It had no form, neither of light nor of darkness, not of hue or feel, just simply there, suffice, wanting of nothing, nothing but its own simple presence. On it went, ever onwards, having no ending nor beginning, always there, forever, forever there.
How long had he drifted in its arms? For how long? How could he really know, when there is no sense of time, when memory be lost. How could he know indeed, that there was anything to know at all?
If not, then why worry so, why fret over something amiss, something large and weighty, with bounded sides, with colour and aim and direction, and certainly with import? Why couldn’t he see what he now felt so intensely? Why? How came it to be hidden, and behind what did it lie? But then, then the drone just went on and on and on.
~o~
After all the worry, the fraught distress and panicked action, the long hours of vigil had brought Penolith to the borderlands of sleep. The subdued lighting had added weight to her eyelids and the silence, punctuated only by Nephril’s shallow breathing, were drawing her on into slumber.
Falmeard’s careful return, however, jolted her back. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lady Penolith, I didn’t mean to surprise you. I did think I’d entered quietly enough. Maybe you were just on the edge of sleep?”
Her weary face thinly smiled up, from where she now sat, close by Nephril’s bed. She placed her hand on Falmeard’s arm. “Fear not, Falmeard, for you’ve done me a service. You’ve held me back from dereliction of my duty to Lord Nephril.”
Her eyes tried to smile but were far too heavy. All Falmeard could do was share her sadness. “My Lady?” he began, “I’ve brought you a warm drink. Here.” He offered her a steaming beaker which she took, gratefully, before sniffing its coiling vapours.
It did seem to lift her complexion somewhat, although her voice was still leaden. “Thank you, Falmeard, I’m most grateful.”
He sat on the chair by her side and took in Nephril’s rapidly aged countenance, his unaltered stillness and worryingly slight breathing. He looked across at Penolith’s bowed head, both her hands cupping the beaker as her pale lips sipped frugally at the broth. “How fares he, my Lady?”
She paused, lifted her eyes and then placed the beaker on the table by her side. “To be honest, I’m not at all sure.” She looked like a lost child. “We’re … we’re not at all familiar with … with … with ailment in Galgaverre, so I’m at a loss really.” She stopped and bit her lip. “Pettar assures me he’s safe … safe from worse harm that is, but even he can’t say what’s caused it, other than to blame his great age.”
She seemed brought up suddenly and looked unseeingly across the room. “Such great age … I never would’ve…” She remembered Falmeard and so instead turned him a smiling face. “Pettar thinks he’s had a shock of some kind, that his mind’s been … been, oh, how did he put it? Yes, that his mind’s been cast adrift.” She looked down at Nephril’s face. “That something’s come in and broken it free.”
“But what could he have learnt to make him like this?” Falmeard nodded towards Nephril. “What thoughts could have such power?”
She didn’t answer but instead thought back over those few short hours, to when they’d been in her library. Penolith tried to remember exactly what had happened, but then realised that nothing much really had. It had all seemed so uneventful.
She remembered Nephril having read the second text and then sitting quietly, staring into the middle-distance. He’d seemed quite alright then, even after broaching the subject of her service to him. She remembered him explaining his need of her memory, and of her mind of course. Yes, she certainly remembered that. What she couldn’t quite remember, though, was much of what followed, not in any great detail anyway.
He’d tried hard to explain, that she did remember, but, well, somehow the rest was rather blurred. ‘Odd that, really,’ she thought. ‘Quite unlike me to have such problems recalling.’ Her first clear memory, she now realised, was of Lord Nephril’s face, strangely enough. Strange because her memory of it held nothing untoward. Perhaps the strangeness was how suddenly he’d turned it towards her.
At first it had held no clues, but then, yes, she remembered now, she’d been captivated by her own reflection, there in his crystal discs. It had only been when she’d looked beyond her own staring reflection that she’d seen the horror there. It had been but a glimpse, a short flash of empathy, before he’d slowly slumped back in his chair.
