Whistler

by Roger Taylor

  Walking, watching, waiting, for the opportunity to kill again.

  And he, Serjeant Keeper, guardian of the law and the people, was lost and floundering. He could do nothing – except fail in his most fundamental duty – doomed to await the next killing and hope that something, someone, might be seen, or some clue be left to which he could cling and which might bring him to the killer. All he had learned so far was that the murderer was physically powerful. He must be, to have defeated Albor man to man…

  And before his thoughts could begin to circle fruitlessly, Skynner would turn again to the more pressing needs of the day.

  * * * *

  Vredech wrapped his cloak about him. It was sodden, but it was still keeping the rain from him. After spending the remainder of the night sleeping fitfully in his chair, he had risen silently at dawn and managed to leave the Meeting House without disturbing anyone. He needed to be alone and to think.

  Nertha had greeted the declaration of his intention to kill Cassraw with a confusion of emotions, not the least of which had been disbelief. They had conducted a bizarre, whispered dispute for fear of waking the dozing Yan-Elter. As the seriousness of Vredech’s intention eventually emerged, Nertha had fallen silent and stared at him intently, her eyes searching his face.

  ‘I’m no more mad than I was before,’ Vredech said, reading her look. ‘You’re the logical one. Find me an alternative.’

  ‘It’s not a matter of logic,’ Nertha said.

  Once, such an admission would have given Vredech the opportunity for an ironic rejoinder, but his mood could admit no humour.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ he said coldly. ‘I could pray, I suppose.’ Nertha looked distressed at the cynicism in his voice, but Vredech went on. ‘Oddly enough, my prayers mean more now than they’ve ever meant. After thinking I’d lost you the other day, and then finding you and standing by you, looking out across the valleys – so beautiful – I think I understand Ishrythan more than ever before. My faith seems to be changing. I don’t seem to need Ishryth Himself so much. It’s strange. Cassraw says his… mentor… reveals the inner truths of the Santyth to him. Well, I think I’ve found them for myself. I suppose I should be grateful for that.’ He paused, as his thoughts swung back to matters practical. ‘But more than ever I know that what part of our destiny lies in our hands, we are responsible for, completely.’ Nertha tried to intervene, but he silenced her. ‘You and I have been shown what’s happening. And Horld – maybe even Skynner. They will do what they must do, in their own judgements. And I will do what I must do in mine. I’ll be able to get close to him…’

  Nertha burst in. ‘Allyn, stop talking like that, you’re frightening me. You’re no more a murderer than I am – still less an assassin. You’re physically incapable of killing anyone. You killed a bird with a catapult once then cried yourself to sleep for two nights. Do you think you can kill Cassraw, an old friend, whom you’ve known all your life, even allowing for what he’s turned into?’ Then something seemed to snap inside her and she almost snarled. ‘And you don’t know what you’re talking about, for mercy’s sake. Look!’ Before Vredech could prevent her, she had snatched the knife from him, unsheathed it and, thrusting the handle into his hand, drawn it towards herself so that the point was almost touching her throat. ‘Here’s where you’d do it. Like this,’ she said savagely, showing him. ‘You’re right. You’d probably be able to get near enough to him to do it, but could you push this blade in?’ She drew it nearer to her throat, forcing Vredech to pull back in alarm. ‘And if you do, shall I tell you what’ll happen?’ Vredech stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘It won’t be like cutting yourself shaving. There’ll be blood spouting everywhere as his heart bursts itself trying to stop the wound, from here to that wall – and splattering across it. And there’ll be noises that’ll ring in your ears for ever. Not to mention the look on his face.’ She held his gaze fiercely for a long moment, then her hands went suddenly limp. The knife slipped out of Vredech’s grip and fell with a thud to the floor.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Yan-Elter’s sleepy voice made them both start.

  Nertha recovered first. ‘Yes,’ she said hoarsely. ‘How’s Iryn?’

  ‘He seems quieter.’

  ‘Good. Go back to sleep. We’ve done everything we can for him. We’ll have to see what the morning brings.’

