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Roger Taylor: Whistler

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Roger Taylor Whistler

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He hesitated, part of him saying, ‘Leave him alone, you’re only making him worse.’ But the greater part of him forbade inaction where there was pain. He had to reach out – do something.

He laid his hand on the door to prevent Cassraw from opening it, and, with an effort, met the unnerving gaze. ‘What are you going to do?’ he demanded. ‘You’ve a wife to think of, an important position to maintain – one you strove for and won deservedly. I know you’ve got problems with some of your flock, but that happens to everyone at some time or another. You can’t jeopardize everything like this. Come back with me now. We can smooth everything over with a little care.’

But even as he spoke he knew that his words were not reaching his friend. ‘Corrupt with compromise, Vredech,’ Cassraw repeated. ‘Follow me or leave me.’ Then he pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Vredech did not resist. It would be hopeless, he knew. Cassraw had always tended to act more at the behest of his passions than his mind, and only when they were spent would his reason return to him. He’d probably calm down in an hour or so and see the sense of making his peace with Mueran and the others. Surely he wouldn’t seriously risk his post with the church? He had no trade to turn to, nor land to live off. Vredech picked up the ring and let it fall. It made a dull thud as it dropped into a well-worn groove in the door. The sound set Vredech’s thoughts cascading; they carried him back to the Debating Hall and the excuses he might use to save his friend from the punishment that was surely inevitable.

He had barely taken a step away from the door when a sharp, anguished cry came from outside and tore through his inner discourse. He yanked the door open. Cassraw was standing at the foot of the broad and well-worn stone steps that led down from the door. He was gazing back at the Witness House or, more correctly, he was staring over it, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and… ecstasy?

Vredech ran down the steps two at a time, his concern for his friend returning in full and mounting with each stride. Reaching him, he turned to see what he was staring at.

Stretching to the farthest horizons both east and west, the sky was filled with the clouds that been accumulating through that day. But where they had been dark they were now almost black, and what had been a threat of unseasonable ill weather had become a sight of terrible menace. The clouds were piled so high upon one another that they rendered insignificant the Ervrin Mallos and all the lesser peaks about it. Vredech felt himself swaying as his eye was carried irresistibly towards their summit.

‘Ye gods,’ he whispered, taking Cassraw’s arm to steady himself, and forgetting momentarily both his cloth and the place where he was standing.

‘No,’ he heard Cassraw whispering. ‘Not gods. But God. He is here. He is come. For me.’

And he was running towards the gate that led out of the grounds of the Witness House. By the time Vredech registered what Cassraw had said, he had disappeared from view. Vredech hurried to the gate after him. Two novice Brothers were returning from the Witness House’s garden. They were looking up at the clouds nervously.

‘Did you see Brother Cassraw?’ Vredech asked, trying not to seem too concerned.

‘See him? He nearly sent me sprawling,’ one of them replied with some indignation.

Vredech ignored the injured tone. ‘Which way did he go?’ he demanded.

The second novice pointed. Not along the winding road that led to the town below, but towards the far corner of the high wall that surrounded the Witness House. Vredech grunted an acknowledgement and set off in pursuit.

This isn’t happening, he thought, as he half-walked, half-ran, keeping close to the wall, instinctively placing it between himself and the forbidding clouds. This was supposed to be a routine Chapter meeting to discuss routine administrative matters, but somehow Cassraw had succeeded in turning it into a major theological debate. No, debate was not the word – it had been a diatribe. He had latched on to some trivial point that Mueran had made and managed to build a spiralling, self-sustaining harangue out of it. Vredech had been slightly amused at first, as this seemingly coherent string of arguments blossomed out of nothingness. It had been like a metaphor for the Creation itself; out of the emptiness came the Great Heat, and from that, all things. Nearing the end of the wall, he could not help smiling. It was still such, he reflected, for that too had gone sour.

Then he was at the corner of the wall. Puffing slightly, he leaned on it for support as he stepped round.

Judgement Day...

The words formed in his mind as he found himself standing alone and totally exposed before the black, billowing masses that filled the sky.

He was not aware how long he stood there and it was only with a considerable effort that he managed to drag his mind back to his friend. From here, Cassraw could have moved on down towards the valley or up towards the mountain’s shattered summit. There was a small, isolated chapel a little way down the mountainside that the Brothers sometimes used when they felt the need for quiet contemplation. But Cassraw had not run out of the Witness House grounds like a man seeking silence. Vredech scoured the ground rising steeply ahead of him, its dun colours strangely heightened by the oppressive darkness above.

‘He is coming. For me.’ Cassraw’s dreadful words returned to him. Vredech clenched his fists tightly as if the pressure could squeeze the implications of Cassraw’s utterance out of existence. The man was going insane.

A movement caught his eye. Vredech gasped; it was Cassraw. But he was so far ahead. And he was almost running up a steep grassy slope.

Vredech shook his head. He would do many things for his old friend, but charge up that mountainside after him was not one of them. It must be fifteen years or more since he had run in a mountain race, and he had done little violent exercise since, being quite content to move at a pace compatible with the dignity of his calling. He was still a little breathless simply after running from the gate.

With a sigh he turned round and headed back.


* * * *

High above the retreating Vredech, eyes wide and fixed on the boiling darkness overhead, Cassraw staggered relentlessly forward, his shoes muddied and scuffed, his cassock torn. In between rasping breaths he implored, ‘I am coming, Lord. I am coming. Have mercy on the weakness of Your faithful servant. Do not desert me.’

The darkness seemed to be reaching down towards him, listening.

A silence enfolded him.

Then a voice answered his prayer.

Chapter 2

Dowinne was pacing fretfully from room to room. An unease had been growing on her all day. It was probably the weather, she tried to convince herself, taking her cue from the grim clouds that were steadily building up over the town. But even as this thought came to her, she dismissed it. Whatever was troubling her was deeper by far than any pending storm.

It was not in Dowinne’s nature to tolerate difficulties with equanimity and, from time to time, she gritted her teeth and bared them in anger and frustration as she strode about the house. Until she caught sight of her image grimacing out at her from a mirror: it seemed to be snarling at her for this exposure of her inner feelings and she straightened up hastily and forced her face into a bewitching smile.

Something behind the image seemed to be mocking her. She moved again to the window. The Haven Parish Meeting House at Troidmallos was a well-appointed one, and the living quarters were excellent. As they should be, Dowinne thought. This was far from the poky, down-at-heel Meeting House they had begun with, way out in the wilds, ten years ago, and Cassraw’s appointment to it so young was no small achievement. Yet…

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