~o~
On and on it droned, on and on, never ending, always the same, rasping in his head, caressing his brow with its dry and flaking hands, unceasing, remorseless and undeniable. Never changing! Never? Then why more than just the hum now? Why the discordance and the jarring?
Why was the level expanse of his world now pitted and peaked? Why were hills and mountains being thrust up from its plains, and where had those valleys and crags, the rivers and lakes, all sprung from? And yet, and yet, beneath it all, beneath what he now knew to be novel, below the new-born, still the hum persisted, not diminished nor obscured; ever-present, untiring, it carried on.
~o~
Falmeard still felt at a loss, uncertain how best to help. Since he and Pettar had been summoned to the library by Penolith’s distressed calls, he’d played little part. Of course, he’d helped lift and bring Nephril down to his bed and had then fetched more pillows but, other than that, he’d simply hung about on the edge.
Pettar had taken charge and inadvertently left Falmeard out in the cold. Not wishing to get in the way, he’d hung back at first, until all that could have been done had been. He’d then felt easier about drawing closer, nearer Nephril, beside his beloved friend. There was little he could really do now but sit there feeling useless.
Eventually, he’d moved nearer, swinging from his chair to the floor by Nephril’s bed, where he knelt. He carefully rested his elbows on the mattress at Nephril’s shoulder and watched his face. There was no movement other than a faint quiver of his lips, no flickering of an eye beneath its lid, no twitch of a hand or finger. It was as though he lay but near to death.
Penolith was thankful for Falmeard’s company and looked to his worried face. She watched his hand move to Lord Nephril’s brow, where it slowly and gently caressed the deeply creased and paper-thin skin.
In the watching, she drew some ease herself, as though it were her own brow. She softened as she slowly realised where her eyes were now resting. Falmeard’s right hand was moving in gentle and rhythmic arcs, as he began to talk very quietly to Lord Nephril.
~o~
Swimming within his mind, unceasing, ever vibrating, the hum was tense with solid presence, adding a vibrancy to his new terrain, one now springing up before his sightless, newfound eyes. There, condensing from cloud to rock and stone, from mist to river and stream, a new world began to form, and into which floated … into which floated…
~o~
Penolith’s abstracted gaze watched Falmeard’s hand as though mesmerised, but then she caught a glimpse of something within Nephril’s face. She pushed herself up, to gain a better view, but realised she’d distracted Falmeard, his caresses suddenly stopping. He looked across. “My Lady? Is something wrong?”
She answered only with a stare. It rested, wide-eyed, on Nephril’s closed lids, but when Falmeard looked, there seemed nothing of note. “Keep caressing his brow, Falmeard, keep on with it. I’m sure I saw movement in his eyes, but it stopped when you did.” Falmeard carried on but closely watched Nephril’s eyes himself as he did.
After a while, and seeing no change, he very slowly and awkwardly started mumbling the odd soothing word until, in time, they took on more purpose. He began to speak as though Nephril plainly heard, gently cajoled and pleaded, tempted and mocked and chivvied, even playfully berated, but then…
~o~
...into which floated, moment by moment, more and more distinct, all about him, the pervading … the ever so all-pervading … stale stench of sweat. Pungent and acrid, his nose filled with the far too familiar f
etid smell of sweat.
~o~
Nephril’s lids shot open and exposed startled and staring eyes, ones that held the far sightless distance but for a moment before darting straight to Falmeard’s face. “Thou needest a bath, thou does! Dost thou know that? Eh? Thou hast stink enough to raise the dead.”
Penolith yelped and clapped her hands with joy and relief whilst Falmeard’s eyes welled with tears. They were then all about him; fussing, preening, stroking to affirm the truth of their very own eyes. Their commotion quickly drew Pettar from his fragile sleep. It didn’t take him long to put their minds at rest, to declare Nephril as fit as fiddle – a very old and worn one, certainly, but one from which a good tune could still be had.
