by Roger Taylor
'And you shouldn't?’ he retorted as they walked down the broad stairway.
'My job, looking after sick people,’ Nertha replied.
'Not like that,’ Vredech stated unequivocally.
'I've been involved in the aftermath of some large accidents before,’ she replied, though almost immediately conceding, ‘But never anything like that, I'll admit.’ She took Vredech's arm. Her face was concerned. ‘It'll linger with you, Allyn,’ she said. ‘Suddenly you'll be in the middle of it again. That's the way it is with things like that. Don't be afraid. Just tell me if it happens.'
Vredech laid his hand over hers. ‘I'm getting well used to finding myself other than where I think I am,’ he said, smiling.
Nertha gave him a sidelong look. ‘You don't seem to be too concerned about it any more.'
'I'm trying not to keep gnawing at it, that's all,’ he replied. ‘But I'm more concerned about what's happening now than I was even yesterday.’ He took both her hands. ‘Whatever changed Cassraw on the mountain has changed me, too, though I don't know how, or even in what way. I seem to have found a strength from somewhere.’ He gripped her hands tightly and held them against his chest. ‘But no matter what happens, I'll tell you, Nertha. Trust me in that. I need you and your cruel, clear vision. You must be ruthless in your observations about what I say and do. But conclude nothing until you've debated it with me. And you must open your mind as never before. Will you promise me that?'
'I will,’ Nertha replied quietly.
* * * *
The following day they set out to attend Cassraw's service. The fine, sunny weather continued, and a lively wind had blown up, keeping the streets bright and airy. By contrast, however, Vredech began to feel an oppression about him as he and Nertha neared the Haven Meeting House. He glanced at Nertha riding beside him. She looked uncomfortable.
'The breeze doesn't seem to be helping here, does it?’ he said casually. She shook her head but did not speak and they rode on in silence.
As they had two days earlier, they found themselves part of a dense flow of people moving in the same direction. The comparison set Vredech on edge and once or twice he was seriously inclined to turn about and go home. Finally, they rounded the last bend before the climb up to the Meeting House.
'Ye gods!’ Nertha exclaimed.
Even though it was still some way to the Meeting House, they could see that a huge crowd surrounded it, filling much of the grounds and spilling out to block the street for some distance. And though he could feel the breeze on his face, Vredech felt the oppression increase. Something drew his eye up towards the summit of the Ervrin Mallos. Despite the bright sunlight, there seemed to be a haze hanging about it. He blinked to clear his eyes, but the haze remained.
'Brother Vredech.'
He looked down. A young man wearing a bright red sash and a dark green tunic had taken his horse's bridle. His eyes were alight with fervour, though his manner was quiet and pleasant. ‘Brother Cassraw gave orders that you were to be escorted through the crowd,’ he said.
Orders? Vredech thought, but he said, ‘Thank you, that will be most helpful. I hadn't expected to see so many people.'
'Great is the power of the Lord. Praise Him,’ the young man exclaimed.
'I suppose I'm to be escorted, too,’ Nertha intruded.
The young man hesitated for a moment before replying, then, ‘Of course,’ he smiled. ‘Follow me, both of you.'
As they moved after him, Nertha brought her horse next to Vredech's. ‘Who are these people?’ she asked. ‘They were everywhere at his last service.'
'They're Cassraw's Knights of Ishryth,’ Vredech explained. ‘It's some kind of organization that he's started for the young men of the area. It seems to be very popular.'
'Grudging praise,’ Nertha observed.
Vredech shrugged a little guiltily. ‘Maybe I'm seeing shadows where none exist, but I feel uneasy about them—for no good reason,’ he admitted. ‘Even Skynner concedes that he seems to have done fine work with one or two particularly disaffected young men.'
'They're rather ... martial,’ Nertha commented.
'Indeed,’ Vredech agreed. They had reached the edge of the crowd and several other Knights of Ishryth had appeared and were forcing a pathway through it. ‘But it's the look on their faces that disconcerts me most.'
'Fanatical,’ Nertha said bluntly.
