Roger Taylor - Ibryen

Ibryen looked at him uncertainly. Marris caught his expression. ‘Don’t worry, Count,’ he said, smiling. ‘My brains aren’t addled yet though I’ll concede they’re well stirred up.’ He pointed at the Traveller. ‘Dust in the wind, aren’t you, old man?’ he said. ‘Come to start an avalanche.’ The Traveller tilted his head on one side. ‘It’s very strange,’ Marris went on. ‘Only a few hours ago, the future was merely a dim reflection of the past, dwindling into the far distance. Things would go on as they’ve always gone on since we came here. We’d fight and run, hide and prepare, think, fret. Then fight and run, hide and prepare. Over and over. Until in the end…’ He pointed at the Traveller again. ‘… like he said. We’d lose. We’d make a mistake. They’d find us and crush us. Or, more likely, a stray arrow would bring you down – a missed footing – anything. Then me, Rachyl, Hynard, all the rest, one after the other. Inevitable, sooner or later.’ His demeanour, at odds with the content of his speech, was almost jovial, then it became suddenly dark, and he ground his fist into his palm. ‘We set our future in stone. Made it immutable, unavoidable.’ He looked up at Ibryen and his voice was vicious with self-reproach. ‘We nearly betrayed our people, Count. When we closed these mountains about us for protection we closed our minds as well. Ye gods, how could we have done it?’

As Marris spoke, Ibryen felt the words cutting through his own confusion – the confusion that had been growing since the eerie skill of the Traveller had been demonstrated and which had worsened abruptly with the Traveller’s revelation. But it was not easy to accept.

‘We could have done nothing else,’ he said defensively, holding on to matters he understood.

Marris levered himself to his feet and recanted a little. ‘Perhaps not, who can say? But it’s not important. We are where we are, and how we came here’s of no consequence except in so far as we can learn from it. What matters is that from here we can change the future we’d set for ourselves.’

Marris’s sudden and uncharacteristic optimism chimed with something in Ibryen but it was nameless and unspecific, and years of patient, cautious opposition to the Gevethen prevented it from soaring. ‘Obviously we’re where we are,’ he conceded. ‘But what’s different?’

Marris pointed at the Traveller again. ‘He is,’ he said. ‘He’s slithered through our precious defences – from a direction we thought impossible, on the rare occasions we thought about it at all – to remind us that there’s a world beyond here and Dirynhald – that there are powers other than sword and spear – that somewhere the great cloudlands still fly.’

‘All of which means what?’ Ibryen was almost shouting.

Marris sagged a little. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, more quietly. ‘Except that if he slipped under our guard, perhaps we can slip under theirs. Somewhere there’ll be a way. We mustn’t continue doing what we’ve always done just because we’ve survived so far doing it. We must find a way that’s…’ He looked upwards as though the answer might be written in the sky for him. ‘… different,’ he decided, though with a look of anti-climax on his face. ‘A way that doesn’t fight them on their terms. A way that slips by them, through them, unnoticed – that finds them dozing in the sun on the ridge, thinking themselves safe.’

‘But…’

Marris held up his hand to prevent Ibryen’s response. ‘Let me finish,’ he said, very softly. ‘Please. I must say this while it’s in my mind, even though it’s still forming.’

Ibryen waited.

‘We mustn’t be afraid of this wild thinking, Count. Somewhere in it there’s victory for us. Yet even now I can feel the last five years of careful habit clamouring to dash it away, to keep everything as it was, to carry on as normal. But – it’s wrong – so obviously wrong. And it grieves me that I, who had the arrogance to act as your mentor in such matters, shouldn’t have seen it sooner.’

Ibryen interrupted him. ‘I’ll accept no self-recrimination from you, Corel,’ he said. ‘Few of our decisions have been made without the thoughts of us all being well-aired, but I accept responsibility for everything we do. We’re safe, we’re strong, our casualties have been comparatively slight and, as far as we can judge, our presence disturbs the Gevethen constantly, slowing down whatever plans it is they have against our neighbours. What we’ve done – what we do – isn’t something that can be lightly cast aside.’

