by Roger Taylor
'Nertha, you're frightening me,’ he said finally. ‘Did He ... it ... try to possess you again? Speak to me, please.'
Then she turned to him and for the briefest of moments he saw into her unbelieving soul and understood. He saw that the reason and logic which dominated her thinking and informed her attitudes, were not the tight choking circle that he had always imagined. They were tools with which all things could be examined and, perhaps, understood. They were tools that removed the darkness and shed light along a magical road of learning and discovery that went on for ever.
For ever.
And awe and wonder were not lessened by what they revealed; they were enhanced.
And now she was frightened—desperately frightened. Not that these tools might fail her, he could see, but that she, with her human frailty, might fail herself in the use of them. And now he was afraid, because she must surely bring her will to bear on what was happening. She was a physician, a healer, her very nature would not allow her to turn away from something that could bring such horror and pain without attempting to right it—or excise it!
He dropped to his knees and put his arms around her. After a while, her arms folded about him and though she made no sound, he felt her weeping. They were no longer brother and sister. Then she said the words.
'Allyn, I'm so afraid.'
The reply was difficult.
'So am I,’ he said eventually.
The worst was past.
He held her tighter, until eventually the weeping faded away, and her body became awkward and stiff. He let her go as she began wriggling to take a kerchief from her pocket. Wiping her streaky face and blowing her nose she made no apology for her tears and Vredech made no mention of them.
'Where can we start?’ she said, clearing her throat.
Vredech looked at her quizzically.
'We have to do something, Allyn,’ she said, with some impatience. ‘Cassraw's got to be stopped. This ... thing ... that's taken over him is corrupting him totally. Whatever anyone else thinks, we know this. And these powers he's developed.’ She shook her head. ‘Unbelievable.’ Unexpectedly, she smiled, and Vredech felt the room brighten. ‘A salutary lesson re-learned, Preacher,’ she said. ‘I should know by now not to allow the limits of my sorry imagination to dictate what is and is not possible.'
Then, fleetingly and in contradiction to his previous fears, Vredech was afraid that she would not venture forth to do battle by his side, but would sink into the familiar warmth of the room and the fire and the spell that House had woven for them, like a tiny field creature unaware of the approaching armies coming to trample over it. House's magic, he knew now, should be valued for what it was, not what it seemed to be. But Nertha dispelled this concern.
'Still,’ she said, ‘believable or not, it was as real as a broken leg.’ She gave Vredech an apologetic look. ‘And it was no party trick either. I'm sorry.'
Vredech gave a dismissive wave then laboured himself up off his knees and sat down on his chair again. Nertha reached out and took his bruised hand. He winced as she manipulated his fingers then, satisfied that no serious harm had been done by the punch he had thrown, she gave a guilty chuckle and clicked her tongue. ‘Fisticuffs between the Brothers, eh? How Father would have laughed.’ There was more sadness than humour in her manner, however, and she returned his hand to him gently. Then, quite soberly, as though she were speaking to a normally conscientious student who had just made a careless mistake, she said, ‘If you're going to hit someone in the face, use the heel of your open hand, not your fist. You might have been permanently crippled.’ She demonstrated as she spoke.
Vredech gaped at this unexpected advice, but before he could respond, Nertha had leaned back, her face thoughtful. ‘It would help if we knew what it was that's taken over Cassraw,’ she said.
Vredech raised an eyebrow. It was the kind of obvious question that would probably never have occurred to him.
'I suppose it would,’ he said vaguely. ‘But I don't know ...'
A violent knocking on the Witness House door made both of them start. It went on long enough for Vredech to rise and move to the door of the room in some concern. As he opened it he heard House's voice raised in indignation, then the knocking ceased. He paused, listening. Almost immediately House cried out. Vredech ran through into the hallway. House was standing by the open doorway while sprawled across the threshold was a man wearing the uniform of Cassraw's Knights of Ishryth. Another man, short and strong-looking, and a tradesman judging by his clothes, was bending over him, trying to rouse him.
'What's going on?’ Vredech demanded sternly, thinking that the fallen man was drunk.