  Yan-Elter nodded and drifted off to sleep again. Vredech picked up the knife. His hands were shaking.

  ‘Promise me you won’t do anything foolish,’ Nertha said, taking his arm. She was not sobbing, but tears were running down her face. ‘There’s another way somewhere.’ Vredech made to stand up but her grip was too strong. ‘Promise!’ she demanded. ‘We’ll think of something if we give it a little time.’

  ‘Time?’ Vredech exclaimed. He brought his face close to hers. ‘It’s scarcely ten days since Cassraw’s first sermon, Nertha. Ten days! It feels as though it were some other age, but…’ He was going to mention the Whistler’s remarks about events moving with great speed but he stopped himself. ‘We probably don’t have any time left. Who can say what’ll have happened in another ten days?’

  Nertha just said simply, ‘Promise me you’ll do nothing foolish.’

  Vredech looked at her thoughtfully, then nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said, pushing the knife into his belt. ‘I’ll do nothing foolish.’

  Nor will I, he thought, as the murmured but frantic debate returned to him yet again. He was shivering. Not with the dampness of the day which, oddly enough, he welcomed; the obliteration of the mountains and the greying of all else seemed to leave his mind free to roam unhindered by things familiar. He was shivering because he was afraid. He would do nothing foolish, true, he had promised. But killing Cassraw was not an act of folly, it was one of wisdom and necessity. People had died already because of his neglect, though he took some solace in the knowledge that he could not possibly have followed the Whistler’s advice when it had first been given to him. That certainly would not have been rational. But now? Although, as he had said, only a few days had passed since Cassraw’s first demented sermon, it was indeed a different age now. So very different. For a moment, Vredech began again to doubt the reality of all that was happening. After all, had he not been drawn into a world that was still Canol Madreth when he had met Horld on the mountain? Perhaps somewhere he was walking through a rain-shrouded park in a world where he could return to his Meeting House to sit in its comforting warmth and talk with Nertha and look to a future that was once again knowable – a world in which Cassraw was his old friendly, obstinate and argumentative self, untainted by whatever had lured him into the darkness.

  The idea brought a lump to Vredech’s throat and tears to his eyes but he pushed them away. There was no alternative but to do what he was going to do.

  Nertha’s savage exposition about how to use the knife had been cruelly effective, deeply unmanning him, and the images she had conjured kept returning to taunt him. But he was no longer the child who had cried himself to sleep for the gratuitous slaying of a bird. The killing of Cassraw might perhaps cost him his sanity, maybe even his life, but he had been shown, or had imagined, it mattered not, the ravages that would come to countless thousands if Cassraw’s dark and primitive view of Ishrythan were to spread. Reality might well be underlain by beauty and simplicity, but in its workings, in the weaving of this simplicity, it was complex and subtle, full of shifting needs and decisions that required continuously the skills of Ishryth’s second greatest gift, the mind, to judge any course of action. No book, not even the Santyth, for all the wisdom it contained, could hold such knowledge. Still less, could one man. And any man who claimed such knowledge and would seek to impose it, seek to constrain the incalculable spirit of a people into the suffocating limits of his own ignorance and fear, could bring only destruction.

  As he was already doing.

  Vredech sat down on a bench beneath a broad canopied tree. The bench and the grass about him were still dry. He was calmer now. His thoughts
had run so many courses so often that they had finally fallen silent. He reached inside his cloak and laid his hand on the knife.

  What are you doing, Priest, even thinking of taking life? he asked himself again. But the question no longer meant anything. Nor did he listen to Nertha’s plea that some other way could be found. Instead he clung to Iryn’s nightmare. He was prepared to take that upon himself if it saved others having to suffer it. That was a priestly duty. It was not avoidable.

  And now he must await events. Confine himself to simple practical matters, such as where he might find Cassraw. Would he be at the Haven Meeting House, or was he already assuming his role of Covenant Member and establishing himself at the Witness House?

  All he had to do was ask.

