so taken with you.’
Nertha’s eyes narrowed, but out of a mixture of courtesy and curiosity, she took the offered hand, at the same time tightening her grip on Vredech’s. Vredech looked on darkly. ‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ the Whistler said. He carried the hand to his mouth and kissed it with a flourish. ‘I am your…’ he paused. ‘… your maker, I suppose.’
Vredech leaned forward and placed a significant forefinger on the Whistler’s chest. ‘Truce, Whistler,’ he said. ‘Who’s dreaming whom no longer matters. We need to be back in our own world, something bad’s afoot.’
The Whistler looked down at the finger. ‘Martial as ever, eh, Priest?’ he said, releasing Nertha’s hand lingeringly and smiling massively at her. Then he shrugged. ‘My dreams pursue their own course, Allyn, you know that,’ he said, but suddenly there was pain in his eyes. ‘He’s here, isn’t He? All around us. Stinking the air.’
Vredech felt Nertha’s grip on his hand tightening again. He had been so preoccupied with tending to her distress at their mysterious arrival in this place that he had not noticed but, as the Whistler said, the presence of the spirit that had infected Cassraw was permeating everything.
‘Damn you, Priest,’ the Whistler burst out angrily. ‘Must it always come to this? Must I always have to face Him myself? Why didn’t you kill Him like I told you to?’
‘Cassraw is dead,’ Vredech shouted back at him. ‘I was in his dream as he died. He nearly took me with him.’ Then, furiously, ‘Why don’t you play your damned flute and whistle off to some other place if you don’t like this one? Leave us alone! We’ll get back somehow.’