Vredech grimaced. He had not wanted to hear the word, but he could only agree with it. There were a few such individuals in every parish. They were difficult people to deal with and such extreme devotion was discouraged by the church. In fact, part of every Preaching Brother's training included learning how to deal with it gently. If Cassraw was encouraging it, then...
He chose not to pursue the idea, but concentrated on keeping a close rein on his horse as it threaded its way through the crowd. Gradually they moved into single file, Nertha moving ahead. For the first time he noticed that she was indeed riding very easily, and was much more relaxed than she used to be. Knew a cavalryman, did you? he thought, but there was a edge to his observation that made him frown.
Then they were passing through the gates. Inside the grounds, the Knights were everywhere, briskly marshalling people into separate areas. Their guide led them to a hastily-rigged tethering rail where they left their horses, in the company of a great many others, before following him towards the Meeting House. Once again the crowd parted before them.
'I'm afraid there are no seats left,’ the young man said, his enthusiasm mounting as they walked up the steps to the main door. ‘People have been arriving all day—praise Him. But we've managed to keep some space free at the back for special worshippers such as yourself.'
As they reached the doorway, their guide entered into a brief negotiation with someone just inside that Vredech could not see. Then two red-sashed Knights emerged and, with much apologizing, he and Nertha were ushered into the places they had been occupying.
'Thank you for your help,’ Vredech said, as the young man stood to one side to let him squeeze past.
'You are friends of the Chosen One; to serve is our honour,’ came the reply. Vredech was shocked by this bizarre reply, but he was drawn into the building before he could say anything. Inside, the oppression that had been unsettling Vredech was magnified manifold. It struck him like a blast from a furnace. Even Nertha let out a breathy gasp. The Meeting House was indeed completely full. Not only was there not a seat to be seen, but there was virtually nowhere to stand, so crowded were the aisles. People were even sitting and standing in the deep window recesses, thereby making the hall still darker. Instinctively, Vredech put his arm out to protect Nertha. Memories of the stampede returned to him. If this crowd should panic...
He felt sweat forming on his brow as he struggled to dismiss the thought, and he glanced over his shoulder to confirm the nearness of the door. Not that that would necessarily avail them much, being as crowded as the rest of the hall.
This is awful, he thought. Meeting Houses by their very construction were usually bitterly cold in winter, but pleasantly cool in this kind of weather.
Yet the airlessness here was not simply due to the heat generated by the crowd. There was something else. Was it his imagination, or was there lingering in the atmosphere here, faint hints of the foulness he had felt on the mountain, and in Cassraw's room as his old friend had worked his petty but chilling miracle?
This was more than awful, he decided. It was ghastly, and frightening. He had come here in the hope of listening to what Cassraw had to say in some semblance of peace and tranquillity so that he could decide what to do next. Now he felt as though he was being bound before the mythical domain of Ahmral as some kind of sacrifice.
The word brought back the final encounter he had had before he had woken the previous day. That cold, blood-lusting dream. He trembled as he recalled it. Whose mind could have formed such a creation? Then he realized that there had been an elusive familiarity about it. His trembling in
creased.
'Breathe very slowly, very gently.'
It was Nertha. She was looking at him carefully. ‘Keep your mind quiet. Relax your shoulders. Relax everything. If you don't, you're going to pass out in this heat.'
Her voice cut into the battle that was beginning to rage in his mind.
'It's like the other day, in the street,’ he said, immediately ashamed of the slight tremor in his voice.
'No, it's not,’ she said calmly. ‘It's worse. The temperature's higher and the crowd's more dense.'
'Some comforter, physician,’ Vredech retorted weakly.
Nertha was undeterred. ‘There's also much less room in which to move. The pews and the narrow aisles will prevent any mass movement, and at least these Knights of Cassraw's are keeping a watch on things.'
'I still don't like it,’ Vredech replied.
'Ah, that's a different matter,’ Nertha said. She was grinning slightly, but her face was flushed and Vredech could see alarm in her eyes. The exchange had made him feel calmer, however, which was presumably the object of the exercise. He looked at Nertha surreptitiously. She had always been an interesting, self-sufficient person, but now he was beginning to suspect that she had developed into a truly remarkable woman.
