Whistler [A sequel to The Chronicles of Hawklan]

by Roger Taylor

  Then, from whatever eyrie he was perched in, Vredech began to make out movement in the streets below. He needed no telling to identify it, it was hanging in the Whistler's eerie music that was still all about him. The movement was that of people, fleeing. Women, children, old men—the young and the less young were already dead, the music told him. Then there was more movement. Horsemen! A surging tide of them flowing black and relentless in pursuit through the crowded streets, riding over the panic-stricken survivors, crushing them, hacking them down. But this was no battle. That had already been won. This was a hunting, a revelling sport, part of the reward for that winning. The music continued, twining together laughter and screams in an unholy harmony, telling him that of those who did not die here, some would be kept for further, more leisurely sport later, others would be bound and broken in slavery, while the seemingly most lucky, those who would escape, would serve as the bearers of hideous tales to begin the destruction of the next city even before the enemy had set spur towards it. He tried to turn his head away, but it was held firm. Nor would his eyes close. For a brief, terrible instant he was sucked down into the crowd to become once again part of a suffocating, screaming throng, though this time the cries around him were foreign and strange. The terror, however, needed no language.

  Then blood filled his vision. Filled his world. Choking...

  The Whistler was looking at him inquiringly. ‘There are many such songs,’ he said.

  Vredech drew in an agonizing breath. He held out a hand, at once restraining and denying. ‘It cannot be,’ he gasped. ‘Not in Canol Madreth.'

  The Whistler was playing his flute again, the angry march he had played before, though now it was soft and distant. ‘I told you—astonishment. You'll be gaping in disbelief at the sword that kills you, thinking, “this cannot be".’ He levelled the flute at him. The sudden silence in the cave was more startling than if there had been a thunderclap. ‘Everywhere. Anywhere. Such a fate is always waiting for those who forget the darkness in their nature,’ the Whistler intoned. ‘Learn it now, or you'll be taught it again.'

  'What can I do?’ Vredech asked.

  'I've told you once and you won't do it.'

  His body still reacting to the scenes he had just witnessed, and his mind reacting to the manner in which he had witnessed them, Vredech could not give voice to his returned anger. He shook his head despairingly and snatched at a thread of reasoning for support. ‘Your advice aside, Whistler, allow me a moment. If you are a figment of my imagination then perhaps I'm on the way to madness. But if I murder my friend at your suggesting, then I am truly insane, isn't that so?'

  The Whistler made no reply for a moment, then he said, ‘And if you are a figment of my imagination, I'd still like to know why I'm taxing myself with such a problematic individual, with his inconvenient moral dilemmas.'

  Vredech's thoughts started to reel as once again he groped for some anchor that would hold sufficiently for him to determine the reality of what was happening. Something inspired him. ‘Perhaps you value our debate,’ he said.

  The Whistler laughed. The sound echoed joyously around the cave but it jarred on Vredech's ears. ‘You may well be right, in some perverse fashion,’ the Whistler said. ‘But I'm afraid I've no advice for you, other than what I've already given you.’ He became serious again. ‘If you choose not to follow it, then ...’ He shrugged. ‘But if you want to stop Him rising once again to power, and devastating your land and its people, then His death is the only thing that will achieve this.’ He turned away sharply, and Vredech felt a great wave of sadness pass over him. ‘If you kill Him now, then perhaps it will go badly for you. But if you kill Him later, it will have already gone badly for many others.’ He paused. ‘I'm afraid it's usually so.'

  'But ...'

