Whistler [A sequel to The Chronicles of Hawklan] Read online

  'I've no idea,’ he said. ‘He's always been rather ... intense. Perhaps it's the problems he's been having with his flock. Some of them are a bit of a pain, and he takes things to heart much more than people realize.'

  'I said at the time that I thought he was too young for the Haven parish,’ Horld fretted. ‘It's a big responsibility. He should've served a year or two more as a Chapter Member before coming to anything like that.'

  There was nothing new in Horld's comments. He was quite conservative in his thinking and although he himself had only been a little longer in the church than Cassraw, he was cautious, even suspicious, of younger men coming along too quickly. But he had always spoken his views openly and without acrimony and they were well known.

  Vredech had the feeling that, untypically, he was talking around some topic instead of tackling it head on. Taking a risk, he changed the subject abruptly.

  'This cold's getting worse. It's starting to cut right through me,’ he said.

  Horld walked on a little way without replying. Again Vredech sensed an unease within him. Then he stopped suddenly. ‘Look,’ he whispered. Vredech could dimly make out Horld's arm pointing up into the darkness. He peered after it, but could see nothing.

  'What?’ he asked.

  'There,’ Horld said impatiently. ‘Look—that light.'

  Slowly, Vredech's eyes adjusted. Ahead he saw that a part of the sky was noticeably brighter than the rest. It offered no greater illumination, however. Rather it seemed to be a concentration of all that was unpleasant in the strange cloudlight. He felt a chill of fear as if something might be lurking behind the rocks now silhouetted along the skyline.

  'What is it, do you think?’ he said, whispering, as Horld had.

  'I don't know,’ Horld replied. ‘But you're right, this cold seems to be getting worse with each step. Come on.’ And he was off, moving swiftly.

  'Wait,’ Vredech called out, though still softly.

  But Horld did not seem to be listening. It was almost as though he was being drawn forward by something.

  'Wait!’ Vredech called again, more insistently. His voice sounded harsh in the cold darkness and Horld stopped and turned.

  'Sorry,’ he mumbled as Vredech reached him.

  Vredech felt a spasm of irritation. ‘For pity's sake, Horld, we must keep together! One lost on the mountain is bad enough.’ Immediately, regret flooded through him, but he could not find the words to express it. The two men stood staring at one another silently, aware of each other only as darkness within darkness.

  Then that very darkness was changing. Sombre shadows were being carved out to give form and depth, though still more was hidden than illuminated. Both men looked upwards instinctively. Vredech drew in a sharp breath, while Horld circled his forefinger over his heart. It was an old gesture invoking Ishryth's protection, long out of favour with the church but much used by many of its followers.

  The sky was alive with flickering lights. The dank coldness that pervaded Vredech moved to and fro within him in compulsive harmony with the sight: rising, falling, sucking his breath away with its awful chill. It seemed to him once again that he was in the presence of a great multitude, whirling and dancing in an unholy celebration. Yet was it a multitude? He had the fleeting impression of a single entity, broken and shattered; a myriad gibbering shards trying to become whole again. His body filled with shivering echoes of the pernicious touch he had felt earlier and he raised a hand not only to fend it off but as if, in some way, he could deny the awful synthesis he could feel happening.

  'Ishryth,’ he heard Horld murmuring, awe-stricken.

  The word rang through Vredech and from somewhere deep within him came a great denial. But he could find no voice for it. He was impotent.

  The lights danced on, weaving movements growing ever faster and more complex while Vredech sank into despair, consumed by the knowledge that there was something he could do—should do—if he had but the knowledge.

  Then, briefly, the lights converged to become like a single star, unbearably bright to the two men after their long journey through the darkness.

  And it was over.

  The star was gone.

  All the light was gone.

  Darkness returned, total and absolute.

  Both men cried out at their sudden blindness, and reached out wildly to one another. Their hands met fortuitously and tightened upon one another in desperation. Vredech could not have said for how long they stood thus, primitive fears clamouring at them, but eventually he heard his own voice, trembling and breathless, saying, ‘We must go down. Very slowly, carefully, step by step. Feeling the way. And we must keep hold of one another.’ The sound helped him to regain some control over the screeching tumult filling his mind. Horld made no reply, but his grip tightened further about Vredech's hand. Yet, despite the simple practicality of his suggestion, neither man moved.