  But he’d sit here a little longer, in the grey stillness. Think about the sunset he had seen from the hillside with the Whistler playing his meandering flute, and the view across the valleys as he had stood by Nertha.

  Appreciate what you have while you have it, then the pain of parting from it would be less.

  It was true.

  But still he did not want to part from it, nor confront the pain of what he had to do.

  His concerns slowly left him as he looked at the shadows of the trees in the misting rain and listened to the steady hiss of its fall and the occasional spluttering rattle as a solitary drop would cause a leaf to shed its tiny load on to the leaves below, and thence to more leaves until finally a cascade of many drops splashed to the ground.

  He leaned back against the tree. As he did so, he noticed a movement in the distance. It took him a moment to bring two figures into focus.

  They were walking slowly towards him.

  Chapter 35

  Vredech felt a small twinge of irritation at this disturbance of his contemplation. Still, he thought, they’ll probably pass on their way. It was unlikely that anyone would be abroad today other than on some necessary errand. He watched them idly. Both were cloaked and hooded. One, he judged, was about his height and build, while the other was a little shorter but more heavily built.

  As they drew nearer, it seemed that they would indeed walk past, but one of them glanced casually at him then stopped and held out a hand to detain his partner. There was a brief conversation then they walked directly towards him. Vredech’s irritation increased but he managed to keep it from his face.

  ‘Good day,’ the shorter one said courteously. Vredech noted the speaker’s foreign accent with surprise.

  ‘Good day,’ he replied automatically, standing up.

  The stranger bowed slightly. ‘Please forgive me for accosting you like this,’ he said, ‘but I notice from your dress that you are a priest in the local religion.’

  Local religion! Vredech felt mildly demeaned, but he replied that yes, he was.

  The stranger held out his hand. ‘My name is Darke.’ He emphasized the last syllable. ‘And this is my friend Tirec. We’re travellers… scholars. May we talk to you, or are we disturbing you?’

  The man’s gentle assuredness transformed the remainder of Vredech’s annoyance into self-reproach. He ventured a small joke by way of reparation. ‘Not at all,’ he smiled, extending his hand towards the bench. ‘Please join me in my office.’ For a little while at least, he would be able to put aside thoughts about what he had to do. He introduced himself. On hearing his name, Darke looked pleasantly surprised.

  ‘We’ve heard of you,’ he said. ‘And are honoured to meet you. You’re highly thought of by such as we’ve spoken to.’

  Unskilled in receiving compliments, Vredech coughed awkwardly and changed the subject. ‘Sadly, you’ve chosen an evil time to visit our country,’ he said as he sat down. ‘It grieves me to have to say this, but I’m afraid, being foreigners, you may even be at some risk. There is a great deal of confusion about.’

  ‘Yes,’ Darke nodded. ‘Though the confusion, as you call it, is mainly around Troidmallos, and directed towards those from the west – the Felden?’ Vredech nodded. ‘The further reaches of your land are less troubled and so far all your countrymen have been most obliging to us.’

  ‘If a little distant?’ Vredech inquired, noting a hesitation.

  The man gave a slight shrug.

  ‘We are apt to be reserved with strangers,’ Vredech explained, smiling again. ‘It’s a national trait, I’m afraid, and one I take no pride in admitting. I hope you’ve not been offended by our seeming coldness?’

  Darke shook his head. ‘We’ve travelled through many countries and have learned to accept the different ways of many peoples. We’ve also learned that apparently major differences between communities are often little deeper than the various costumes they wear. Underneath, people are very much the same everywhere.’

  Vredech, suddenly feeling very parochial, found himself wholly absorbed in what Darke was saying. It was Tirec who spoke next, however. From his face Vredech took him to be about his own age though, like Darke, who was perhaps nearer Horld’s age, his mannerisms were those of a younger man. ‘To be honest, we’re quite content not to have been attacked in the street after reading this,’ he said, pulling out a neatly folded copy of Privv’s Sheet.

