Ibryen [A sequel to the Chronicles of Hawklan] Page 23

  He turned to Ibryen. ‘Your gift is profound and very rare. You're disturbed because you're like an unborn child just becoming aware that it's time to leave the womb.'

  Ibryen did not appear to be comforted. ‘It's not unknown for babies to die on the journey to their new world,’ he said sourly.

  The Traveller gave a guilt-stricken grimace. ‘My mistake. Bad analogy,’ he pleaded, patting Ibryen's shoulder. ‘But you understand my meaning. It'll do you no more hurt than any other natural gift. If any hurt comes from it, it'll be because of what you've chosen to do with it.'

  His voice fell, as though he were afraid of being overheard. ‘From what you tell me, I suspect that your Gevethen too have this gift, but that's by the bye. Whether they have it or not, every fibre of me tells me that following this call to its roots will bring you to a new vision of your predicament.'

  Neither Ibryen nor Rachyl seemed inclined to question him, or to pursue the matter further. For a while they sat silent, watching the river in its noisy dash down the valley. Eventually Ibryen stood up and adjusted his pack. He lobbed a pebble into the water. It arced white in the sunlight then disappeared into the cold mountain stream. The sound of its entry could not be heard and the water closed about it with scarcely a ripple. A few bubbles congregated on the surface, then, after a hesitant start, scattered hurriedly like guilty witnesses, to join the flood.

  'Eddies and waves,’ Ibryen said, to no one in particular. He bent down and reached into the water. It trickled between his fingers as he lifted his hand out. ‘Goes its own way, can't be moulded and bent like wood and iron, yet before our eyes it shapes itself into ridges and hummocks like rolling hills. Always changing, always the same. What power forms those, Traveller?'

  'The same that forms us all, Count,’ the Traveller replied.

  Rachyl pulled a wry face and stood up. ‘Come on, you two. We've a journey to make and a war to fight. You can philosophize later when we've got the Gevethen's heads on a pole. It'll be nightfall by the time we reach that forest as it is.’ Her brusque command galvanized the others who found themselves having to scurry after her as she strode off.

  It was indeed past sunset when they came to the edge of the forest. As they reached the first trees, the Traveller laid his hands against the trunks of some of them and, gazing up into the branches above, smiled. It brought him one of Rachyl's suspicious looks, but she said nothing. Catching the frown, he raised a finger to his lips, then, tongue protruding slightly, he bent down and picked up a stone. There was a brief pause while he looked around, then a sudden economic flourish and the stone was thrown, with a force that surprised Rachyl. The Traveller vanished into the trees after it, to return a few moments later carrying a dead rabbit.

  'Shouldn't have stayed out so late, should you?’ he was saying to it. He held it out to Rachyl. ‘It'll save you eating your supplies tonight,’ he said. She could not forbear a look of admiration as she took it.

  'Not without more mundane resources, I see,’ she said, taking the gift.

  'Oh, you'd be surprised at what I can do,’ he retorted, winking.

  Rachyl ignored the challenge. She drew her knife and began skinning the rabbit. ‘Impressive throwing, that. I could have used you on some of our raids,’ she said, soldier to soldier, as her knife deftly laid open the animal. ‘We're all good archers, but arrows are precious out here. Stones, on the other hand ... plenty of those.’ Ibryen was nodding in agreement. ‘There!’ The task was done. Wiping the knife on the grass, Rachyl looked at the Traveller. ‘Why didn't you just ...’ she offered two fingers to her mouth vaguely ‘... whistle it down?'

  The Traveller met her gaze. ‘Amongst other things, it was entitled to a chance,’ he said.

  The answer seemed to appeal to her. She made to discard the skin. The Traveller frowned and held out his hand. ‘Give me that,’ he said with a hint of irritation. ‘Have you no manners, no respect for the creature? I'll find a use for it. And don't forget to thank it for giving its life so that you could eat.'

  'Y ... yes,’ Rachyl stammered, taken aback by this rebuke. She glanced at Ibryen for help but found none. ‘I ... we will.’ The Traveller was walking away. ‘Aren't you going to eat with us?’ she called after him.

