Roger Taylor - Whistler

‘And too, the darkness you’ve found in yourself,’ Darke said to him quietly when they were alone, placing an understanding hand on his shoulder. Vredech nodded, but did not reply.

Tirec had been reluctant to agree. ‘It’s a long way through difficult country,’ he protested at length, but Darke merely smiled a welcome and said, ‘They’ll learn. And I doubt they’ll be as difficult as you were.’

After they had shared a meal with their new companions, Vredech and Nertha wandered off together. They came eventually to a small hillside. Vredech looked about, slightly puzzled, then he sat down. ‘This is like the place where I first met the Whistler,’ he said. And as the memory came back to him, so did the peace of that moment. He reached out and took Nertha’s hand. There were no answers to any of the questions they had asked themselves about the Whistler – who he was, if he was – but they would continue to ask them.

The Whistler, sitting on a broad branch and leaning back against the trunk of the tree, played his three notes softly. He watched Vredech and Nertha on the distant hillside. After a little while he smiled, then he played the three notes very loudly so that they rang out over the fields.

Then he was gone.

Vredech started out of his half-sleep. ‘What was that?’ he mumbled.

Nertha was looking towards the trees in the distance.

She was smiling. ‘Just the Whistler saying good-bye,’ she said.

‘Very droll,’ Vredech retorted.

Then he twisted round and lay with his head in her lap. Relaxing into the warm summer afternoon, he stared up at the white summer clouds.