Roger Taylor - Whistler

Then, Nertha reached forward and took the Whistler’s arm. ‘Help us, please,’ she said.

The Whistler looked at her, his eyes full of pain. Then he gazed at Vredech.

‘I’ve made such fine people,’ he said. He pursed his lips and screwed his eyes tight shut. When he opened them they were wide and full of manic mischief. ‘I was always susceptible to beautiful women. And we should live our dreams with a little flare, don’t you think, Allyn? Let’s raise the devil.’ He lifted the flute to his lips and looked at Nertha. ‘For you, my dear, my favourite note.’ For an instant he hesitated and there was a flicker of fear in his eyes, then he blew a single, brief note, soft and low.

The sound floated out into the grey dampness and seemed to enter into the very heart of everything that was there, from the misting raindrops to the glistening damp rocks. Vredech felt the presence about them change. He began to feel very afraid.

The Whistler let out an incongruous, ‘Ooh!’ and began gingerly rubbing the ends of his thumbs with his forefingers. ‘Something nasty’s coming,’ he said, hopping on to the rock that Cassraw had announced as marking the point of his revelation. He squatted on his haunches, the flute at his lips, and his eyes peering hither and thither into the gloom.

A figure emerged through the rain.

It was Dowinne. She was walking slowly towards them.

There seemed to be almost an aura about her, then Vredech saw that the rain was not falling on her. He, like Nertha, was soaked, the rain flattening his hair to his skull and running down his face. Dowinne however, was completely untouched. And there was something serpentine about the way she was moving – half-walking, half-gliding… as if she were in another place. As she rose up the final slope to the summit, Vredech saw that in her hand, hanging idly by her side, was a long, bloodstained knife.

The Whistler drew in a hissing breath.

Dowinne paused as she reached them, then turned slowly to Nertha. Vredech made to step forward protectively, but Nertha’s arm came out to stop him as she met Dowinne’s gaze. The two women stared at one another for a long time, then a hint of an unpleasant smile curled the side of Dowinne’s mouth and she turned to look at Vredech.

Vredech could read nothing in her gaze, though it was profoundly unnerving. It was as though someone else was looking through her eyes at him, assessing him, coldly curious yet at the same time wildly excited.

Finally she turned towards the Whistler, her head tilted to one side, while the Whistler, his flute still at his mouth, raised an eyebrow.

‘You blaspheme,’ she said after a moment, her voice distant and harsh. Without comment, the Whistler jumped down from the rock and skipped a few paces away. Dowinne’s eyes followed him, still unreadable.

She placed the knife on the rock and then laid her hand beside it. At her touch, the rock became dry, but immediately blood began to flow from her hand. Slowly it spread across the surface of the rock, wider and wider.

‘So much blood in him,’ she said quietly.

The presence about them grew more and more intense.

Nertha took Vredech’s arm. She was shaking.

‘Release him, woman,’ Dowinne said. ‘He is mine.’

Nertha’s jaw tautened, but Vredech motioned her to be silent, and gently eased her grip from his arm.

‘How did you come here, and why have you killed your husband?’ he asked, bringing a priestly sternness to his voice that he did not feel.

The blood stopped flowing. Dowinne addressed him. ‘I did not kill Cassraw, I sacrificed him. As I did the others. Blood and the terror of its drawing are necessary for the heartstone of His temple. And He brought me here, as He brought you also.’ She waved a graceful hand towards Nertha and the Whistler. ‘And these two are perhaps for the stone.’

Vredech in his turn began to shake. Dowinne stepped forward until she was immediately in front of him. He felt the rain stop falling on him. Dowinne opened her mouth slightly and blew a soft scented breath in his face. Suddenly he was riven with desire for this woman; old, long-forgotten desires from his youth. His trembling became different in character, and sweat formed on his forehead.

‘ You are the Chosen One, Allyn Vredech,’ she said, moving herself against him. ‘You are mine, we shall be joined in His name and His service, and His will shall be done through us.’

‘This is madness,’ Vredech said hoarsely. He raised his hands to push her away but, as if beyond his control, they merely came to rest on her shoulders. She closed her eyes ecstatically at his touch.

‘No,’ Dowinne said. ‘The only madness would be to deny the destiny that has been laid out for us since the beginning of all things. We are His servants and we shall be rulers in this world. All will fall before us.’

‘I have no gifts,’ Vredech said weakly.

Dowinne smiled. ‘I have the power of change,’ she said, lifting a hand to Vredech’s face. As he looked at it, he saw glittering silver spirals winding around her fingers, criss-crossing her hand and winding about her wrist, like a delicate and magical glove. Only as he stared at it did he realize that the shifting silver threads were water, twisting and flowing as water could not. ‘He has awakened it in me. And you…? You span the worlds beyond. That is your gift, and that, His presence alone has wakened in you. Cassraw possessed merely a shadow of it. He was but a vessel through which He could attain me. Millennia might pass before such as we come together again to pave the way for His coming.’ She reached up and put her arms around his neck. Vredech’s arms moved irresistibly to return her embrace as he felt her body pressing against his. ‘Come to me, Allyn Vredech,’ she whispered. ‘Be with me. Everything you have ever desired is before you now. We are His, and you are mine.’

Her face came closer to his.

Vredech bent his head forward.

‘The hell he is, you murderous bitch!’

Nertha’s angry cry accompanied her hand which appeared suddenly between them. She clamped it over Dowinne’s face and pushed her violently, tearing her free of Vredech’s embrace. Then, her elbow against his chest, she sent Vredech staggering backwards.

Suddenly the cold rain was falling on him again.

Dowinne’s spell had gone.

The Whistler’s eyes flicked between the three protagonists.

Dowinne had steadied herself on the rock. Her face became suddenly savage; teeth bared and eyes wide with uncontrollable rage. She snatched up the knife and spun round to face Nertha. Vredech had stumbled and was scrambling to his feet as he saw Nertha bend down and pick up a large rock in response.

Then, before he could cry out, Dowinne’s snarl had turned into a smile. The cruelty in it froze him. Deliberately she laid the knife back on to the rock, then held out a hand to Nertha.

Nertha reeled back as if she had been violently struck. Vredech caught her. Her hands were flailing frantically and her face was contorted. It took him a moment to see what was happening, but as water had run about Dowinne’s hand in a delicate tracery, now it ran over Nertha’s face, a shallow, suffocating sheet, forcing itself into her tightly clamped mouth and into her nostrils. Desperately he tried to brush it away, but it flowed around his hands relentlessly.

‘Stop it, Dowinne!’ he cried out. ‘For pity’s sake, stop it. You’re killing her.’

‘It must be,’ Dowinne said. ‘His need is without end. And to be mine absolutely, all the affections that bind you here must be severed. As your gift drew Him here, so your incestuous love has ensured her death.’

Vredech looked down at Nertha. He could hardly hold her, she was struggling so violently. Her begging eyes seared through him.