  'No, thank you,’ came the reply. ‘I don't eat much and I had plenty at the camp. I'll be back in a little while.'

  Ibryen shrugged helplessly as the little figure retreated. ‘I'll get some kindling,’ he said.

  'Well dried,’ Rachyl reminded him absently, still watching the Traveller. ‘We want no smoke.'

  Ibryen did not dispute the point. They might be far from the eyes of the Gevethen here, but there was nothing to be gained by letting slip the habits that had kept them safe for years and which they would need again within weeks, whatever the outcome of this journey.

  It was dark when the Traveller returned to a low, glowing fire and two replete companions. He seemed more cheerful than when he had left. ‘That was a happy gift,’ Ibryen said to him. ‘We've saved you some.'

  The Traveller smiled appreciatively but shook his head. He sat down. ‘Finish it between you.’ Then he looked at them both. ‘You did thank it?’ he demanded.

  'Yes,’ they replied simultaneously and uncomfortably.

  'Good,’ the Traveller said, though with some doubt in his voice. ‘I can see it's something you're not used to.’ He became stern. ‘Understand this. You can kill your own kind however you fancy. That's between you, them, and your consciences. But while you're with me, have some respect when you kill something else. Where've you left the remains?'

  Rachyl, wide-eyed, pointed with a bone she was chewing on.

  'Did you offer them to the forest?'

  Rachyl stopped chewing and looked at him like a child aware that an offence had been committed but not knowing what. The Traveller clicked his tongue reproachfully and stood up. ‘I'll do it for you,’ he said wearily. ‘You young folk, you've no idea.'

  As he marched off Rachyl bit fiercely into the bone, teeth white and feral. She muttered under her breath. ‘I don't know what to make of that little ...’ She stopped and then wilted. ‘I think that's me in my place,’ she whispered to Ibryen.

  'I think it's both of us,’ Ibryen whispered in reply, coming to the aid of a beleaguered ally. ‘I've heard of rituals like that in primitive peoples, long ago, but ...'

  'Primitive is as primitive does,’ the Traveller called back, making them both start guiltily. ‘Just because we're alive and they're dead doesn't make us any wiser, you know. Still less, superior.'

  Ibryen held up his hands in surrender. ‘Peace,’ he said. He was about to say, ‘It was only a rabbit,’ but quickly changed his mind. ‘Thank you for the gift and for the instruction. We'll try to remember in future.'

  The Traveller returned. ‘Just be aware, Count,’ he said, as he sat down again. ‘That way you won't need to remember.’ As sometimes happened when the Traveller spoke, Ibryen felt meanings in his voice far beyond the apparent content of the words. There was no outward indication of anything of great significance having been intended however, and the Traveller was now beaming at Rachyl, his face glowing in the soft firelight. It forced a smile out of her.

  Though the night promised to be cold, there was no sign of rain pending so Rachyl and Ibryen lay down in their blankets rather than pitch the small shelter they had brought. For a while there was some desultory conversation between them. It became more and more subdued and incoherent as they drifted off to sleep, until the only sound in the small camp was the Traveller humming softly to himself as he remained squatting on his haunches and staring into the fire.

  * * * *

  Ibryen was overwhelmed with longing.

  He screwed his eyes tight against the brightness.

  Where was he?

  His body felt different. It was alive with sensations that he had never known before. Yet, too, he had known them always. As the eyes gave sight and the ears sound, so subtle touches caressing him gave him
another knowledge. A knowledge as familiar as sight and sound, and one that he needed...

  For what?

  Where was he? The question returned.

  Wherever it was, there was no menace around him. He was at ease. But he could not see properly. After so long in the darkness, the brightness was pressing on his eyelids, allowing him only a blurred and streaked vision.

  The air was cold and fresh and he could read every nuance in its movement—a myriad eddies twisting, turning, spinning, folding in and through one another—countless linking and shifting movements—all bound to a whole, yet free, like the shivering ridges and valleys of water in the bustling river.