  'You have your answer, Priest. If you won't kill Him, then you'll have to watch events unfold and respond accordingly. Public chaos and death, you say, has already begun. Private blood-letting and terror you have, too.’ He drew in a hissing breath and his hands curled painfully about the flute, as if he had accidentally struck a newly-healed sore. ‘They are related, trust me. And be warned. You defend your friend, understandably, I suppose, but he's not your friend any more. He is His. Body, and what's left of his soul. I've told you, he's an apt vessel—very apt. The events you'll be watching may well move with great speed. Disbelief and astonishment are luxuries you haven't the time to afford.’ He became suddenly pensive. ‘Apt,’ he murmured to himself, as if the word had set unexpected thoughts in train. ‘There's a quality about these things, like ...’ He frowned as he struggled for the words, then lifted the flute and began playing random notes, very slowly, with his head cocked on one side, listening intently. ‘Like this,’ he said eventually, blowing a single note. As he lowered the flute, the note returned out of the darkness at the back of the cave and hovered briefly before fading. ‘An echoing, a resonance. There's a quality in some of this rock that's in deep harmony with this note. It responds when touched in the right way.’ He played the note again, and held up a hand for silence as it returned once more. ‘So it is with Him. But infinitely more subtle.’ He pressed his thumb and forefinger together. ‘Who responds just so to His song, builds a way for Him. Large or small, wide or narrow, it will be His way. And He will not relinquish it. He builds ever. And there are many ways in which He can come. Ways of the mind, the spirit, the heart, the flesh.’ He snapped his fingers and pointed at Vredech. ‘Don't let this friend of yours build anything,’ he said urgently. ‘No monuments, no palaces. Nothing.'

  Vredech made to speak, but the Whistler was continuing. ‘Right place, right moment, right ... qualities ... prayer, adulation, terror—and such a place, with its shapes and deep and locking geometries can draw Him down on you like lightning down a tree, and the consequences of that bear no thinking about.'

  The awful conviction in the Whistler's voice made Vredech shiver. As if in response, the wood that the Whistler had thrown on the fire suddenly burst into flames. The surge of warmth struck him full in the face.

  'Allyn! Allyn!'

  Nertha's anxious voice pierced the clinging heat as several arms seized him and held him upright.

  'Are you all right?'

  'Yes, I'm just ...'

  A roar rose from the congregation, its awful weight crushing him once more. For a moment he was fully in two places. Sitting in the Whistler's cave torn with doubt, and standing in the Haven Meeting House, sustained by unknown hands and full of fear.

  Nertha's emphatic voice was saying, ‘No you're not.’ Then she was shouting, her voice cutting through even Cassraw's frantic rhetoric. ‘Clear a way at the back, sick man coming through.’ And before Vredech could speak, he was twisting and turning, being passed from hand to hand through the crowd that stood between him and the door, Nertha controlling the proceedings like a sheep dog herding her flock.

  Then the short, buffeting journey was over. The stifling heat and gloom of the Meeting House gave way to the warmth and light of the summer sun. The supporting hands became an arm wrapped about his shoulders and a single hand firmly grasping his elbow.

  'I'm not doing too well lately, am I?’ Vredech said wearily as Nertha led him around to the side of the Meeting House, away from the crowd momentarily distracted from Cassraw's sermon.

  'Hush,’ she said, at once gentle and businesslike. ‘Sit down here in the shade and rest a moment.’ Even as she was speaking, she was skilfully manoeuvring him on to the base of a wide recess in the wall. Then she was looking into his face, prising his eyelids back. He pushed her hand away.

  'I'm all right,’ he insisted. ‘It was just the heat.'

  Nertha was shaking her head. ‘No, it wasn't,’ she said. ‘I thought it was at first. It was the obvious thing.’ Her hands avoided his and touched his face and forehead, then the pulse in his neck. ‘You're agitated, but you don't feel like someone who was just about to faint. And you've recovered too quickly.'

  'Do you need any help
?’ The question came from one of a pair of Cassraw's Knights who had helped open the crowd for Nertha; they had followed in her determined wake as she had led Vredech away.

  'No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I am a physician. It's nothing serious.'

  'It's the power of Brother Cassraw's great message,’ the young man confided. ‘It moves people in many different ways.'

  'I'm sure,’ Nertha replied caustically, though the sarcasm was lost on the listeners.

  She turned and dismissed them with a smile of reassurance, then bent forward and gazed intently into Vredech's eyes. Her hands came up to examine them again. ‘Stop that,’ he said, seizing her wrists. ‘There's nothing wrong with my eyes, Nertha. I can see perfectly.’ He pointed.

  'Look, there's the Ervrin Mallos.'

  Nertha was patient. ‘Being able to see a mountain doesn't really constitute a test of good eyesight, Brother brother,’ she said, smiling slightly at his indignation as he glowered back at her.

