by Roger Taylor
When he woke the following morning, Vredech’s headache was gone, although the bruise was still tender, and he was relaxed and rested. He got out of bed slowly and performed his rising habits with a gentle delight as though they had been part of one of the sacred ceremonies of Ishrythan. As indeed perhaps they were, he thought.
He offered a silent prayer of thanks to Ishryth for giving him the strength to learn.
Then he ate a substantial and smiling breakfast to appease the stern and searching eye of the goddess of his hearth.
* * * *
Cassraw stared out across the crowded Meeting House. It was good. Every place on the stern upright benches was full, people were actually sitting in the three aisles, and the open space at the back of the hall was crowded. Through the open doors beyond, he could see the heads of many others craning to see and to hear what he was about to say. Pride surged through him. No one -no one – had filled a Meeting House like this since the great days of Ishrythan when attendance had been a matter of law, and failure to do so a matter to be accounted for before the Court of the Provers.
Very slowly he looked across the entire congregation, as if to impose his will on each member of it individually. An unusually high number were robed and hooded, following the old tradition that worshippers should enter the church in humility and free from all outward show of vanity. They added a mysterious dignity to the atmosphere of the place. Of those who were unhooded, he recognized many of his own flock, but for each of these there must have been two strange faces. Laggard attenders from his own parish? People from other parishes? Even some foreigners, judging by their dress. But it did not matter. Nor did it matter whether they were drawn by the rumour of what he was about to say, or by his rapidly spreading fame as a great preacher. It mattered only that they were here, because in being here, they were his. For he was the Chosen One and this was his Meeting House, and what was said and done here was determined by him and him alone. All who came to listen would be brought to know that, and would lay themselves open to receive His word. They would learn that they must sacrifice their own petty concerns and desires for the greater good, for the restoring of the church of Ishrythan to its former splendour and power, so that His will might once again sweep out across the world and bring order to all.
Something inside him stirred in expectation.
‘Great is Thy power, Lord,’ Cassraw said.
‘Thus let it be,’ the congregation intoned.
Cassraw’s prayer had been a spontaneous utterance, not the beginning of the peroration he had been intending. Nor had it been spoken with the power that he knew he could use to overwhelm a large audience. The congregation’s response therefore was totally unexpected. Its ragged but massive power rolled over him like a great wave, and for a moment he felt as if he were drowning in it. Panic swept through him; his planned words fled. He was going to be left gaping and foolish before this mob, this motley assortment.
He had been abandoned!
And as if to accentuate his peril, his eye lit on Privv, leaning against the wall at the back of the hall. He was here for one reason only, to find something to write in his Sheet. Cassraw knew only too well that though he might at the moment have secured Privv as an ally, it was an uncertain alliance, and a rambling, incoherent performance now would see him doubly damned – once before this immediate congregation and again through the successive distorting lenses of the Sheets as the tale was told and retold through the following days. Then he saw Albor standing near to Privv. Difficult to recognize out of his Keeper’s uniform, he stood expectant and respectful, but to Cassraw he felt like the hard focus of this entire happening; the solitary speck about which it had all coalesced. He could willingly have cursed him into oblivion for his unknowing part in the gathering of this crowd.
Cassraw’s hand tightened purposefully about the rail that fringed the pulpit while he fought to regain control of himself. Years of experience held him motionless, save for his eyes as they continued their now sightless examination of the congregation. Not the slightest indication of his inner turmoil radiated from him.
And finally he was looking into the eyes of his wife, sitting immediately below him and dressed in a simple black robe with the hood drawn back. She made no movement nor gave any perceptible sign, but he felt her presence flooding powerfully through him. He was filled with desire for her. And even as the echoes of the unexpected response were dying away, Cassraw’s doubts left him.
The presence within him bloomed.
All was well. It had been but another trial. Had he not been told? ‘Know that I will be with you always, Cassraw. Always. You have but to listen.’
He spoke.
‘Darkness came upon the land.’
His words filled the hall, silencing the petty shufflings of his audience.
‘And I ascended into it and was struck down.’
The silence deepened.
‘And as I lay alone in the darkness, full of pain and fear, He revealed a vision to me.’
‘Praise Him. Praise Him.’
The cry, not loud, but full of passion, rose from someone in the congregation. There was some head-turning. That kind of enthusiastic participation was a feature of the smaller, rural Meeting Houses, where a simpler, less sophisticated religion might be practised. It was not done in the most urban Meeting Houses and certainly not in the Haven.
The heads turned sharply back to Cassraw however, at his next words.
‘Praise Him, indeed, my child. Praise Him, indeed. For in this vision I saw our country, as from a great height. I saw our country, divided and weak, the butt of its neighbours’ whims, and on the verge of being led into a terrible decay.’
Silence.
‘And as my eyes misted over at this sight, so I was raised still higher, until I could see all the lands of Gyronlandt. The divided lands of Gyronlandt. And I could see its many peoples being led inexorably into sin and destruction by base rulers and false gods. Being led, my children, into a future when all must surely be torn asunder.’