  He turned. The eddies turned and danced with him, unhindering and unhindered. He could make out little of the landscape though it seemed to be covered with snow. Yet it wasn't, he knew. In the distance there were darker tints—the brightness made it difficult for him to differentiate individual colours, but he knew that it was the land beyond this place. Yet the perspective was strange. It was not the view of a landscape from a high, snowy peak.

  His eyes began to adjust. As his vision was returning, bright coloured shapes began to drift into his flickering view. Hailing voices reached him, full of surprise and joy. He lifted his arm in greeting.

  Such elation!

  He had never expected to return here.

  After so long.

  He was home again!

  * * * *

  The call was all about him, urging him forward.

  Ibryen opened his eyes with a jolt.

  Darkness filled them.

  As he blinked, a redness slowly formed and the call began to fade. Gradually the redness brightened until eventually it was the small camp fire, sharp and clear, and the call was now faint and distant. By the dim light of the fire he could see the dark shape of Rachyl wrapped tight in her blankets, head submerged, and the still-crouching form of the Traveller. As if he had heard something, the Traveller turned towards him and, making a slight gesture of greeting with his hand, smiled.

  Ibryen grunted by way of reply and the Traveller turned back to his reverie.

  I must tell him about that in the morning, Ibryen thought, drowsily.

  Ask him what it meant...

  He'd know...

  The soft hissing of the fire mingled with the murmuring of the leaves above and the lilting hum of the Traveller's tune, to become the returning tide of the great ocean of sleep. Gently it lapped around Ibryen, lifted him, and carried him away.

  His next awakening was less gentle, more in the nature of a shipwreck. It was Rachyl's booted and prodding toe. ‘Come on, Cousin. Food to make, camp to break, and a journey to finish.'

  Despite the unceremonious waking and the heartiness in Rachyl's voice, Ibryen smiled. He felt refreshed. Not even as stiff as he might have anticipated, he realized, as he disentangled himself from his blankets. The morning cold struck through to him. Between the trees he could see faint hints of lingering ground mist. He glanced up at the sky.

  'Nearly sunrise?’ he asked.

  Rachyl nodded, taking his blankets and shaking them vigorously. Dew sprayed white into the moist air.

  'Where's the Traveller?'

  'Gone for some water.'

  Ibryen looked at the commander of his camp a little guiltily. Tasks had been allocated while he slept. He passed a hand over the mound of grey ashes. It was very warm. ‘I'll fetch some more wood. Get the fire going. Make some ...'

  'He said to leave it,’ Rachyl told him, throwing the blankets over a rope slung between two branches. ‘You can fetch the water tomorrow.'

  The Traveller returned before Ibryen could find an opportunity to feel too much remorse for his tardy start. He bent over the ashes, nose twitching, then he poked amongst them with a stick. ‘Here, try these,’ he said, flicking something out on to the grass and bouncing it quickly to Ibryen. It was a tuber. Ibryen caught it instinctively only to toss it hastily from one hand to the other. It was very hot. Another followed for Rachyl and finally the Traveller retrieved one for himself.

  'What is it?’ Ibryen asked, more rudely than he had intended.

  'Delicious,’ the Traveller replied, blowing on his and nibbling it gingerly. ‘Not as evenly cooked as I'd have liked, and a touch of salt and a herb or two wouldn't go amiss, but, here and now—and in such company—delicious.'

  Carefully emulating him, Rachyl and Ibryen were obliged to agree.

  'Did you remember to thank the trees?’ Rachyl said with heavy irony.

  'Of course,’ the Traveller replied, quite seriously. He looked up at her with wilful ingenuousness. ‘You know, I'd have sworn you'd have forgotten about it.’ He turned to Ibryen. ‘It's nice to see young people paying heed, isn't it?'

  Ibryen however, was coping with too large a mouthful of hot root and, gaping alarmingly, was only able to gesticulate.

  'Be careful,’ the Traveller said needlessly.

  'Twice you've fed us now, Traveller,’ Ibryen said when he had recovered.

  'Not often I get a chance to look after people,’ the Traveller replied, a little self-consciously. ‘Especially people as hurt as you've been.'

  Rachyl frowned. ‘We can forage for ourselves, if we have to,’ she said defensively.