He was given no time to ponder this discovery as the atmosphere in the hall suddenly changed. The muffled hubbub became expectant. Unable to see the front of the hall over the intervening crowd, Vredech presumed that one of Cassraw's lay helpers, or perhaps a novice, had entered to test the congregation. Testing was a relic of the church's most ancient days, when Preaching Brothers had reputedly been warrior princes and lords trying to drag their people out of the ways of war, and when more than one had been treacherously slain as he entered to address his flock. In those days, the tester was said to have been a bodyguard who, dressed as his lord, would pause in the shadow of the doorway before entering the hall. Later, the tester's task became the carrying beneath his robes of a ceremonial sword which he would conspicuously lay upon a table on safely reaching the pulpit. Now, the sword had been replaced by a copy of the Santyth.
A gasp came from the front of the hall. Vredech and Nertha, in common with their immediate neighbours, craned up, but were unable to see what had happened. Then the word ‘Sword’ hissed through the congregation. Cries of ‘Praise Him!’ and ‘Thus let it be!’ rose up from several places as it reached them, and Vredech was aware of considerable agitation about him as people circled their hands about their hearts.
Primitive, he thought, though not in condemnation of those so moved, but as a description of the mood that he felt developing around him. And had Cassraw indeed reverted to the long-abandoned practice of carrying the sword at testing? More noise came from the front of the hall at this point, and suddenly a black form rose up out of the raised pulpit. In common with almost everyone else in the congregation, Vredech caught his breath. For a moment, the figure, hooded and motionless, became one of the shadows that had inhabited the strange twilight world where he had met the Whistler. His mind told him otherwise immediately; told him that it was only Cassraw pursuing whatever design it was that he had chosen to follow, but that did not stop his knees from shaking and his already moist forehead from becoming clammy.
The oppressiveness in the hall grew still further as though it were actually flowing out of Cassraw. It seemed to crush the congregation into silence.
'The time of proving is upon us.’ Cassraw's powerful voice roiled sonorously over the silence. ‘Let those who doubt that Ahmral's hand is in our midst, turn to their neighbours and ask what befell but two days ago in the PlasHein Square. Let them ask who sapped the moral fibre of our leaders so that the people would be drawn forth in such numbers to make their voices heard in the cause of simple justice.'
Slowly, Cassraw reached up and drew back his hood. As he did so he moved forward and leaned on the edge of the pulpit. The movement itself seemed to crackle through the quivering air. Even at the rear of the hall, Vredech could feel the power of his presence as those gleaming black eyes scanned his audience. ‘It is ever the way of Ahmral to use the weak for His ends.'
Silence.
'But so it is ever the way of the Lord to give strength to true believers—to those who are proven—that they might rise up and overthrow those who would lead them astray.'
'Praise Him! Praise Him!'
'And let those who doubt that but look around them, at the numbers that have come here today.'
'Praise Him! Praise Him!'
'And as we are gathered here in witness to His will, so shall all Canol Madreth be brought back to the One True Light, and thence all Gyronlandt, and beyond.'
There was such a roar of approval at this that Cassraw eventually had to silence it by raising his hands.
'But this will be no light task. Ahmral's taint is spread both wide and deep, enmeshing us all. There is no deceit that He will not practice, no lies He will not tell, no treachery to which He will not stoop.’ Cassraw leaned further forward. ‘Vigilance must be our watchword, my children. Only through vigilance shall we find those who would betray us with their weakness.’ His voice became thin and penetrating. ‘Seek always for those signs that will show you where Ahmral's taint has been left. Seek even in your loved ones. Even in yourselves. For wherever it is found, we must root it out if we are not all to be doomed.'
'Thus let it be!'
'And where the taint is found, however slight, let those who bear it come forward and be purged. Let them show that their faith in the Lord has been proven again. Let them come to me, here. Let them have that awful burden lifted from them. For I have been charged with the carrying of that burden unto the place of His coming, unto the place where His new temple shall be built.’ Cassraw lifted his hand towards the Ervrin Mallos.
This time there was uproar. Despite the crush of the crowd, people were waving their arms, clapping their hands and crying out, ‘Praise Him. Praise Him. Thus let it be.'
