Roger Taylor: Whistler

And he had been right. With each step he had felt that confirmation. He was right. He was right.

And now the Lord had spoken to him; touched him. Him! Summoned him to his presence on this ancient and most mysterious of hills.

Cassraw cursed his legs for their heavy reluctance as he struggled on.

The chain of seemingly trivial events that had eventually brought him raging out of the Debating Hall flickered briefly before him, taking on the appearance now of a mighty golden pathway along which he had been propelled. ‘Your way is beyond our understanding, Lord,’ he gasped. ‘In the fall of the least mote is Your design.’

‘ I have little time, servant. ’

The voice raked chillingly through Cassraw, reproaching him for this momentary diversion from the call.

‘Forgive me, Lord,’ he repeated over and over in a frantic litany, as he scrambled up the piles of broken rocks that would lead him to the summit.

Then the strange daylight was gone. He was vaguely aware of a faint haziness from the south, but did not look at it for fear of losing so much as an eye-blink of time on this desperate journey.

He could not forbear a frisson of alarm and despair, however, as the darkness closed about him. But nothing must stop him. He must go forward. He must obey his Lord’s command, no matter what the cost.

Then there was light – a dancing, disturbing light that made his shadow jerk feverishly hither and thither over the rocks, but enough to see by, nonetheless. And it was coming from overhead. He made no attempt to look up at its source for fear of what he might see. Classical images of the Watchers of Ishryth, grim and terrible to doubters, filled his mind.

‘Great is Your wisdom, Lord. To You are all things known.’

Onwards, upwards, Cassraw struggled, such rational thoughts as he had being swept aside by the monstrous rapture now compelling him forward regardless of his protesting limbs and pounding heart.

And at last he was there, standing on top of the canted, broken obelisks of rock that formed the summit of the Ervrin Mallos. He dropped to his knees with a jarring impact, then immediately dragged himself to his feet again. He held out his arms and, closing his eyes, threw back his head to offer his face to the might of his god.

Such few doubts as he had known were gone now, driven out by the power he could feel all around him.

‘Lord, You will do with me as You will, but I implore You, though I am but the least of Your servants, give me the strength to fulfil Your will in the world of men. Great are the sins done there in Your name. Great is the ignorance of Your Word and great the deceit and contention with which it is read.’

He waited.

A coldness touched his mind. He started violently then willed himself to stillness.

‘Lord,’ he whispered painfully. ‘I am Yours. I will serve You with all my being.’

The coldness began to spread through him, and with it a sense of foreboding. Whatever this was, it was but the beginning.

Yet there was a strange quality about it – a human quality, it occurred to Cassraw – though he quickly disowned this blasphemous thought and concluded by praying for forgiveness. There was no response.

Still the coldness seeped through him purposefully, growing in strength as it did so.

And then it possessed him entirely.

He waited, scarcely conscious that he existed any more, though he could still sense, deep within him and far beyond his reach, doubts slithering and murmuring. Then the coldness shifted and, for a timeless, searing moment, the doubts flared up, screaming and demanding to be heard. For the feelings that were suddenly flooding into him were far from godlike. Dominating them was a terrible, almost uncontrollable anger.

Anger that so much, built so painstakingly over so long a time, should be lost so totally and so easily.

Anger towards the servants who had betrayed Him by their weakness and folly.

Anger, and something else…

Hatred! Deep and implacable. Hatred towards those ancient enemies who had risen to plot and scheme against Him.

And in the wake of this came an overwhelming lust for revenge, bloody and foul.

Yet, too, pervading everything was an almost unbearable sense of loss, and Cassraw could feel the clawing, scrabbling desperation of someone who must hold on to something, however slight, if He were to remain… here? And not plunge into… the void? The images eluded Cassraw but he sensed well enough the terror of slipping from this place and tumbling eternally through a nightmare of solitude and powerlessness.

Then everything was changed. As suddenly as it had come, the turmoil was ended. A new awareness moved through Cassraw. A slender hold had been found, and the terrible fall halted. All was not yet lost!

‘ Be silent, My servant. I must judge you, know the true depths of your faith. ’

Cassraw remained motionless, his eyes closed, his head still thrown back to face the black sky. ‘As You will, Lord,’ he whispered.

Then, where before there had been a coldness, there was now a searching warmth. Though he was waiting for a questioning, a harrowing, nothing happened. Yet something was moving within him. Like the faint rustling of distant trees, elusive and unclear. Then, fleetingly, a grim, malicious satisfaction passed through him.

‘ These dark and terrible thoughts, these doubts and hatreds are yours, Cassraw, ’ the voice said, deep and compassionate, though now it was more like a spoken voice than the eerie possession it had been before. ‘ They are the burden I have put upon you that you might know yourself the better. But you have borne them well and you have not been found wanting. ’

Cassraw was trembling again, though this time with a powerful sense of expectation.

‘ It is My Will that you go forth and bring the truth of My Word to your peoples and all the peoples of this land. A great evil has arisen in the north which must be opposed lest all the world fall under its shadow. This land shall become a Citadel from which My armies will march forth again. ’

Cassraw almost opened his eyes. ‘Lord, I am no warrior,’ he said prosaically. A dark amusement filled him from somewhere.

‘ There are many swords, My servant. Yours is your tongue. Wield it well and armies greater than your imagining will be provided. This is My Will, and it will be so. Be thou steadfast and true, and let none oppose thee. ’

‘But who will listen to me, Lord? And what is this evil that has come about?’ Cassraw asked weakly.

‘ All will listen to you, My servant, for I have blessed you with My Power. And where doubt of My Word exists I shall give you the true meaning. ’ A hint of anger seeped into the voice. ‘ All else will be revealed in due time. Seek not to question your Lord, servant. Seek only to obey and serve. ’

Cassraw’s legs finally gave way, and he slumped to the ground. The small, sharp stones driving into his knees began to restore sensation to his body.

‘ I must leave you now, My servant. ’

The voice was fainter. The damage that Cassraw had done to himself in his reckless ascent of the mountain began to assert itself.

‘Do not leave me, Lord,’ he said, holding out his arms.

Again the amusement.

‘ Know that I will be with you always, Cassraw. Always. You have but to listen. ’

And Cassraw was alone.

He remained kneeling for a long time, head bowed and arms resting on a flat boulder. Then, slowly, fearfully, he opened his eyes and looked around. The sky was still dark, though now the clouds had the snow-laden greyness of winter rather than the looming menace of before. The call which had drawn Cassraw up the Ervrin Mallos was no longer there, but he could still feel the presence of his Lord echoing and resonating inside him.