  'Don't know where to find these though, do you?’ The Traveller held up his half-eaten root and issued a challenging smile. Caught between the challenge and ingratitude, Rachyl became fretful. She looked to Ibryen, but he was drinking hastily from a canteen of water. The Traveller released her. ‘Indulge me,’ he said. ‘I'm enjoying your company much more than I thought I would, and I need to pull my weight. Besides, we might as well live off the land while we can. If we have to move upwards—and I suspect we will—we're going to need our supplies.'

  Ibryen, wiping his mouth, smiled as he watched his warrior cousin being defeated again. She was learning however, and counter-attacked immediately.

  'I'm sorry.’ she said. ‘It was a thoughtless remark. And you're right, I've never seen tubers like these.’ She leaned forward and became massively courteous. ‘I'd be most grateful if you'd show me where they're to be found.'

  The Traveller inclined his head in acknowledgement, then, baring his teeth he bit slowly and deliberately into the root. ‘I'd be delighted,’ he said, with similar irony. ‘There are plenty of things I can show you as we go.'

  They broke camp.

  'What did you hear in the night?’ Ibryen asked the Traveller as they moved off. The little man raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I saw you sitting by the fire when I woke once, and there's no sign that you've slept anywhere,’ Ibryen explained. ‘I presumed you were glad of the quiet.'

  The Traveller chuckled. ‘I can sleep standing up if I have to,’ he said. ‘But you're right, I was listening.’ He moved closer to Ibryen. ‘Though it's difficult with the river so near. I'm going to the limits and there are many strange things there which confuse and mislead. But it's still there, though it's growing weaker. It almost winked out at one point—just before you woke, as a matter of fact.'

  The reminder brought some of Ibryen's strange vision back to him. He recounted it. ‘Do you think it's of any significance?’ he asked.

  The Traveller was silent for a moment, then he shook his head. ‘I'm not sure,’ he said, but Ibryen sensed that he was disturbed by what he had just been told and was keeping his peace until he had had a chance to think about it fully.

  They walked steadily on through the day, following the line of the river. For the most part, the forest floor was quite clear, the main obstacles they encountered being fast-moving streams dashing across the valley to join the river. A brisk breeze sprang up to shake the tops of the trees, but only spasmodic gusts of it reached down to blow amid the trunks and strike the walkers. It was as though someone, somewhere, opened a large door from time to time. Conversation too, was spasmodic; the walking being easier, the three were able to sink into their own preoccupations.

  Despite all the discussion that ha
d brought him to this point, Ibryen still found himself concerned about the rightness of what he was doing. His mood oscillated between absolute certainty and awful doubt, but it lingered at neither for long, and generally calmed down to leave him with just enough certainty to keep him moving forward, with the assurance that they would not be away from the village for long. Rachyl, for the most part more concerned about the known enemies behind them than what might lie ahead, played discreet rearguard, protecting the backs of her Commander and his guide. The Traveller was quiet, though occasionally he would become bubblingly loquacious. At one such time he showed his companions where to find the tubers he had served them that morning. At others he pointed out various herbs and fungi: what a shame, this would have gone splendidly with their rabbit; this one made a most refreshing drink infused with hot water; this one an excellent poultice; this with some of that and that would make a meal that a king couldn't better. Most of the culinary references he levelled at Rachyl, to her annoyance. Finally, he plunged into the undergrowth to emerge with a drab green leaf. He squeezed it delicately between his thumb and forefinger and, before she realized what was happening, dabbed them behind Rachyl's ears. ‘And this just perfumes the night.’ As her fist came up he held the leaf under her nose. It brought her retaliation to an immediate halt and she smiled. Taking the leaf gently she squeezed it as he had done and held her thumb and finger to her nose. Her smile broadened and, oblivious to her audience, she followed the Traveller's example and touched the perfume behind her ears. Then, suddenly aware of the two men watching her, she hastily stuffed the leaf into a pocket and, clearing her throat, motioned the party forward with a scowl. Later, the Traveller dropped back to join her and with a conspiratorial wink, surreptitiously folded some of the leaves into her hand.