  'I think I can see again.'

  Horld's voice was the merest whisper.

  Vredech strained forward to hear him, then he, too, began to see that the greyness which he had taken to be a response by his eyes to the sudden darkness was, in fact, real. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

  Then Horld's punishing grip was gone and his companion was once again a figure standing next to him, gazing upwards into the dull mottled grey of an ordinary winter sky. The rocks about them emerged from their entombment. The chill about them became the chill of a late winter's day on the mountains, and a slight breeze began to blow.

  Relief swept through Vredech, purging away the last few minutes of terror almost as if they had never been.

  'It's over,’ he said, not knowing what he meant. ‘It's over.'

  A hand closed powerfully about his shoulder and a familiar, yet unfamiliar voice spoke.

  'No, my friends. It begins. It begins.'

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  Both men started violently and spun round. Horld lost his balance as he did so, but Cassraw's hand on his shoulder stayed his fall and steadied him effortlessly. So heightened were Vredech's senses by this sudden shock that he took in Cassraw's entire appearance instantly. He saw the formal black cassock, elegant and well-made, torn and stained beyond repair, with bloody weals showing through several of the larger rents. He noted the grimy face and tousled hair, the scratched and bleeding hands. But, distressing though all this was, to Vredech it appeared to be only the surface manifestation of a far more profound change. For, despite his dark and soiled attire, Cassraw's presence seemed to cut through the gloom as though a light from some distant place were shining on him, like unexpected sunlight striking through storm clouds.

  And his eyes ... Vredech started.

  Were they black...

  Not just the irises, but the entire orbs...

  Like pits of night.

  Vredech had scarcely registered this chilling impression than it was gone and Cassraw was again nothing more than his familiar friend, battered and bruised but seemingly whole, and carefully supporting Horld.

  Horld, however, was less than grateful, for all that Cassraw had probably saved him from an unpleasant fall. He yanked his arm free and the blacksmith in him opened his mouth and began to abuse Cassraw roundly for the folly of his sudden and silent approach. Cassraw did not respond, but merely stared at him and smiled absently. Meeting no opposition, Horld's tirade foundered awkwardly and the obligations of his latter day calling returned to reproach him for his intemperance. Thus, after a few terse but vivid sentences, his rebukes began to be leavened with more charitable and concerned observations about his returned colleague. Still Cassraw made no reply, though his smile became knowing, like an understanding parent waiting patiently for his clamouring children to fall silent.

  'Where have you been? What's happened to you?’ Vredech asked a few times while Horld's tirade was plunging on, but even as this faltered into silence so his own questions died. He would receive no answers; he knew this as plainly as if Ca
ssraw had placed his dirt-stained hand across his mouth to silence him.

  Then Cassraw was holding their arms and motioning them down the mountain. His grip, though not painful, was quite irresistible and, for a little way, Horld and Vredech found themselves carried along by it. The ground was too uneven for walking thus for long, and after a little while Cassraw released his charges and set off on his own. His pace was not that of a man who had just careened recklessly up a mountain or suffered some great ordeal, and Vredech and Horld fell steadily further behind him.

  When he reached the rest of the group waiting on Ishryth's lawn, Cassraw was not only quite a way ahead of his would-be rescuers, but he looked much fresher than they did.

  The Chapter Brothers milled around him, bombarding him with questions, but he did not acknowledge any of them other than by nodding occasionally and smiling mysteriously. The questions were redirected towards Horld and Vredech as soon as they arrived but all they could do was shrug.

  'We didn't find him, he found us. He was there behind us when the darkness vanished. And no, he hasn't said anything since then,’ they replied several times, by some common consent not referring to the enigmatic remark with which he had greeted them.

  Morem had trained as a physician when younger and though he had subsequently chosen the church as his vocation, he still had considerable skill as a healer. ‘He's probably in shock,’ he offered quietly. ‘It takes people in odd ways. He looks an awful mess but at least he doesn't appear to be seriously injured. We shouldn't pester him. He may be more fragile than he looks. I think perhaps we should just go back and let things take their course. He'll tell us what happened when he's ready.'