Although Nephril did seem considerably confused, there was now an edge to him that spoke of a new awareness, of a new awakening in his ancient mind, but one as yet held in abeyance. He also seemed surprisingly happy to suffer their excitement and joy with studied patience.
Sooner than they’d have thought possible, he was sitting up and chatting, as though nothing had happened, as though he’d been but napping. Penolith, however, saw a steely glint in his eye, hidden behind the merriment and smiles. She thought she knew why, and what part she’d had to play, and so kept close watch as the evening slowly slipped towards nighttime.
Eventually, as it drew late and their happiness made way for tiredness, they were preparing themselves for bed when a bell softly chimed. Penolith jumped, looked towards it but then quickly at Nephril. She didn’t want to leave him but knew she couldn’t ignore that summons. She excused herself and left in the hope of a quick return. She had, after all, need to speak with him alone.
From the chamber, she came out into a corridor, beyond and down which she hurried to a reception room at its very end. There, she swept in on Layostler, her amanuensis, and immediately saw his face spread with concern.
She soon hurried him to the matter. “Welcome, Layostler. What is it?”
It was the way in which he held his hands that prepared her most for something out of the ordinary, more so than the late hour. “Guardian? Pray forgive the unusual hour, but I have disturbing news. We’ve only just discovered something rather odd.”
She waved her assent.
“It would appear Storbanther’s been absent from his duties since this morning and nobody seems to know where he is now.”
“Did he chair my meeting with the Auxiliary Engers do you know?”
“No, ma’am, he did not, and it caused no end of trouble, but I didn’t want to bother you with it, not given your express instructions, but it’s since become more urgent.”
“Oh yes. Why’s that?”
He looked decidedly uncomfortable, and somewhat reticent. “Well, it’s not only Storbanther who’s gone missing, ma’am, but a number of other priests too, a few or more from a number of sections … quite a lot really, when you add it all up.”
She waited, expectantly, until he’d found courage.
“Err. Well. Seems like we’re down by as many as …” He coughed as his voice caught in his dry throat. “Down by as many as … err, well, five hundred, ma’am.” He lowered his head to hide his eyes from her incredulous stare.
She didn’t stare long, though. “Sit down will you, Layostler, sit down. We need go through this in detail.” He sat at one end of one of the two couches in the room and she sat in the middle of the other, facing him. “Now, start from the beginning and tell me all, all that’s currently known … and you can throw in anything you suspect, whilst you’re at it.” He didn’t start immediately so she added, “Don’t concern yourself over my own reactions. You can disclose anything with impunity but I must know all and everything. Do you understand?”
He nodded and drew breath. “Storbanther was scheduled to chair your meeting this morning but failed to turn up, so it had to be cancelled. It’s caused no end of confusion as it largely concerned the new rotas. Well, that would have been of little matter, in the great scheme of things, but the disruption to routine brought out some rather odd behaviour in some of the overseers … well, in most of them as it happens.”
She remained silent.
“You see, they began to … well, complain! They said he’d been seconding their priests to unspecified duties, and for unspecified times, for quite a while now. It all seemed very odd.”
This time he waited for the Guardian’s response, which didn’t take long. “So, I take it you had the overseers furnish you with lists of secondees, hmm?”
“Yes, ma’am, and that’s why I‘m here so late, and when you consider the numbers it’s hardly surprising … err, if you’ll excuse the presumption, Guardian?”
Her first thought made her ask, “There aren’t any of my own units, or any of the guard’s in that list, are there?” When he assured her not, that they were largely of the engers, she felt a little easier. “You say, both Storbanther and some five hundred Galgaverrans are now unaccounted for. Is that still the case?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid it is.”
Layostler seemed edgy, as though he’d not yet told all. When she prompted him further, he looked uncertain, shifted uneasily on the couch but couldn’t avoid her eyes. “Well, you see … err. How can I put this? There are rumours about, ma’am, rumours that…” Again he couldn’t quite continue.
“Let me hazard a guess, eh, lets see if I can divine this unpalatable rumour.”
