Roger Taylor - Whistler

‘Whistler, help me! Do something!’

But the Whistler only watched.

‘There is no help for you, my love,’ Dowinne said, smiling still. ‘I’ll drown her in little more than would quench your thirst. It’s fascinating.’

Nertha’s legs went from under her and she slipped from Vredech’s grip.

‘No, no,’ he gasped as she fell, thrashing, to the ground. Then with a furious roar he leapt at Dowinne. He had scarcely taken a pace, however, when a terrible blow struck him. He felt as though his entire body was blazing.

‘I can bind you with chains of water, my love, or slowly drown you like your sister here. Or boil the blood in your veins. You are mine and we are His, struggle how you may. Learn that now and spare yourself endless hurt.’

Vredech tried to cry out, but could not. He looked upwards. A darkness was gathering.

Dowinne moved forward and bent over Nertha. ‘See how she fights for life. See how she’ll die. Revel in it. This is the Heart Stone’s need. There’ll be many more.’ And she laughed.

Then the Whistler spoke, ‘I, too, have the gift to move between the worlds, woman,’ he said.

Dowinne started and spun round to face him. The pain that had suffused Vredech vanished as suddenly as it had come. And Nertha’s dreadful choking became a relieved gasping as the water fell from her face.

‘See?’ said the Whistler. He began to play the flute, very softly.

Vredech felt the darkness overhead stirring, moving downwards. And as the Whistler played, Vredech saw what eyes cannot see, nor minds know. He saw a myriad worlds opening before him. Worlds beyond his imagining yet which he knew were within his reach. Worlds which had as their focus the Whistler and his haunted tune.

Dowinne glanced from Vredech to the Whistler, her face full of uncertainty. Then she looked upwards. ‘Guide me, Lord!’ she cried out.

The darkness began to close about the summit, as did the presence which had been there throughout; inhuman in its coldness, all too human in its barbarism and cruelty.

Dowinne made a move towards the Whistler and the darkness crept further in.

Then Vredech caught the Whistler’s eye. There was such fear there!

He must do something. Whatever the Whistler was, he was as trapped here as himself, pinioned by the worlds he held open to save this foolish priest. Yet the ravening desire that Vredech could feel in the approaching darkness told him that he must not allow Dowinne to reach his saviour.

But what could he do?

One, two, three, four…

The terrible litany he had taught himself while awaiting the arrival of Cassraw returned to him.

This time, guilt-driven, he did not hesitate. As Dowinne reached out to touch the Whistler, Vredech felt for his father’s militia knife.

It was not there.

Panic surged through him.

‘Allyn!’

Nertha’s cry cut through it. She had crawled to the bloodstained rock with the same intention. But she was too weak. As he turned, he saw her slithering to the ground, Dowinne’s murderous blade in her hand. Then, her face riven with despair, she made a final effort and hurled the knife towards him.

Before his mind could register what was happening, he had seized the twisting handle.

With two long strides he reached Dowinne and, gripping her around the throat, tore her away from the Whistler and drove the knife into her back.

As he did so, the Whistler’s soft tune became a harsh, screaming trill. He felt the many worlds about him shimmering, moving, becoming a great whirling tumult. And then there was no summit, no Nertha, and no Whistler, save for his frantic trilling call pervading everything. And the dark presence scrabbling to seize the still-living Dowinne.

Dowinne clutched at Vredech’s hand, still about her throat.

‘No, Allyn, please!’ she cried. ‘Please!’

Pity and a lifetime’s memories filled him.

‘Damn you into eternity,’ he howled into the enfolding darkness. Then he stabbed her again, and with what strength he had left he pushed her away from him into the chaos between the shifting worlds.

He heard her crying his name as she fell.

Cautiously, Skynner approached the fallen figure. Baton ready, he kicked the knife away from her. Then he bent down and placed his hand against her throat.

After a moment he looked up.

‘She’s dead,’ he said.

The Whistler’s tune carried Vredech and Nertha through the time and distance that could not be, to return them to the Meeting House. It mended many hurts and told many tales, but still Vredech and Nertha wept for a long time as they embraced one another.

Privv’s Sheet was quite sombre the following day. It seemed that following the assassination attempt by the tragically deranged Jarold Harverson, Covenant Member Cassraw had died of his injuries. His steadfast wife Dowinne, broken-hearted, had succumbed to her grief on hearing the news. The couple would be a great loss to the community.

After hearing the news of Cassraw’s death there had been an emergency debate in the Heindral in which it had been agreed, with remarkable unanimity, that while the levy of the militia should continue, envoys should be sent to Tirfelden with a view to discussing recent events before further harm was done. The envoys were discreetly briefed to attribute the ‘incident’ at Bredill to Cassraw’s… zeal… if need arose. Toom Drommel sat silent throughout, occasionally rubbing his stomach.

Another item was also reported, which served to explain the comparatively modest tone of the Sheet. It seemed that, doubtless due to overwork following his energetic reporting of recent events, Privv had collapsed and died. He would be missed, but his erstwhile employees would continue with his sterling work, albeit with some slight changes in style – ‘such as telling the truth,’ one of them was heard to say.

No one paid any heed to the dead cat that was found by Privv’s body, though an official church order was subsequently given to the buriers to the effect that the animal be buried with him and that its name be carved on the headstone along with its owner’s.

A final tiny item noted that the strange haze which had lingered about the summit of the Ervrin Mallos for the past few days had not returned when the rain had ended.

Over the next few weeks Troidmallos settled back to normal. With the passing of Cassraw, the fanaticism which he had inspired faded rapidly. His Knights disbanded when several were arrested for assaulting the Sheeters, and instigating the panic at the PlasHein Square. People who had recently been suffering from nightmares and the like found that these faded away. Negotiations with the Felden went remarkably well. The return of the survivors of Bredill had caused an initial uproar, but as one faction had instigated the invasion, so now another had its say. Judiciously, they pointed out that the aggression had been theirs, after all, and that the Madren militia was noted for its ferocity when provoked. And, as the Madren seemed quite keen not to pursue the matter, it was best to let it lie.

Vredech was appointed Covenant Member in Mueran’s stead, but he immediately delegated his authority jointly to Horld and Morem as he wished to go on a pilgrimage to study the origins of Ishrythan and the Santyth.

His fellow Chapter Brothers had been somewhat taken aback, until he also announced that he would be marrying Nertha. There was some rather unclerical winking at this, and for a while the word ‘pilgrimage’ was spoken in inverted commas at Chapter meetings.

Darke and Tirec were more than a little surprised when Nertha and Vredech rode into their camp one afternoon. They talked a great deal. Darke’s relief on hearing what had happened was almost palpable, but that it had happened at all still disturbed him badly and left him resolute to carry the news back to his homeland. The two foreigners were further surprised by Vredech’s request that he and Nertha be allowed to accompany them with the intention of learning more of Madren history and other things that were happening in the world beyond Gyronlandt. Vredech also confided that he needed to learn what he could about his strange and uncontrollable gift and the part that Leck had played in it.