  He pointed again. ‘Then there's the gate to Cassraw's private garden, and Dowinne's precious fruit trees. There's a street lantern that someone's forgotten to turn off. There's those yellow flowers, what're they called?’ He snapped his fingers.

  'Sun's eyes.’ Nertha answered for him. ‘All right, your eyesight's fine, then.’ But she was still looking into his eyes. ‘It just seemed to me that they looked very strange as you began to lose consciousness just now. Almost as if their entire orbs ... went black.’ She hesitated, then said awkwardly, ‘Or rather, filled with darkness. It gave me quite a fright.'

  Night eyes, night eyes. The Whistler's words rang in Vredech's ears. And he remembered, too, the brief impression he had had when he looked in the mirror after his first encounter with the Whistler. The same fear possessed him now as it had then, but under Nertha's searching gaze he kept his face immobile. ‘It was dark and crowded in there,’ he said flatly. ‘Lots of shadows.'

  He saw Nertha controlling her own face as a shrewd-eyed look of suspicion rapidly came and went.

  'Dark,’ he confirmed. ‘And confused. And you'd be shocked, seeing me passing out like that.'

  Now the indignation was Nertha's. ‘I'm not shocked at the sight of people falling over,’ she said, her brow furrowing. ‘I'll have you know, I've seen ...’ She stopped as Vredech smiled up at her. Then he found he was looking at her mouth. His hand moved of its own volition, wanting to reach out and touch. And his chest tightened. Nertha's eyes seemed to widen and she moved her face a little closer to his.

  Vredech forced his hand to be still and, stiff-faced, yanked his eyes away. ‘Anyway, whatever happened in there, I'm fine now,’ he said briskly, though he felt himself colouring. ‘Perhaps I'm still a little tired from being awake all the other night. Let's get away from here. We've more serious things to talk about now than my feeling a little dizzy in that crowd.'

  Uncharacteristically, Nertha stammered. ‘Yes ... yes. You seem to be well enough now.’ She looked around. Even from where she was standing, she could see the edge of the crowd which was gathered at the front of the Meeting House. And she could hear the hubbub inside. She shivered.

  'Goose walking over your grave?’ Vredech said, standing up.

  Nertha grimaced. ‘No,’ she said simply. ‘Just Cassraw. Come on?'

  They left through Cassraw's private garden to avoid the crowd, and rode for some time without speaking. To Vredech, the implications of Cassraw's wild sermon left so many questions that it seemed impossible to start a rational conversation. And his mind was filling again with frantic thoughts about his mysterious transportation to the Whistler and his world, and all that that implied for his sanity.

  Nertha had no such problems. She was silent partly because she could see that Vredech needed a little time to recover himself, but mainly because she was thinking. It puzzled her that, though he had unquestionably been on the verge of fainting, Vredech had subsequently shown none of the symptoms of someone overcome by the heat. And the memory of his eyes disturbed her. It had only been a fleeting glance, but she had seen what she had seen, surely?

  'Tell me what happened back there, Allyn,’ she said bluntly.

  'Nothing,’ Vredech said vaguely, after a long hesitation.

  Nertha glanced at him. ‘It was only yesterday you said you'd tell me about everything that happened to you. You volunteered it, I didn't wring it out of you. And you promised. “Keep an open mind—as never before” I think you said. And I said I would. So don't give me “nothing".’ She weighted the words with full family reproach.

  'You'll think I'm truly mad if I tell you,’ Vredech said eventually, and very uncomfortably.

  Nertha's reaction was unexpected and tangential, as the Whistler's had been in response to a similar remark. ‘Never mind what you think I'll think,’ she said with brutal sharpness. ‘And don't ever presume to know what I'm thinking. Just concern yourself with what I say and do, and I'll give you the same courtesy.'

  The abruptness and power of the response jerked Vredech out of his own circling anxieties, and he gaped at her.

  'Well?’ she concluded forcefully.

  Vredech still hesitated. Then he looked up at the Ervrin Mallos. ‘What can you see at the top of the mountain?’ he asked.

  Nertha's expression was impatient, but she followed his gaze. After staring for a moment, she screwed up her eyes and craned forward a little. ‘There seems to be some kind of heat haze, I suppose,’ she said, settling back into her saddle.