  Even as he was speaking however, Cassraw was moving off again. He went to the rocky edge where, a little earlier, Vredech had stood and stared out into a terrifying black emptiness. Now, though the light was grey and wintry, the scene was more familiar. The lights of Troidmallos could be seen twinkling far below, and the shapes of most of the adjacent mountains could be made out. Cassraw's head moved from side to side as he reviewed the dull panorama, then he nodded to himself very slowly and unfolded his arms until they were held out wide as though he wished to embrace the entire country.

  His companions watched in silence, not so much following Morem's advice as simply not knowing what to do. They had little time to ponder, however, for, his brief contemplation over, Cassraw was once again determining the course of events. Striding across Ishryth's lawn he headed towards the gully that would start the descent back to the Witness House.

  The return journey gave the Brothers no great insight into Cassraw's condition. In fact, it served only to compound their confusion as Cassraw, though remaining relentlessly silent, continued to take effective command of the group, moving back and forth amongst them, patiently supporting and helping the frailer Brothers who were now beginning to feel the strain of their strange journey.

  Finally the Witness House was in sight.

  Cassraw stopped on a rocky spur and looked down at it in an almost proprietorial manner, then he turned and stared towards the summit of the Ervrin Mallos. After a moment he nodded to himself as he had at the edge of Ishryth's lawn. It seemed to Vredech that Cassraw was making a decision.

  As the group, moving slowly and wearily now, wended its way down the final slopes towards the Witness House, they were greeted by Mueran and several of the other Chapter Members. Mueran had led them forth when the darkness had disappeared, after carefully ensuring that all the novices and servants were kept occupied elsewhere in the building. Vredech thought he noticed a momentary flash of anger in Cassraw's eyes as he caught sight of the Covenant Member approaching, but it was gone before he could register it fully.

  He could read the debate in Mueran's eyes, however, even if it lasted only a little longer than Cassraw's seeming anger. Was his greeting to be a rebuke, or a welcome?

  Mueran's face became pained and he opened his arms wide. It was to be a welcome.

  'Brother Cassraw,’ he said. ‘We've been greatly alarmed for you.’ He looked around at the others. ‘For all of you. The darkness seemed to deepen so after you'd left.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘I never thought I'd be so glad to see such a dismal wintry sky, but ...’ He chuckled genially in an attempt to lessen the tension but the sound jarred and he concluded awkwardly, ‘Ishryth be praised for carrying the darkness from us anyway.'

  Cassraw fixed him with a stern gaze. ‘Ishryth's will is written on this day truly,’ he said, unexpectedly breaking his silence.

  Unnerved by Cassraw's stare and uncertain how to respond, Mueran nodded non-committally and said weakly, ‘We've warm food and a good fire for you all inside.'

  Cassraw's response was an authoritative gesture, which motioned everyone towards the Witness House. A frown flickered across Mueran's face at this cavalier action, but he turned with the rest and, after a short, none too dignified sprint, caught up with Cassraw who was now striding out boldly, his flock abandoned.

  Once inside the Witness House, Cassraw maintained the same vigorous pace in the direction of the Debating Hall, drawing the group after him, noisy but too flustered to question him. He seemed to be gathering energy with every step. Mueran was no longer even trying to keep up with him, and kept looking around anxiously for fear that any novices or servants might have strayed from their carefully allotted tasks and be witnessing this scuttling procession. From time to time he lifted his hand as if he were about to call out to Cassraw, but no sound came.

  Suddenly, Vredech had had enough. Tired and drained after the ordeal of struggling up the mountain through the darkness, and the strain of the bizarre descent, his patience abruptly evaporated. He ran forward as Cassraw reached the Debating Hall and, stepping in front of him, placed his hand firmly on the door.

