by Roger Taylor
No one spoke for some while after this. Nothing but time could follow such a declaration and each was content to let the sunlit valley open before them as they walked along over the yielding mountain turf. Eventually, as they moved steadily downwards, the many streams tumbling from the slopes on either side merged into a single energetic and noisy flow and the vegetation began to thicken. They stopped for a rest by the bubbling river. It was becoming warmer and the breeze had dropped, and from where they were sitting they could see the river twisting, white and silver, down into a forest which spread across the entire valley floor.
Ibryen frowned as he looked at the way ahead. ‘That’s going to present problems,’ he said.
‘It’s going to offer food and shelter. And warmth if we need it,’ the Traveller said, as to an ungrateful pupil.
‘Not pressing needs at the moment,’ Ibryen rebutted. ‘I was thinking about our progress. It’s so easy to get lost in dense woodland.’
The Traveller chuckled. ‘How can you get lost when you don’t know where you’re going?’
‘You know what I meant,’ Ibryen said crossly. ‘In trees like that we could travel in circles for hours, if not days, without realizing it. And marking the track’s going to be laborious, to say the least.’
The Traveller tapped the side of his nose. ‘I follow this,’ he said. ‘It rarely goes round in circles.’
Ibryen’s eyes narrowed.
‘I thought you followed your ears,’ Rachyl intervened caustically, then to Ibryen, ‘As for going round in circles, why the sudden concern? I’ve no idea what you’ve been following but you seem happy enough with it so far, so you might as well carry on doing the same. And I’ll just carry on doing what I’ve been doing – following the two of you. However…’ She looked from one to the other significantly, then waved a small book at them. ‘… at our great leader’s behest, I’m having to write this lot down, as well as mark the track, and I’m with him; I’ve no desire to plunge into a forest that could reach from here to your precious Girnlant unless it’s absolutely necessary. Are you both sure we’re going the right way – whatever that is?’
The small outburst silenced the two men for a moment.
‘Your kin,’ the Traveller said to Ibryen eventually, with a disclaiming wave and a humorous challenge in his eyes.
Ibryen smiled and shook his head in resignation. ‘Itis the way,’ he said to Rachyl, looking down towards the forest. ‘But whatever’s reaching out is changing. It’s getting weaker, but it’s getting clearer as well. And it seems to be pulling the whole of me in some way. It’s different. It’s going beyond.’
The Traveller was serious now. ‘It’s not easy so close to this river, but what I can hear still is just weaker, nothing else, no other changes. That’s the second time you’ve said that. What do you mean?’
Ibryen gave a pained shrug. ‘I don’t know. I’ve told you before, the whole thing is beyond any words I can find. It’s as though the… call… is beginning to come from some other place – or part of it is. And…’
He hesitated.
‘And?’ the Traveller prompted.
Ibryen blew two noisy breaths as if to force the words out. ‘And it’s as though part of me… the part that’s hearing this call… is somewhere else as well.’
Rachyl’s face became anxious. Survivor of scores of savage encounters, and heroine of many a daring raid on the Gevethen’s forces, she felt as though she were beginning to slide down a perilous slope at the end of which lay a terrible drop as she listened to her cousin and leader struggling so futilely with his strange inner vision. The Traveller reached out and touched them both. He spoke to Rachyl first.
‘When you’re lying in ambush, silent and still in the darkness for endless, aching hours, strange images flicker past your eyes, strange sounds buzz and clatter in your ears. Sometimes up becomes down and down up. But you’ve learned that it’s only your body, your own weaker nature, rebelling against the dictates of your will. You don’t confuse it with that feeling which brings you fully alert and says “danger”, do you? Yet when you feel this, you’ve heard nothing, seen nothing. You’ve no idea what mysterious reaches of time and distance this feeling comes to you across.’ Rachyl watched him uncertainly but intently. ‘So it is with your cousin. He’s as lost at the moment as you were on your first night attacks. He needs the assurance, the support, that someone probably gave you once, but there’s no one here can do it except us. You with your loyalty and affection, me with my limited knowledge.’ His grip tightened about her shoulder. ‘And you have a touch of this gift yourself I’m certain. Deep inside you understand. You can bear him when he leans on you. And I’ve heard of this thing often enough, and from intellects sceptical enough, to know that it exists – this ability, this gift, to reach into places which our hands and ears and eyes and all our commonsense tell us cannot be. Song forbid that we should be so arrogant as to think that what we can’t sense or imagine doesn’t exist! We, who can’t even see what the owl sees, hear what the bat hears. We, who can’t burrow beneath the ground, fly over the peaks or even move over the land faster than the merest trot without all manner of clanking devices to help us.’
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 stay
ed 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 t
o 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.