'Please help me get him up, Brother,’ the kneeling man implored. ‘Please! I couldn't think of anywhere else to come. I'm sorry. Please help.'
'You're Yan-Elter, aren't you?’ Vredech said, recalling the man's name.
'What's happening?... Oh!'
The exclamation came from Nertha, who had been drawn inexorably after Vredech. She pushed past him and knelt down by the fallen man, gently motioning Yan-Elter away. Vredech gave the man a reassuring nod. The sight of Nertha kneeling over the prone figure brought back the memory of Mueran, and Vredech found himself holding his breath. This time however, there was no resigned slump of the shoulders as she stood up.
'Pick him up and bring him through here,’ she said authoritatively.
Together, Vredech and Yan-Elter lifted the unconscious figure and manhandled him awkwardly into Vredech's room, House following, wringing her hands anxiously. At Nertha's further instruction they laid him on a long couch and she began to examine him. The man's uniform was torn and soiled and his face was begrimed and bloody. ‘House, could you get me something to clean this young man up with, please, and some blankets?’ Nertha asked as she turned up the lanterns and lit another one.
Vredech repeated his initial question to Yan-Elter as House left. ‘What's going on, Yan?'
'Is he going to be all right?’ Yan-Elter asked Nertha, ignoring Vredech. Nertha waved a hand for silence and continued her examination. Her manner brooked no interference and the man turned to Vredech.
'Give her a moment,’ Vredech said, his manner softening. Catching Nertha's eye for confirmation, he added, ‘I'm sure he'll be fine.’ Then House entered carrying a bowl of water and some towels and the two men retreated before the subsequent bustle of female activity that eventually restored the unconscious man to some state of cleanliness.
'He's got bruises and abrasions, mainly to his arms and legs, and his ankle's swelling up badly, although it doesn't seem to be broken,’ Nertha concluded eventually, wiping her hands. ‘I'm not getting any signs of serious internal injury, but we'll have to wait until he wakes up before I can check that properly.’ She directed an unexpectedly stern gaze on Yan-Elter and asked Vredech's question again. ‘What's been happening here?’ she demanded. ‘As far as I can tell, the main thing that's wrong with him is that he's absolutely exhausted.’ She turned to Vredech. ‘Those Knights of Cassraw's looked the same.'
Vredech rescued the man, pointing him towards a chair by the fire. He had barely sat down when the figure on the couch began to thrash about violently, throwing off the blanket that had been placed over him and only narrowly avoiding knocking over House's water bowl. Nertha moved to his side and took hold of his flailing arms. Then slowly, from the depths, a great cry of pain and horror rose out of the man.
'Hold his feet!’ Nertha cried out to Vredech as she began to use her weight to reduce the man's spasms.
Yan-Elter moved to the man's head. ‘He's been like this all the time. And crying too,’ he said. Then, to the sick man, ‘Iryn, it's me. You're safe now. You're back. Everything will be all right.'
But the man's agitation only increased, as did his cries, and for a little while all three were fully occupied in restraining him. Suddenly he began to gasp for breath. Nertha sat up and sniffed, then, her jaw stiffening, she gave him a mighty slap across the face. The
man's eyes flew wide open.
'You're all right now, Iryn,’ Nertha smiled into them winningly. ‘You're safe here. Rest back.’ Then, to Vredech, with a poke of her elbow that gave the command an urgency which she kept out of her voice, ‘Get my bag. And some water for him.'
When the bag appeared, Nertha delved into it expertly and produced a small bottle. She measured a few drops into the water.
'Drink this,’ she said to the still-bewildered Iryn. ‘It'll help.'
Iryn seized the glass in both hands and gulped the contents down without question. Nertha watched him carefully. ‘Dehydrated as well as exhausted,’ she said. ‘Go to sleep now, you're very tired. Go to sleep. We'll talk later.'
Even as she was talking, the man's eyes were closing.
Nertha looked at Yan-Elter more sympathetically than before. ‘You don't look all that much better than your friend,’ she said.