  'Enough, Cassraw. Enough.’ He was out of breath but his voice was nevertheless powerful and angry. The others fell silent. ‘I don't know what you're doing, or even if you know what you're doing, but some of us who came out to find you are in a sorry state as a result. They need rest and attention now.’ He looked Cassraw up and down and his tone softened. ‘As do you, for pity's sake. Whatever's keeping you on your feet, there'll be a price to pay if you don't get some rest.’ Without waiting for a reply he turned to Mueran. ‘Warm food and a fire, you said. Where?'

  Mueran nodded hesitantly. ‘In the Guest Room, next to the Refectory. I ...'

  'Then let's get up there,’ Vredech interrupted. ‘Let's wait until we're cleaned up and fed and we've got some normality around us again before we do any talking about what's happened here.'

  Several voices spoke out in agreement.

  'Of course,’ Mueran said. ‘You're quite right, Brother Vredech. We must ...'

  'No!’ Cassraw had not moved since Vredech had stepped in front of him. Now, as his voice rang out, his frame became alive with agitation. Vredech winced away from the sound which had been spoken directly into his face, but immediately returned his gaze to meet Cassraw's.

  'There are things which you must know,’ Cassraw went on, apparently addressing everyone present but still speaking directly and forcefully into Vredech's face. ‘Matters of great import. Matters concerning...'

  'Enough, I said, Cassraw!’ Vredech shouted. ‘And I mean it. You've caused enough problems today. You're not well—you need rest. We all need rest.'

  Cassraw's eyes suddenly blazed and he reached past Vredech to take hold of the handle of the door to the Debating Hall. For an instant, as he stared into his old friend's black eyes, Vredech felt that he was looking into the very heart of the darkness that had loomed so terribly over them that day. The memory of the dancing shadows and the menacing presence that had reached into him flitted around the edges of his consciousness, threatening to bring with it the babbling host of questions that so far he had been able to hold at bay. But, as during the final part of his journey up the mountain, something else stirred within him, something deep and resolute. And then there was no Mueran, no
Brothers, no Witness Hall. Nothing except himself and Cassraw.

  And while Cassraw was his friend, he must nonetheless be opposed.

  Will against will.

  No reason sustained this knowledge. It was simply a truth.

  He must not yield.

  But it was not a raging power that came to him. He simply said, ‘No,’ very softly. ‘As I love you, my old friend. No.'

  And he was once again standing outside the Debating Hall, suddenly noisy now with his fellow Brothers rushing forward to catch the falling Cassraw.

  * * * *

  'The people's faith is our charge,’ Mueran said at the hastily-convened meeting that followed Cassraw's collapse into unconsciousness. ‘We must do what we can to protect the church. News that one of our Brothers has become ... deranged, because he may have been burdened with too much too soon will give rise to great doubts and distress amongst our flocks.’ Then he struck nearer to his true thinking. ‘And who can say what the Sheeters will make of it? The truth's going to present us with enough problems, let alone what they'll say. The last thing we need is any more controversy about the Haven Parish.'

  His assessment of Cassraw's condition was not accepted unopposed however.

  'Cassraw's not deranged, he's possessed,’ Laffran declared harshly. ‘Some servant of Ahmral has entered into him.'

  There was uproar around the table, but Vredech, normally a vigorous opponent of such opinions, remained strangely silent even though many heads were turned towards him expectantly.

  By default, Mueran spoke on his behalf. ‘Those are precisely the kind of remarks we must avoid, Brother Laffran,’ he said. ‘Possession is an area fraught with difficulty, not least because even today it still carries with it lingering memories of ... less happy times.’ This was Mueran's euphemism for the time of the Court of the Provers, when methods of appalling brutality had been used in the search for Ahmral's servants. A dark time, when the church had been at once more powerful and less civilized, a time before reason had fought its way through to curb the excesses of superstition. An institution set up by the church to protect the faith and maintain its purity, the Court of the Provers had eventually led to the persecution of thousands for the least of deviations from the True Way. It had finally been swept aside by the forces of an increasingly nervous secular state empowered by a sickened populace, but its name lingered as a byword for terror, sadism and savagery, and all that is foul in human nature. It was an era that the modern church of Ishryth earnestly disowned though it was still apt to become overly defensive when reluctantly drawn into debates about it.