Roger Taylor: Ibryen

The conclusion unsettled him however. A practical man, surrounded by more than enough problems and responsibilities, it was inappropriate, to say the least, that he should find himself considering such foolishness. What he needed was a good dose of normality. He dragged the sheets off his shoulders and threw them on to his bed as he moved back to the door. Outside stood a large barrel, full almost to the top with water. Stars twinkled in the motionless surface and, for a moment, Ibryen felt as though he were looking down on the heavens as their creator might have done. It was a dizzying perspective. Then he scattered his tiny universe as he plunged his arms into the near-freezing water and performed a premature morning ablution. Long, deep breaths kept his shivering at bay as he went back inside and towelled himself down violently. He was glowing as he dressed.

But, despite this assault, his memory of what had happened was unchanged. Pensively he fastened his sword-belt. He felt good. His body was awake and his mind was sharp and clear… so how was it that a vague feeling which had been stirring at the edges of his mind should suddenly seem to him to be a call – for call it was, he was sure now, though from whom and for what he could not imagine. He had no ready answers. Strange things happened to people in the mountains, but this did not have the quality of something generated by a mind addled by shifting mists, or lack of food, or thinness of air.

It occurred to him unnervingly that perhaps it was some devilment by the Gevethen. They certainly had talents which seemed to defy logic and reason. But again, the call – he grimaced at the word – did not have the sense of viciousness, of clinging evil, which pervaded their work. Rather, it was clear and simple; beautiful, almost, despite the urgency that underlay it. All that was at fault was his confusion, his inability to listen correctly – as though he were a noisy child, pestering about something that his parents were already trying to explain. Perhaps he should stay silent, he decided, with an uncertain smile. Routine concerns were already beginning to impinge on him following his brief exchange with Marris and all too soon they would become a clamour as the village awoke and set about its daily life.

Compromise came to him. He would do two things at the same time. He would walk the outer perimeter, to check the vigilance of the guards and to encourage them, then perhaps he might clamber up on to the southern ridge to judge for himself the state of the adjoining valleys. These were necessary tasks which he could pursue without any sense of guilt, while at the same time they would give him silence and calm in which to ponder what was happening.

Dawn was greying the sky as he began the ascent to the southern ridge. It had been a valuable exercise, walking the perimeter. He had been challenged at every guard post and was now flushed with the quiet congratulations he had been able to give. He paused and, unusually, allowed himself a little self-congratulation as well. It was no small credit to his leadership that his people were so attentive so long into the night. It helped, of course, that all here had suffered appallingly at the hands of the Gevethen and were more than well-acquainted with their cunning and treachery. They knew that should a hint of the location of this place reach the enemy, then a pitched and terrible battle would be inevitable. And there would be little doubt as to who would prevail should this happen. The Gevethen were in power now, not only because of their ability to sway others to their cause but because of their complete indifference to the fate of those same followers. Wave upon wave of attackers would be sent against the camp until sheer attrition won the day. It was a dark image and, for all it was no new one, Ibryen frowned as he turned away from it.

He glanced briefly at the lightening sky then quickly turned his eyes back to the darkness around him. He must be careful, of course. It was not necessary to fall over some craggy edge to injure oneself seriously in this terrain, a simple tumble would suffice, but by the time he would be moving from the grassy slopes on to the rocks proper it would be much lighter. For a moment he considered the wisdom of what he was doing. It was not essential that he personally viewed the adjacent valleys, any of his senior officers could have done it. But even as he hesitated, he felt again a slight tension urging him forward. Whatever it was, it would not be ignored.

He set off slowly.

Though he kept his attention focused on the shadow-scape about him, and on his every footstep, he was aware that what had been disturbing him for the past few days and nights was truly there. It permeated his relaxed awareness, growing then fading but never truly disappearing, like the sound of a distant crowd carried on the wind. Words such as ‘call’, ‘song’, floated into his mind, but none were truly adequate.

As he had estimated, the sun had risen when he came to the rockier reaches of the ridge. It was going to be a fine spring day – not warm enough for idling in the sun, and probably very cold up on the ridge, but heart-lifting for all that. He sat down, not so much to rest as to think. Far below he could make out the village, small and seemingly fragile amid the peaks. It was not difficult for him to find it, but for a less informed eye it would have been no easy task. Turfs covered both roofs and the shallow ramped walls built from the local rocks, and a random arrangement on either side of a bustling stream which twisted between large rocky outcrops ensured that the buildings were not readily distinguishable from the general terrain. A few trees and bushes completed the visual confusion. It was not perfect, but it was adequate. Caves would have been a wiser choice, but apart from there being too few suitable for the number of people involved, there was something deeply repugnant about the idea of being driven underground by the Gevethen. At least in these simple houses, Ibryen’s followers could live lives that bore some resemblance to those that they had led previously. In other valleys, such crops as could be coaxed out of the thin soil were grown, and cattle and sheep were tended. Barring discovery, they could survive here indefinitely.

Instinctively, Ibryen looked up at the clear sky. When the Gevethen had first appeared, so too had a great many small, rather sinister brown birds. Among the wilder rumours that had eventually sprung up to surround the Gevethen was one that they used these birds as spies and that through their piercing yellow eyes everything in the land could be seen. It was palpable nonsense, of course; the birds had probably been carried there by accident – doubtless unusual storms on their normal migratory flights – for, a few years later they vanished as abruptly as they had arrived. Nevertheless, the influence of the Gevethen was so grim and all-pervasive, that the rumour lingered uncomfortably, and no one had seriously demurred when it was suggested that the camp be disguised in such a way that it could not easily be seen from above. After all, it couldn’t be denied that at the time of the disappearance of the birds, the Gevethen had seemed to be more uneasy, less well-informed of events, could it?

Probably coincidence, Ibryen mused unconvincingly as he returned his gaze to the camp below. Putting his hands on his knees, he levered himself upright, irritated at finding himself thinking about these old tales. He began climbing over the rocks.

The sun was well above the horizon when he finally reached the ridge. Snow-covered peaks shone far into the distance, brilliant and aloof, as if disdaining the frantic scrabblings of the mortals who flickered their tiny lives away so hysterically beneath their timeless gaze.