'He's my brother,’ Yan-Elter said.
Nertha shrugged. ‘Then you don't look much better than your brother. He'll be asleep for some time now, which is what he needs. Sit down. House will bring you something to eat and drink, and then you can tell us how he came to be like this.'
Yan-Elter sagged and moved back to the chair while Vredech went to deliver Nertha's request to House. Nertha remained on the edge of the couch by her patient.
When Vredech returned he sat down opposite Yan-Elter and looked at him expectantly.
Yan-Elter became suddenly animated. ‘It's that madman, Cassraw,’ he burst out. ‘Saving your cloth, Brother, but some things can't be left unsaid. He's not right in the head.'
Vredech attempted a quietening gesture. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘You can say anything you want here without fear of reproach, but please try to stay calm, and take whatever time you need. What's Cassraw got to do with your brother being in this state?'
Yan-Elter pressed his hands to his temples as if trying to still his thoughts. ‘He's got everything to do with it!’ He pointed towards his sleeping brother. ‘He was at that Bredill business,’ he said vehemently. ‘I still can't believe it was only yesterday.’ Vredech and Nertha waited until he composed himself again. ‘Yesterday, one of his cronies from these Knights of Cassraw's came for him. “Captain Yanos's orders,” he says. “Come right away. Very important. Going to see the Felden off".’ Yan-Elter looked at Vredech. ‘Now, Iryn's not the wisest of souls, but he's not totally stupid. For his sins, he's a mite too keen to use his fists in an argument, but he wouldn't want to get involved in fighting real soldiers. So, he asks what's going on. Then, this ... Knight ...’ His voice was snarling with contempt, ‘just says, “Come now, it's an order, you don't have any choice". Iryn's still not happy and says so, whereupon the Knight says, “Come now or take the consequences of breaking your holy oath". Very slowly he says it, full of menace. And Iryn just ...’ he shrugged. ‘went quiet and left with him.'
'Didn't you try to help him?’ Nertha asked.
'I wasn't there!’ Yan-Elter exclaimed reproachfully. ‘I got the story off our mother when I came home from work. She was really frightened.’ His tone changed to one of anger. ‘This Knight was a nasty piece of work, she said.’ He drove his fist into his hand. ‘I'll make a piece of work of him if I catch him. And that lunatic Cassraw.'
Vredech let the threats pass.
'The next thing I hear, there's all this blather in the Sheets about a battle at Bredill and the Felden army being defeated. I had to leave the job I was on and go home. I knew Mother would be really frantic now.’ He clenched his hands together and gritted his teeth as if to force the next words out. ‘She'd already been to the place where these ... Knights ... meet. There were a lot of them there—in bad shape, she said—but they just told her to ...’ He hesitated. ‘To go away,’ he said uncomfortably, ‘before they threw her out.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There was a lot of abuse. Then one of them said Iryn must have got separated on the way back. Quite a few had, apparently. He'd probably turn up later.'
'So you went and found him?’ Vredech said, cutting through the rest of the tale.
Yan-Elter nodded. ‘More by good luck than anything else,’ he said. ‘Just caught sight of his precious red sash in the gorse some way off the road.’ He looked at his two listeners. ‘He could've died for all they cared. He must have just wandered off exhausted, and collapsed.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘It's beyond me. What kind of a crowd are they? You look after your own, don't you? You don't need to be a Preaching Brother to know that. You don't just abandon people when there's trouble.’ He fell silent.
'Has he told you what happened?’ Nertha asked.
Yan-Elter shook his head. ‘I managed to wake him up, but he was rambling. Shouting and moaning. And thrashing about—like just now. I don't know how I got him here.'
'Why did you bring him here?’ Vredech asked. ‘Why didn't you take him to a physician?'
'Have you told your mother he's safe?’ Nertha asked, leaning forward and gesturing Vredech's question aside urgently.
