Roger Taylor - Whistler

‘Tell me, Allyn,’ the Whistler said.

Vredech felt his knees buckling, as if unable to sustain his confusion, and he sat down before he fell. ‘Let me go back,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ve nightmares enough in the real world – or whatever it is – without this. I need to be there. There’s no other true place for me.’

The Whistler approached cautiously and crouched down in front of him. ‘Tell me,’ he said again, very softly.

Vredech slumped, and without looking up told all that had happened since they had last met. It did not take long. Throughout, the Whistler blew gently across the mouth-hole of his flute, with a sound like the wind blowing over a bleak and distant plain.

There was a long silence after Vredech had finished.

‘You frighten me, Allyn Vredech, with your monstrous Cassraw,’ the Whistler said eventually. ‘But it’s Him that brings the changes, not you. I’m sorry. He distorts the fabric of everything with His lust!’ His final word drifted away into the soft sigh of the wind.

When Vredech looked up, he was staring at Nertha sitting on the edge of the couch by her patient, her head bowed slightly and her profile lit by the firelight. How strange that he’d never before noticed how beautiful she was, nor realized how precious she was to him. The strange serenity he had felt as he had stared at the distant castle in the dawn light but moments before returned to him, calming him.

‘Are you awake, Allyn?’ Nertha asked quietly.

He nodded. ‘Yes. How long was I asleep?’

Nertha smiled. ‘Not long. Yan-Elter’s not back yet.’

Vredech stretched luxuriously. ‘How’s Iryn?’ he asked.

‘He’s sleeping normally now, but he’s still disturbed.’

The words brought back the memory of the dream he had entered before he had been drawn again to the Whistler. It had been so powerful, so vivid. And he had never before remained in one dream for so long. It must have been Iryn’s, he realized. Perhaps because they were so close physically, perhaps because Iryn’s dream was so compellingly awful or, it occurred to him, perhaps he was still changing – in some way becoming more controlled, more sensitive. Like the Whistler’s tunes.

‘I know why,’ he said.

Nertha looked at him.

‘He’s dreaming about Bredill,’ Vredech said, prising himself out of the chair and moving to the couch. ‘I’ve been inside his dream.’ So much had happened that day that, despite her training and experience, Nertha could not keep the distress from her face at this remark. Vredech knew the cause and pressed on to the cure without pause. Gently he motioned her away from the sleeping Iryn, then very quickly, almost whispering, he told her about the dream. ‘It was no glorious battle,’ he concluded. ‘It was a treacherous and bloody ambush. A slaughter of sleeping men.’

Nertha took his arm. ‘But…’

‘Wake him and ask him,’ Vredech instructed.

Nertha hesitated.

‘Wake him!’

Then he stepped past her, smoothing down his hair, ruffled from his brief sleep, and fastening his clerical robe. He sat on the edge of the couch by Iryn and gently shook him. Gradually the young man awoke, blinking and rubbing his eyes in the soft lantern-light. Vredech gave him no opportunity to speak.

‘You’re safe now, Iryn,’ he said quietly but with a preacher’s ring to his voice. Nertha watched him carefully. ‘I’m Brother Vredech and this is my sis… Nertha, a physician. Your brother rescued you and brought you here, after your friends had deserted you. He’ll be back soon. He’s gone to tell your mother that you’re well. She’s been desperately worried about you since you went off to Bredill.’

At the mention of Bredill, Iryn’s face began to contort. Vredech laid a restraining hand on him. ‘I can feel your pain, my son,’ he said. ‘And I can help you with it.’ Iryn put his hands over his face and uttered a muffled, ‘No.’

Vredech pulled the hands away. ‘Yes,’ he insisted. ‘I know you’re no service-attender, but that’s of no great consequence. The true heart of the church doesn’t lie in buildings and rites and practices, it lies in people’s hearts. Ishryth might be a stern god, but He always sustains those who turn to Him. He will not burden you with more than you can bear, but you must speak of that burden if you wish it to be lightened.’ He leaned forward. ‘Speak it now. Speak out what it was that you and the others did at Bredill which is giving you such pain that it’s almost crushing you. Speak out so that you can start on the path towards reparation and forgiveness.’

Iryn screwed his eyes tight shut and, gritting his teeth, shook his head violently from side to side.

Vredech’s preaching tone was relentless in its authority. ‘There is no other way,’ he declared. ‘Speak it and let us help you, or be burdened with it for ever.’ He leaned still further forward, ‘For ever, Iryn. For the rest of your life – and beyond.’ Though both his look and his voice were full of compassion, his tone was a cruelly judged goad.

Nertha caught his arm, but he shook her off.

All of a sudden Iryn began to utter a high-pitched squeal. He clamped his hands over his face again, driving his fingernails into his forehead. Vredech took hold of them, but made no effort to move them other than to prevent Iryn from injuring himself.

The squealing rose to a climax and then began to break up into sobs. Eventually, gasping and disjointed, and punctuated by inarticulate bursts of remorse, the tale of the glorious Battle of Bredill emerged. Vredech nodded and encouraged the confession, but his eyes kept moving to Nertha, who was now sitting by the patient’s head. Towards the end, Yan-Elter returned. Vredech motioned him urgently to silence as he came into the room.

When it was finished, Nertha had heard the account that Vredech had given her repeated in every particular, save that there was more, for Iryn’s account told also of Cassraw and Yanos’s murderous driven march across the countryside to bring their force to Bredill and then to return it to Troidmallos. Encouragement had taken many forms, but predominantly it had consisted of vicious abuse, and later blows and kicks. There were hints in the telling that others than he had simply been abandoned, both going and returning, but Vredech did not press for details. Nor did he press for an account of other things that Cassraw apparently did to keep his warriors moving, as the existence of these seemed to lie in sudden silences, and they obviously inspired a fear in Iryn that was far deeper than any remorse.

‘Bravely told, Iryn,’ Vredech said when all was apparently finished. ‘These were awful deeds, but your feet are on a truer path now. I want you to stay here and rest, and we’ll talk again in the morning. There are things to be done which will help undo some of this harm.’

‘It’s not going to bring anyone back to life, is it?’ Iryn said, his hands moving towards his face again, but stopping.

Vredech shook his head. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘But we can try to stop others from being killed. A great many others.’

‘What’s happened?’ Yan-Elter demanded as Vredech finally stood up.

‘Your mother’s all right?’ Vredech said, authoritative again.

‘Yes, but…’

‘I’ll tell you what’s happened later. Nertha and I have a lot to talk about now. What I want you to do is sit by your brother. Just be there where he can see you. Let him sleep, let him talk, whatever he wants. But no questions, do you understand? No questions. Everything will keep until the morning.’

Nertha was looking at him strangely as they sat down again by the fire and she pulled their chairs closer so that they could talk privately.