She rose and paced slowly in front of him. “Would it pertain to myself, I wonder. Would it involve some form of influence on myself and my position here, arising from said Storbanther. Could it be that, I wonder. Eh? Could it?”
His silence confirmed it well enough, confirmed how duped she’d been, how led by the very nose and so adroitly handled. She thought hard and conceded it wouldn’t have been such a difficult task in fact, not a difficult task at all, not for someone who wasn’t truly Galgaverran, for somebody possessed of abilities and knowledge denied them, denied those wheels within wheels. No, not for an outsider it wouldn’t.
Layostler waited patiently. He was as content as any good Galgaverran could be, having completed his allotted task. Eventually, she came to a halt before him and looked down into his eyes. She realised how much more understanding she now had of him, what greater compassion. With a knowing smile, she spoke quietly but forcibly. “Layostler, listen well to what I say, listen closely and do as I bid.”
His head lifted from his abstracted gaze at nothing in particular on the floor, and returned her own. “Layostler? You’re to make it widely known that Storbanther has been my agent at all times, that he’s been but following my own specific orders, to the letter, on special duties to my office alone. Let it be known that those duties are in connection with the recent reports of a possible invasion. Do you understand, understand all I’ve said?”
He nodded, quickly, and then followed her eyes as she continued to instruct him, as an outsider would. “We’re in unusual times, Layostler, the first time in many centuries … well … the first time Galgaverre has ever been put at possible risk. It’s to our own safety and wellbeing that my actions have been directed, and those of mine through Storbanther. You are to make this known only to the overseers, and are to impress upon them how crucial their support is.”
She stopped, to gather any loose ends. “Impress upon them that they must continue as before, as best they can despite their absentees. They mustn’t in any way jeopardise the smooth running of the installation. Reassure them that everything necessary is being done to ensure Galgaverre’s continuance.”
She watched his eyes, as her words echoed within his constrained mind, watched for any intrigue or curiosity spark in their steady orbs but found none, no more than would be found in any wheel. Would it ever be otherwise, she wondered, would a time come when they could all be freed? “Has all I‘ve said been understood, Layostler?”
He rose and looked a little pleased with himself. “Yes, Guardian. Fully understood.”
�
�Very well. You’d better get on then. Oh … and thank you for your fealty, Layostler, your duty well done. Good night to you.” He returned her wishes and then left, leaving her oddly elated. It didn’t last long, though, not when she remembered Lord Nephril.
When she got back to the chamber it was to find Pettar now in attendance, he and Nephril in light discourse. Pettar turned to her as she came in. “Ah, sister? All well, I hope?” She passed off the incident as nothing more than routine, if somewhat unusual for the hour, but it didn’t completely convince him, although he made no more of it.
“It’s good you’re back now for I’ve dire need of sleep. I was a bit worried about leaving our old worry here without company.” She was more than happy to take over and was soon seeing him off to bed. The rooms she’d arranged for them were near enough to look in if need be, and so she was content for Nephril to sleep alone. Before then, however, she knew there was unfinished business.
She again took up her position on the chair by his bed and from where she could look him full in the face, a wry smile beginning to settle on her own. He lay, propped against his pillows, with a resigned look.
Presently, he quietly said, “I was nearly lost thou knowest. Nearly severed free for all time.”
She nodded, leant forward and lightly stroked his temple. “I know full well, Lord Nephril, better than I suspect you realise. It was hard, oh so hard, watching you drift away, but harder still knowing we could do nothing about it.” She withdrew her hand, rested back in her chair and listened to the installation’s encroaching hum as it subtly filled the space around them.
He looked mystified and unsettled, but she didn’t push him, only waited. “I knew not what it was that drew me back,” he eventually said. “What physic did permeate so into mine mind, that did bind mine thoughts and memories once more. I was, though, sorely grateful, whate’er its nature was.” Penolith remembered Falmeard’s caressing hand and briefly relived its warmth. It made her wonder again about their very odd fish.
Leiyatel's Embrace (Dica Series Book 1) Page 20