Marris took his arm. ‘No, of course it isn’t,’ he said. ‘But it’s not enough. It’s not enough to survive and slow the Gevethen down. To defeat them, to free our people, we have to do what we do, and more . And it’s on that more that we must concentrate.’ He turned to the Traveller. ‘What you did to us, can you use it against the Gevethen’s forces?’

The Traveller retreated a step, arms extended. ‘No,’ he said unequivocally. ‘I’m no fighter. Besides, what I did was an abuse of my gift. Using it like that in the heat of the moment is one thing, wilfully using it as a weapon is another.’

‘You said you’d help.’

‘And I will, if I can.’

‘But…’

‘No!’

There was refusal in his tone that few could have gainsaid, but Marris was not one to surrender easily. ‘What can you do then?’ he demanded angrily.

The Traveller looked at him a little uneasily. ‘I think I’ve already done two things,’ he replied. ‘One by accident, one deliberately. You yourself said that just by coming here I’ve made you think. Made you turn your minds to things that you never dreamed existed. Shaken loose thoughts that have been stagnant for years.’ Ibryen found himself being studied. ‘That was the accident,’ the Traveller went on. ‘The deliberate help I’ve given you, I suspect, is the message I gave you before. The message that gave form to what you’d already heard.’

‘What!’ Marris exclaimed. ‘That nonsense about the Culmadryen?’

‘Was what you said just moments ago only air, then?’ the Traveller responded, himself suddenly angry. ‘Have your everyday needs swamped you already? Have you so soon given up your search for the way that can’t exist, that’ll bring you the Gevethen?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘I don’t know what the call I heard means for any of us, but that’s what it said – “Help me, I am nearly spent”.’ He levelled a finger at Ibryen. ‘And he heard it in ways as alien to me, as my ways are to you. That’s where your way lies, Count. Into the Unknown. That’s the direction that cannot be – that is at right angles to all the others no matter which way you turn – and that’s where you must go.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Marris stormed. ‘ You must be the way. You could use this power of yours to distract their forces. Unhorse their riders, scatter their infantry. Don’t you realize what a weapon like that…’

‘No!’ There was force in the voice now that even Marris could not oppose. ‘I am not a warrior. I do not fight, except in need, and then only to escape. Do not mention this again. ’ His final emphasis slammed Marris’s mouth shut.

A cloud moved across the sun, throwing the group into shadow. Only when the sun returned did Ibryen find a response. ‘Neither of us understand,’ he said, stepping to the defence of his silenced Councillor. ‘You overwhelmed both of us effortlessly. You must explain.’

For a moment the Traveller seemed inclined to turn and walk away, then he gave a helpless shrug. ‘By its very nature, a way that doesn’t exist, a direction that cannot be, isn’t amenable to explanation, is it?’ he said. ‘It’s to be stumbled upon. It’s to be the Unseen already clearly before you. I spoke as I was moved, and you must act as you are moved. I can’t add anything further.’ He held out a peace offering to Marris. ‘If I were able to attack the Gevethen’s forces in some way, would it really be any different from what you’ve already been doing? Perhaps there would be a temporary advantage, who can say? But if not, where would you be then? Still doomed.’ Marris bridled, but did not reply. The Traveller went on. ‘To you, my gift is strange and powerful. To me, it’s something delicate and fragile, easily damaged – a trust to be cherished and tended as I constantly strive to improve my poor skills. It’s neither weapon nor magical power. There is no magic – nothing that just wishing makes it so; you know that, you’re not children. There are only those many wonders which for the moment lie beyond our knowledge.’ A hint of reproach came into his manner. ‘And didn’t you say that the Gevethen themselves have strange gifts – powers, if you must – of their own? Powers which you also do not understand, presumably, yet which you’d have me ride to war against. Would you ask me to die for your cause?’