Roger Taylor - Ibryen

Something in Ibryen told him he should urge the Traveller forward to matters of greater moment, but he could not give it voice.

‘I’ve seen many wondrous things on my journeys but nothing ever like that gate. The memory of it has stayed with me always. The stories – the histories – it told me, return to me constantly. And more and more they return to me as my… unease… grows. I have a sense of powerful forces moving; of the world being shaped yet again. As though what happened then might be happening again.’ He paused. ‘It’s almost as if He who carried the corruption had returned.’ He shook his head, dissatisfied with this conclusion. ‘Or perhaps was trying to return.’ He frowned, still not satisfied. ‘Whatever it is, it’s deeply disturbing and it won’t go away. Indeed, it seems to grow stronger by the day.’ He fell silent for a moment, preoccupied, then he sat up suddenly, bright again, like a parent anxious to reassure his children after a frightening tale. ‘Still, that’s no concern of yours, is it? Suffice it that I was travelling through these mountains on my way back to that sealed castle and the Great Gate to study what I should have studied when I was there last, when I heard the call that brought me here.’

He looked at Ibryen, seeking permission to continue. Ibryen nodded.

‘For days now, I’ve heard a cry clinging to the edges of the wind,’ the Traveller told them. ‘A sound such as I’ve never heard before, though I’ve been taught that such things exist. A sound which is said to be an echo here of happenings in another world.’

Ibryen sensed Rachyl’s restraint faltering again.

‘ Listen ,’ he said to her, very softly, laying a gentle hand on her arm. Then, to the Traveller, ‘Explain.’

‘I’m pursuing my thoughts as best I can,’ the Traveller said. ‘I told you I’m far from clear in my mind about what’s happening and why I’m here when I should be journeying north. And I’ve certainly no words of simple clarity for you.’ He settled back to his tale. ‘I don’t know whether this exists in your lore or not, but it’s said, by people wiser than I, that what we see about us is far from the totality of things; that there are many worlds other than this, all sharing this time, this space. Worlds – perhaps an infinity of worlds – that exist between the very heartbeats of all we think to be whole and solid.’ He gave a slight, disclaiming shrug. ‘It’s a disturbing idea and certainly not one I can either deny or confirm. But it’s also said that there are pathways between these worlds, many pathways, and that some – a few – have the gift to travel them.’

Ibryen frowned at what seemed to be mounting eccentricity in the Traveller’s story. His expression released Rachyl.

‘You’ll be asking us to believe in Culmadryen next,’ she sneered.

The Traveller looked at her sharply and mouthed the word to himself.

‘Cloud lands,’ Marris said, by way of explanation.

‘Children’s tales, like everything else you’re telling us,’ Rachyl added caustically, turning to Ibryen. ‘What are we wasting our time like this for? We should…’

‘No.’ Marris’s voice cut across her plea. ‘Hear him out.’

Rachyl gritted her teeth and threw up her hands in disbelief. ‘I suppose you believe in Culmadryen too, do you?’ she taunted viciously, leaning towards Marris provocatively.

‘Enough!’ Ibryen shouted. ‘Rachyl, you’re dismissed. Go to your…’

‘It’s all right.’ Marris’s voice over-topped Ibryen’s anger. His restraining hand was towards Ibryen, but his gaze was squarely on Rachyl. ‘She’s telling the truth as it happens. I do believe in Culmadryen.’ The certainty in Rachyl’s posture, already strained by Ibryen’s anger, evaporated at this revelation.

‘Sit back, girl and do as you’ve been asked. Listen,’ Marris went on, a soft purposefulness in his voice pushing Rachyl back into her seat. Glancing at Ibryen for permission, he pressed on in the same tone. ‘I don’t know what they are, how they can be, or what kind of people live on them, but I believe in them just as I believe in you and this Hall and the mountains around us. Because I’ve seen one.’

A small flicker of desperation passed over Rachyl’s face and she looked rapidly around the gathering as if in search of some more sane witness. Marris snapped his fingers to draw her attention back to him.

‘It was a long time ago and a long way from here. I couldn’t even tell you where it was now. I was only a child, and my father was a restless soul in those days. He travelled us all over the place, keeping us fed and clothed by mending pots and pans, helping with the harvest, doing anything that came to hand.’ His eyes became distant. ‘But I remember that day. Bright and sunny, like today. Me clutching my father’s hand, people running out of their houses, then just standing there gazing upwards – a straggling crowd in a sunlit street full of crooked shadows. And there it was, floating high above us and just beyond the village, slow and majestic.’ He echoed the Traveller’s words. ‘A city of towers and spires rising from a bright, white cloud. Everyone was standing still and silent, as if to move or make a noise would be a desecration. I remember thinking they looked as though they’d all been trapped in a painting, and I was the only one left who was real.’

He smiled at the memory, then, recollecting himself, glanced round the watching faces and cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘It was a long time ago, as I said,’ he declared gruffly, by way of apology for this whimsy. ‘And I’ve never seen one since. But they’re real enough.’

Then he spoke exclusively to Rachyl. ‘You’ve learned many things you shouldn’t have had to over the last few years, Rachyl,’ he said. ‘And you’ve not learned things that you should have done. One of these is to understand that we know very little about most things and probably nothing about a damn sight more, and that if we want any semblance of control over our lives then we must keep not only our eyes and ears open, but also our minds and our hearts.’

He turned back to the Traveller. ‘But your tale’s rambling far and wide,’ he said, with a hint of reproach. ‘You must have a measure of our concerns by now. Address yourself to them.’

‘I am,’ the Traveller said. ‘Truly.’ He looked at Rachyl, subdued again by Marris’s tale. ‘Why did you speak of Culmadryen?’

Rachyl gestured vaguely. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she replied. ‘It just came to mind.’

‘And how long is it since such a fancy came to mind last?’

Rachyl hesitated. ‘I’ve no idea. Years, I suppose.’

The Traveller’s eyes narrowed and he looked at her intently as though searching for something. Rachyl edged away from the scrutiny.

‘Well, here’s a strangeness for you, fighting woman. The clouds that sustain the cities of the Dryenvolk high above us are not really clouds, though they seem to be, changing shape and changing colour like the true clouds around them. They’re known as Culmaren, living things that are said to exist both here and… in the worlds beyond. What we see is but a reflection of something whose true perfection blooms elsewhere.’

‘That is the stuff of children’s tales,’ Ibryen said gently, but the Traveller raised a hand and shook his head.

‘Like Marris, I’ve seen Culmadryen,’ he said. ‘Not often, but more than once. And I’ve met Dryenvolk too. Talked with them, high in the silent, distant mountains where no people go and where the Culmaren reach down for the sustenance that they need in this world. There’s mystery in the Culmaren that eludes even the Dryenvolk themselves, and their knowledge of it is great. It sustains them in many subtle ways and they revere it even as they use it.’