  Vredech’s nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘You treat it with more respect than it deserves,’ he said. ‘Screw it up and use it to light your camp fire, or put it to some other simple practical use when you’re away from the comforts of civilization. I beg you, don’t judge us by that.’

  Tirec grinned, but Darke’s manner was more sober. ‘We treat it with the respect that all dangerous things warrant: fires, floods, sharpened edges.’

  Vredech’s grim preoccupations returned at this last remark, and without thinking, he patted the knife in his belt. ‘Don’t you have Sheets in your own country?’ he asked.

  ‘We have the printed word and many books, and many ways of carrying the news of events, but nothing like this.’

  ‘Not when we left, anyway,’ Tirec added.

  ‘True,’ Darke conceded.

  ‘Consider yourselves fortunate,’ Vredech said warmly.

  Darke looked at the Sheet. ‘We have several of them to take with us for study,’ he said. ‘They seem like a worthwhile idea.’

  Vredech gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘They are a worthwhile idea,’ he agreed. ‘But Privv…’ He hesitated. ‘Privv’s an undisciplined scoundrel who unfortunately has no small gift for words – and he seems to be getting worse by the day.’

  ‘We were coming to that conclusion ourselves,’ Darke said. ‘Though why anyone should wish to embellish the truth so, defies me. Can’t he be restrained in any way?’

  ‘It’s too complicated to explain,’ Vredech replied. ‘And of little value to you to know, I suspect. If you wish these things to be let loose on your own land, then learn from what you’ve seen here. Whatever lawmakers you have, have them oblige a writer of Sheets to confine himself to the truth.’

  ‘I’ll remember your advice,’ Darke said.

  Vredech suddenly had the feeling that he had been tested in some way, and that these two strangers needed no advice on the running of a Sheet. Darke looked at him intently. ‘May I ask you something delicate?’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ Vredech replied, as much out of curiosity as from priestly habit.

  ‘I think this man, Privv, has done your community great harm,’ Darke said. ‘More perhaps than you know. Please tell me to hold my peace if I offend you – just attribute it to a rash foreigner’s ignorance – but it seems to us that even greater harm is coming from the heart of your own religion.’

  Vredech bridled slightly, but it was more a reflex than a true response.

  ‘This Brother Cassraw seems to be…’ Darke searched for the words he needed ‘… unusually naive in his preaching, and rather at odds with what, in my limited understanding, I take to be the main tenets of your religion as set out in your Santyth.’

  Vredech looked at him closely. ‘You’ve studied the Santyth?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve read it,’
Darke said. ‘Not studied it.’

  ‘What are you scholars of?’ Vredech asked.

  Darke smiled broadly. ‘Everything, Brother Vredech. We put reins only on our conduct, not our minds. There are so many wonders to be seen, to be learned about, to stand in awe before, to celebrate.’ He reached down, plucked a tiny white flower and brought it close to his face. ‘Even though a lifetime of such journeying may not even tell us all there is to know about this single, solitary flower. For then, I suspect, we would know everything.’

  ‘How strange,’ Vredech said, genuinely moved by Darke’s manner. ‘I was thinking similar thoughts myself only a moment ago.’

  Darke looked at him intently again, then seemed to reach a decision. ‘This is hardly a cheering day,’ he said, looking around. ‘Would I be right in assuming that you’re sitting here in the stillness and silence because of your concern about the conduct of your colleague?’

  Briefly, Vredech was disposed to be indignant about this question, but it was too accurate. It hurt, however, and the pain came through in his answer. ‘Yes,’ he replied simply. ‘Though I don’t see what business it is of yours.’

  Darke laid a hand on his arm. ‘I apologize, Brother Vredech,’ he said, ‘but I had a reason for asking the question.’

  ‘Where are you from?’ Vredech asked bluntly, reluctant to return to the topic of his own worries. ‘You speak our language well, but I can’t place your accent at all.’

  ‘We’re from the north,’ Darke said, adding as Vredech started to shake his head. ‘From beyond the mountains. Our home is far, far away.’