Roger Taylor - Whistler

Vredech shook his head. ‘I’ll get him home, if I can. He might tell me about it, if he remembers when he’s recovered.’ He lowered his voice. ‘But he’s scared to death of something… or someone.’

Skynner shrugged. ‘It’s a great pity he’s not more scared of me,’ he said with rueful practicality. ‘Still, he seems quiet enough now. If you’re happy about him I can leave you a couple of lads to help, but I’ll have to get the rest of them back to their duties. A little disruption like this is all some of them need to quietly disappear for an hour or so.’

A hand plucked at Vredech’s sleeve before he could reply. It was Jarry’s. As he caught the big man’s gaze he noticed for the first time that his eyes, like his own and Cassraw’s, were black. ‘I saw Him rising to fill the sky, His great night cloak swallowing up the holy mountain and covering the whole land. I heard His cries turn from despair to rejoicing, a terrible rejoicing, as I travelled the dream ways.’ He clawed at Vredech’s arm. ‘Horrible. Horrible. And now He walks amongst us again.’

Taken aback by this unexpected burst of eloquence, Vredech could merely ask, ‘Who, Jarry?’

Jarry swallowed, as if the words were likely to choke him.

‘Ahmral, Brother. Ahmral,’ he said, very softly.

Skynner chuckled and reached down to help the big man to his feet. He winked at Vredech. ‘Don’t fret yourself about that, Jarry,’ he said. ‘You’re not the first person to see the devil when he’s had a drink too many.’

Vredech said nothing. Jarry’s words had transported him back to the previous day when he, too, alone in the darkness, had heard a terrible rejoicing. And when he, too, in his fear had cried out, ‘Leave me, Ahmral’s spawn. Leave me. ’

Troidmallos quickly settled back into its normal routine. Or apparently so. The mysterious cloud with its threat of a terrible storm that never came soon lost its worth as a topic of conversation and speculation, not least because the weather generally began to improve. Winter had its occasional dying fling but, on the whole, grey skies became bluer, and cold, damp winds became warmer and drier. Then a faint green sheen began to appear on trees and bushes, announcing that spring was definitely on its way. The church held to the line that Cassraw had gone out for a walk to refresh himself after a long meeting and had fallen when the light suddenly deteriorated. The Chapter was remarkably unified in its silence about the real reason for his angry departure from the Witness House, his odd behaviour when he reappeared, and his even stranger collapse and recovery. Privv had the deepest reservations about what had happened, scenting closed ranks and secrecy with the sensitivity of a dog scenting a bitch on heat, but Cassraw’s open admission of the events left him virtually nothing to work on. And he was loath to fabricate anything too fanciful for fear of losing that intangible thread of goodwill that had prompted Cassraw to talk to him and which, he was sure, could be woven into a rope of rare value with care and time.

As for Jarry’s escapade, in the absence of a spectacular and violent conclusion, that merely provided a sour little item in one or two of the less widely read Sheets.

But changes had occurred. A subtle tide was starting to run, for many bizarre things had happened during the night following Cassraw’s mysterious transformation. People had suffered vivid dreams: some, appalling and fearful, others, full of the promise of unsettling desires. Others claimed to have heard noises – unworldly singing, eerie chanting, even screaming. And some said they saw… things… flitting about the streets – dark things, like shadows, but with no one there to cast them. A handful of these tales were picked up by the Sheeters, mistold and forgotten except by those involved, but far more people were touched that night than chose to talk about it, and in all of those the memory of the experience lingered… and lingered.

Only the Preaching Brothers had any measure of what had happened as, one after another, members of their flocks – some guiltily, some bewildered, many frightened – trooped in for hesitant discussions about this and that until they plucked up courage to talk about what they had really come for – a dream, a vision, a sighting. But the Preaching Brothers did not meet one another very often and, in any event, had no reason to discuss such pastoral matters even though some of them had been distinctly peculiar. Thus the measure they had of this tide went unnoticed.

And it swelled, unheeded.

Besides, more serious things were afoot. A respected Madren merchant, travelling abroad, had been murdered.

Canol Madreth’s immediate westerly neighbour was Tirfelden. Larger and more populous than Canol Madreth, Tirfelden was also a livelier place by far. Not that this was always to the advantage of its citizens. A few decades previously it had emerged from a long period of tyranny and oppression and since then had enjoyed a system of government not dissimilar to that of Canol Madreth, except that where the Madren had some three major political parties, the Felden had no less than fifteen… or seventeen, or thirteen, etc… depending on the pacts, coalitions, alliances and realignments that were current at any one time. Further, the Felden, who lived beyond the constant sobering presence of the central mountains and away from the aegis of a stern religion, were generally a more flamboyant people than the Madren, and very apt to act first and think afterwards. Whether this was the cause of their long tradition of violent changes of government or the effect of it cannot really be determined, but they did not hesitate to take to the streets whenever the government of the day was doing something unpopular.

In the absence of any brutal oppression from above to unite the people, this form of political enthusiasm usually manifested itself in street fighting between the many factions that were constantly clamouring for ‘fair and even treatment’.

The Madren viewed the Felden with some disdain while the Felden viewed them in their turn as sour faced, humourless and obsessively religious. Nevertheless, business was business, and there was some trade between the two countries, mainly in timber. This enabled the Madren to exchange some of their dark forests for iron and associated products which the Felden mined and worked.

It was in connection with this trade that two Madren merchants were in Tirfelden at a time when feelings were running high over some proposed legislation. Heady with the openness of Tirfelden society, which made the strictures of their homeland seem particularly suffocating, the two men had sought entertainment in a local inn and, being unused to the potency and uncontrolled availability of the Tirfelden ale, had ill-advisedly ventured into a particularly heated argument. When this resulted in their being abused and generally held to scorn along with their country and their religion, they had retorted in kind and, in the ensuing melee, one man had been killed and the other badly hurt.

The response of the Tirfelden authorities to this incident was less than satisfactory as far as the Madren were concerned. Strong in hypocrisy themselves, they were particularly sensitive to it in others and the expressions of regret and horror that they received were deemed to be markedly lacking in sincerity, particularly as little or no attempt appeared to have been made to find the offenders – allegedly some of the more volatile supporters of the then dominant government party. They considered their suspicions confirmed when the incident became a matter of debate in the Tirfelden Congress.

The Congress was not an ideal forum for temperate debate at the best of times and the fate of the two Madren soon became a shuttlecock to be buffeted about the chamber as the various factions sought to score points against one another. An official Madren observer stormed out of the chamber in a fury before the debate had ended, and demanded a formal apology and compensation for the families of the two men from the Tirfelden government. In the face of the man’s considerable anger this was promised, but when he had left, it became, in its turn, the subject of another Congress debate. Although this new debate was a little more sober than the first, it was not without national indignation at what was regarded as the high-handed manner of the Madren civil servant, and the offer of compensation was reduced. By this time the matter had reached the ears of the Sheeters and a wide variety of gory tellings of the incident were being distributed about Canol Madreth. News of the Tirfelden Congress’s unsavoury haggling amplified these tellings and as a result of being repeatedly told of the public’s outrage at this affair, the Heinders began to feel themselves under pressure to ‘do something’.