He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. ‘And the vision spread such things before me as I can scarcely tell you. I was shown far distant lands. Lands unknown to us.’ His voice grew gradually louder. ‘Unknown except for the taint of Ahmral that could be seen upon them also. Dividing kin against kin. Paving the wide and downward road into the everlasting perdition that awaits those who turn their faces against the Lord.’
As Cassraw’s voice rose to fill the hall, Vredech, seated near the back, his face concealed in the darkness of a deep hood, frowned. He had listened carefully to his friend’s sonorous voice, rising, falling, pausing, rushing on, burying itself deep into its audience, subtly carrying it along. Now he was frowning, not only because of what Cassraw was saying but because, despite himself, he felt the hairs on his arms tingling at the touch of this powerful oratory, and it was only with an effort of will that he forced himself to listen to the true content of the words, and their practised manipulation.
‘Thus let it be, thus let it be.’
The solitary voice, louder now, and full of judgement, rose again from the body of the hall. Several others echoed it. Cassraw straightened up and leaned forward.
‘Thus itwill be, my children. Thus it will be. Is it not written so?’ And as his voice rose with the question, so his hand slammed down on the ornate copy of the Santyth that rested on the lectern by his side. The sound made the whole congregation start.
Cassraw caught them before the movement could turn into an inattentive restlessness.
‘But…’ He paused and scanned the congregation as he had at the beginning. ‘Thus it will be with us also.’
‘No,’ came the voice again.
‘Yes.’ Cassraw’s contradiction swept the denial aside. ‘Unworthy as I am, I have been chosen to bring this vision to you. And if, having been given this vision, we stand aside, then yes, thus it will be with us also. If we do not first mend our own ways and then, strong in our own virtue,
reach out to these benighted peoples to bring them to the truth then, yes, thus it will be with us also.’
Silence.
‘For in my vision I was shown also what can be brought to pass. I was shown how warring differences can be transformed into peace, into calm and tranquillity. As I turned from this awful sight, I saw in the distance, bright against a golden sky, a solitary silver star. His star. The One True Light.’
‘Praise Him, praise Him.’ Many voices were raised now, picking up the rhythm of Cassraw’s speech.
‘And by its light I saw our small land here made whole, and from this mended land I saw multitudes marching forth to win the hearts of all the peoples of Gyronlandt and unite them under His sacred banner.’
Vredech shuddered. He had come secretly out of genuine concern for what he had believed Cassraw was about to do, and so that he might have an accurate account of it. But now he knew that he himself would have to raise what he had heard with the Chapter. Perhaps even ask Mueran to call a special Chapter Meeting with the intention of reprimanding Cassraw.
Yet even as these thoughts formed, part of Vredech was responding to what he was hearing. For a moment it seemed as though he were standing on the Ervrin Mallos again, amid dark, flickering shadows. Voices lured him on. ‘Follow. Follow. Let all be united under the church. Let there be peace, let there be order. Follow.’ The prospect, heightened by Cassraw’s telling, genuinely thrilled. And the effect of the words on those around him was undeniable. The congregation was becoming a single entity, all reason gone. A single will. The will of Enryc Cassraw.
The realization sobered Vredech. As on the mountain, and for no logical reason that he could fathom, he called out silently, ‘Leave me, Ahmral’s spawn, leave me.’
He thought he heard a distant laughter.
Cassraw was continuing, his voice rolling on. ‘My children, Canol Madreth is nearing a time of testing, of proving. We shall need all our strength, all our resolution. I am a poor vessel to bear the burden with which I have been charged. But carry this hesitant and inadequate telling of the wonder of my vision away with you. Ponder it. Let it sustain you, guide you, when the time for decision comes. For that time will be sooner than you realize.’ He paused significantly and held up his own small copy of the Santyth. ‘Much more was shown to me. Much more. What was dark and confused has been made clear and lucid. I shall speak further of it at another time.’
‘Thus let it be. Thus let it be.’
Cassraw made no response, but stood with his head bowed for a long time, as though in private contemplation. When he eventually looked up, his face was grim. As too was his voice, even more powerful and penetrating than before as he continued. ‘To those of you who doubt this revelation, know that He sees all, knows all. No secret can be hidden from Him; no crime concealed. If your heart is soiled with evil thoughts, if your hands are stained with goods or coin dishonestly won, with cruel deeds…’ He paused. ‘… or with blood.’ The phrase hung in the air. ‘Know then that you are discovered and that unless you purge yourselves of these sins, the time of your punishment is near. Very near. As it is for all those who defy His will.’
The light in the hall seemed to dim in response to this ominous conclusion.
Then Cassraw held out his hand, the fingers stretched wide. ‘Go in His peace, all of you, and prepare yourselves for what is to come. I shall remain here to pray for you all for a little while. When I have finished, the doors will be opened again and those of you who wish to begin the purging of your sins and set your feet back on the true path may return. Thus let it be.’
The congregation’s response of, ‘Thus let it be,’ was far from automatic. It was larded with excitement and passion and cries of, ‘Praise Him, praise Him.’