This is madness, Vredech wanted to shout, but it was as though an iron band was tightening about his throat.
Cassraw's voice cut through the din. ‘But beware, my children. Beware those who would lure you astray with soft words of so-called reason, of compromise with wrongdoers, of doubt about the eternal truths, for their words are as corrosive as Ahmral's spittle. Here is the way. The only way.’ He held up the Santyth, and a monstrous passion filled his voice. ‘Here are written all things. Go unto those who would seek to rule you and tell them to seek first within these blessed pages for guidance. Let them hear His words before they speak their own. Go unto them and do His work, I command you.'
It seemed to Vredech that Cassraw's voice came no longer from the front of the hall but had become a great solid mass that was pressing down upon him from all directions, pounding itself into him. A blackness started to flow over him. Somewhere in the distance he heard his name being called. The words twinkled through the darkness like stars, but he could not reach out and take them.
The blackness closed over him.
* * *
Chapter 26
Darke and Tirec stared up at the Ervrin Mallos. Both seemed distressed, but it was Tirec who spoke first.
'As we've moved further from home, communities seem to have grown more primitive, more ignorant, superstitious,’ he said, though his voice contained no judgement. ‘I thought this just more of the same, but it isn't, is it?'
Darke did not reply for some time. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said eventually. ‘I'm finding it hard to accept what I'm feeling.'
'You think it's Him, don't you?’ Tirec forced the words out.
Darke closed his eyes and tightened his mouth, then he nodded slowly. ‘I fear it's something to do with Him, certainly.'
'No,’ Tirec said. ‘Face it squarely, like you've always taught me. You think it's Him, returned.'
'Too hasty a judgement,’ Darke said, too quickly. ‘We were there when He was destroyed.'
'We were there when His form in this world was
destroyed,’ Tirec corrected.
'Elders’ talk. I don't know what that means,’ Darke said, his tone suddenly angry. ‘And nor do you.’ Then a look of self-reproach replaced the anger and he sagged a little and laid an apologetic hand on Tirec's arm. ‘We should both have listened to them more, I suppose. Made an effort to learn.’ He straightened up. ‘Well, let's do what we're good at, what we were sent out to do: discover, learn.'
Tirec opened his mouth as if to reply, but made no sound.
'It's all we can do,’ Darke said. ‘Though my every instinct's telling me that we've precious little time.'
Then he shivered violently.
* * * *
'What do you mean, none of this is real?’ said a vaguely familiar voice. ‘I thought we'd agreed not to debate that any more.'
Vredech opened his eyes. The draining heat of the Meeting Hall was gone and in its place was a gentle evening coolness. In the distance he could see a sky reddened by the vanished sun. A figure moved to one side and, with a cry, Vredech struggled to his feet. The figure hopped away from him in some alarm.
'I see that my instruction to kill our friend has offended your priestly sensibilities,’ it exclaimed affectedly.
The voice, or rather, the sound, was unmistakable this time. The Whistler was speaking across the mouth-hole of his flute. And they were on the hillside where he had last seen him before waking to the anxious ministrations of House and Skynner.
'What am I doing here?’ Vredech shouted.
The Whistler arched his body backwards as though under the impact of the words. ‘Not again,’ he exclaimed. ‘Please. Play the game properly.'
Vredech clamped his hands to his head, his thoughts reeling. ‘No,’ he snarled. ‘I won't have this. I'm in the Haven Meeting House, listening to Cassraw's ranting sermon, not standing on some dark hillside with a ... figment of my imagination. I've fainted with the heat, that's all.'
He fell silent and screwed his eyes tight shut in the hope that when he opened them he would be back standing by Nertha, but he could still hear the Whistler humming thoughtfully in the darkness. There was a slight scuffling which prompted Vredech to open his eyes again. The lean face of the Whistler appeared, scarcely a hand's span away. His wide, mobile eyes were searching intently. A light had blossomed from something in the palm of his upheld hand—a small lantern, Vredech presumed. Its light was gentle, but almost like daylight in its clarity, for he could see every detail of the Whistler's face. He resisted the temptation to reach up and touch him to satisfy himself that he was indeed truly there.