Yan-Elter looked rapidly from one to the other. ‘No,’ he stammered guiltily to Nertha, then to Vredech, ‘He didn't seem to be hurt badly. He could walk, but he kept ... sitting down, as if he just wanted to lie there and give up. I asked him if he wanted to go to Cassraw's but he started throwing a fit again, really badly. You were all I could think of, Brother Vredech. I know I'm no service-goer, but ...'
Nertha, momentarily deflected by this tale, recovered herself and pointed to the door. ‘Get home to your mother, now, right away,’ she said indignantly. ‘Tell her your brother's safe, and where he is, and make sure she's all right before you come back.'
'Bit fierce with him, weren't you?’ Vredech said when Yan-Elter had left.
'Well, for mercy's sake,’ she said impatiently. ‘The poor woman'll be demented while he's sitting here, unloading his worries.'
Vredech changed the subject. ‘What do you make of it?’ he said.
Nertha looked at the sleeping figure, then at Vredech. ‘We'll have to wait for him to wake up before we can get the answer to that,’ she said simply.
'How long will that be?'
Nertha took Iryn's pulse then shook her head. ‘The draught I gave him should keep him asleep for a couple of hours or so, but he's very agitated. His mind's fighting it.'
She grimaced. ‘I doubt his dreams are helping him rest.’ She stood up and lowered the lanterns again, restoring the relaxing glow that had pervaded the room before Yan-Elter's interruption. ‘I think we're in for a long night,’ she said. ‘You make yourself comfortable in that chair and have a sleep while you can. I'll keep an eye on our patient.'
Vredech tried to protest, but Nertha pushed him back into his chair and thrust a cushion under his head. ‘Don't argue,’ she said quietly, stroking his cheek. ‘I'm used to this kind of thing, you aren't. This is the waiting time. What can be done, has been done. All we can do is float in the time between that and whatever's to follow. Besides, I think you're going to have plenty to do when he wakes up.'
The practical note reassured Vredech and he relaxed as he had been instructed, though with the clear intention of not actually sleeping. Very shortly, though, the warmth of the fire and the soft lights weighed down his eyelids and when Nertha looked at him again, he was fast asleep. She smiled. That was one less to worry about for the time being.
* * * *
Maelstrom.
Sounds and patterns swirled about and through him. He was moving yet still; here and not here. The consciousness that was Vredech knew he was at the place that he came to before being hurled recklessly from dream to dream. How strange, he thought, that he had become used to this bizarre phenomenon: the why? and the how? of such a thing should torment him, so far was it from the reality of everyday affairs. Perhaps he had absorbed Nertha's attitude: not allowing the limits of his sorry imagination to dictate what was and was not possible—especially when he could do nothing about it. But there was a deeper change —a rightness about what was
happening—no sense of anything unnatural, still less of evil. Yet too, there was a sense of incompleteness about it. The feeling that something was missing, that he needed guidance, knowledge and, oddly, that he should not be alone here.
Then he was out of the chaos and into a dream. This was the way it always was—never the slightest sense of change. And again he was both in the dream and aloof from it, feeling the dreamer's emotions but unaffected by them, though those that swept over him now were profoundly disturbing. Delight at a goal having been reached, at fear having been overcome, at the sense of unity with his fellows in a venture from which only glory could come. And a deep, visceral response—ecstatic, almost. He liked hitting people. Liked it a lot. And here you could hit and hit without restraint, without reproach, because you'd been told to by those in the highest authority and because those you were hitting were lesser, contaminated creatures who were not the Chosen, were not fit to live, and who would do the same to you if they got the chance.
And so he hit. Oh, how he hit. His weighted cudgel balanced and easy in his hand, all fatigue gone, he could do this for ever without tiring, so joyous was it.
Noises wrapped comfortingly around him. Vicious taunting jeers from his fellows, strange gasps and moans from the enemy, struggling under their downed canvases. Then one of the sounds tore through the others to become a high-pitched and terrified voice, sobbing and pleading.
'Please. No more. Please.'
And a face filled his vision. A young man's face. He saw the trembling, begging mouth, black in the moonlight. The voice streaming from it became a solid thing, moving to seize and bind him. It held him immobile, while the voice skewered into him agonizingly.