Vredech sat motionless, stunned by what he had heard and shaken by what he had felt. He was an experienced enough preacher himself to see that Cassraw’s words had been rambling rhetoric, theatrically and, he had to concede, brilliantly presented with the specific intention of provoking an emotional response from his congregation. To a certain extent this was a respected tradition in Ishrythan – ‘Put the fear of Ishryth in them. Put them by Ahmral’s fireside.’ And congregations expected fearsome, rousing sermons from time to time, sermons that would send them home shivering and bring them to the Meeting House more diligently for the next few weeks. Their effect was both cathartic and restraining; they were adult versions of the frightening tales told to and loved by children. Horld’s ‘fireside’ sermons were particularly famous for their colourful rhetoric, and vivid, not to say technically sound, representations of Ahmral’s furnaces. In his absence, they were a source of some envious jocularity amongst his peers.
But there were unwritten rules to such sermons. They must be built around a text from the Santyth and, in the end, uplift and sustain; hold out hope of redemption, albeit through sweat and toil, the foregoing of self-indulgence and, not least, regular attendance at the Meeting House. Cassraw had not observed these rules. His words had actually been less overtly frightening than those of many another preacher, but they had not been taken from the Santyth, and they had been full of dark and unresolved portents. And menace, Vredech realized slowly, quite awful menace, though whether it was the words, or the way they had been spoken, he could not say. Probably both, he decided.
And, too, Cassraw had made openly political statements. Vredech had come in fear of hearing some indiscreet reference to a secular matter in the form of the murder. To have heard again the old cry of strength through a united Gyronlandt was almost beyond belief. For a frightening moment he wondered whether he had not slipped into an eerie dream again. He half-expected to see the Whistler appear in front of him. But no. He put his hand on the back of the bench in front of him and looked around the hall. This was the Haven Meeting House, and he had heard what he had heard. A united Gyronlandt! For mercy’s sake, what atrocities had not been committed in answer to that obscene siren call?
He stood up and looked at the departing congregation. The sight of them further heightened his concern. One thing about Cassraw’s harangue was certain; he was a powerful preacher, and no part of it had been fortuitous. The whole thing had been deliberately planned to have a specific effect on his audience. And the congregation was not leaving as it normally would, in a subdued and patient shuffle, taking the leisurely walk along the aisles as an opportunity to return, as it were, from the spiritual world to the ‘real’ one. Vredech saw anxiety and urgency, and too, some bewilderment and fear. There was even some nervous laughter – an unheard-of sound in a Meeting House. But, most frightening of all, many of the faces he could see were alight with… the word that he did not want to hear crawled, hissing, into his mind like a serpent.
Fanaticism.
Ishryth protect us, he thought, and his hand almost circled about his heart. What dreadful tinder had the fire of Cassraw’s words struck light to?
And how did it come there to be so easily lit?
‘I saw Him rising to fill the sky, His great night cloak swallowing up the holy mountain and covering the whole land. I heard His cries turn from despair to rejoicing; a terrible rejoicing as I travelled the dreamway. Horrible. Horrible. And now He walks amongst us again.’
‘He was holding on like a failing climber.’
The words of Jarry and the Whistler flooded suddenly into Vredech’s mind, startling him. Whatever the Whistler was – strange reality or figment – Jarry was real and solid, and his reaction to the cloud had not been all that dissimilar to his own. Then more of the Whistler’s words returned to him. ‘You’ll probably find Him gently sowing disorder and discontent where He affects to bring calm and tranquillity.’
Calm and tranquillity – Cassraw’s very words. For a moment, Vredech felt sick, and his turmoil about the true nature of the Whistler returned to him. The coincidence between Cassraw’s words and those of Jarry and the Whistler could well be just that – coincidence, but he could find no solace in this. Cassraw’s sermon had be
en truly frightening, as, too, had been its effect on the congregation.
Vredech stood up and joined the crowd. As he reached the Meeting House door, he turned and looked back. Cassraw was standing motionless in the gloom of the pulpit, his head bowed, a stark black form against the pale grey of the stonework. Like an entrance to some other place, Vredech thought. Or from it.
He dismissed the thought angrily, disturbed by it.
Outside, the brightness of the afternoon made him blink for a moment, and the dark-clad figures dispersing about him blurred into dancing shadows. Then they were people again. He noted a number of young men wearing the sash of Cassraw’s Knights of Ishryth, and a frisson of distaste skittered across the surface of his deeper concerns. Try as he might, he found it hard to warm to Cassraw’s notion that this group served any useful purpose. He was not disposed to debate it with himself here, however. It was a trivial matter indeed in comparison with what had just happened.
He noted, too, that a large number of people were simply standing, waiting.
Waiting to have their sins purged, I suppose, he thought angrily. Not content with making political pronouncements from the pulpit, Cassraw was approaching outright blasphemy with such an idea. Vredech wanted to throw back his hood and denounce these people for the fools they were, chase them back to their homes to ponder their sins and learn from them, not seek to have them in some way undone. Calmer counsels prevailed, however, and, head bowed, he walked quickly down the steps of the Meeting House and off along the path that led towards the main gates.
As he strode out, he heard footsteps running behind him. He turned and a hand took his arm lightly.