  'It's no heat haze,’ Vredech said with some certainty. ‘It's not the kind of day for a heat haze, and have you ever seen one isolated at the top of a mountain?'

  Nertha looked up again and shrugged. ‘If it's not a heat haze then it's something else to do with the weather,’ she said indifferently. ‘But whatever it is, it's not hazy enough to prevent me from seeing what you're up to, so just tell me what happened to you in the Meeting Hall.'

  Vredech looked openly relieved. ‘I'm glad you can see it, though,’ he said. ‘I think it's been there for some time now.’ Then, before Nertha could speak again, he began telling her of his encounter with the Whistler.

  She was silent when he finished. ‘I said you'd think I was mad,’ he said, watching her carefully.

  'And I told you not to worry about what I was thinking,’ Nertha replied tartly. ‘You wanted me to keep an open mind, and I will, no matter how hard it is.’ She looked at him, her face confused yet determined. ‘I can do it while I'm sure you're telling everything that's happening. We must trust one another. And in that context, I'll be honest. I'd think you were mad indeed if you'd suddenly awoken with the intention of killing Cassraw.'

  Vredech looked at her helplessly. ‘What's happening, Nertha? What can I do?'

  Nertha replied instantly. ‘I've no idea,’ she said. ‘But whoever and wherever the Whistler is, whether he's something your mind's made up for some reason, or whether he truly does lie in some strange other world, he's doing you no harm so far. Cling to that, Allyn. Cling to that. He's doing you no harm. And while you talk about him, I don't think he will.'

  She reined her horse to a halt and stared around, her hands tapping the horse's neck in frustration. ‘I know it seems a lifetime now, but a couple of days ago, if you recall, we said we'd ride and talk. I'd tell you how the old place has changed. We'd go out into the country.’ Her eyes drifted towards the summit of the Ervrin Mallos, just visible above the rooftops. ‘I think we should do that now,’ she said, suddenly determined. ‘Let's weary ourselves with good honest exercise and go to the heart of this business at the same time.’ Her eyes were alive and challenging. ‘Are you with me?’ she asked, as if they had been children daring one another into mischief again. ‘Let's take this devil by the tail. There's time before night. Up to the top of the mountain.'

  Before Vredech could answer, she had swung her horse about and was galloping away.

  * * *

  Chapter 27

  Vredech found the pace trying. He had always been a bet
ter rider than Nertha, and the sight of her moving not merely ahead of him but getting steadily further away, revived sensations that he had not experienced since his youth.

  'Come on, nag, move,’ he growled furiously to his mount, urging it forward, but to no avail. He caught up with Nertha only when she stopped, and by then he was red-faced and breathless.

  'You should try letting the horse do the running,’ she said, laughing.

  'It wasn't fair, it was uphill,’ he said fatuously, spluttering into laughter himself as he realized what he had said.

  Nertha swung down from her horse. ‘We'll walk them awhile—let them cool down. I doubt your horse has had any exercise since you bought it.'

  Vredech affected a dignified silence.

  Their gallop had carried them to a little-used road high above the town. Below them lay the familiar jumble of winding streets and grey-roofed houses tumbling down towards the larger buildings at the centre of the town, and thence to the towers of the PlasHein. Had they searched, they would have been able to see the roof of the Haven Meeting House, but neither of them did.

  Looking round, Vredech remembered the vision that the Whistler had shown him, of a vast, strangely flat city devastated by a cruel enemy. He remembered, too, his denial, and felt it again here. Not in Canol Madreth. It wasn't possible...

  Was it?

  'It's not cavalry country, is it?'

  Nertha's remark struck him like a blow.

  'What?’ he exclaimed fiercely.

  She looked at him wide-eyed, startled by his response. ‘I said it's not cavalry country,’ she repeated. ‘It's better suited to light infantry.'

  'What are you talking about, girl? What do you know about cavalry and infantry?’ He was almost shouting.

  'Don't call me girl,’ Nertha blasted back. ‘You know I hate it. And what are you shouting at me for?'

  Vredech's mouth opened wide, then closed again unhappily. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said, wilting. ‘I was just thinking about what the Whistler showed me—that ruined city and riders swarming through the streets, killing people, just for fun.’ He folded his arms about himself protectively.