Roger Taylor - Ibryen

There was no reply. ‘To Him, of course,’ she said slowly, testing the idea. ‘This Master of theirs.’ She felt Hagen’s presence squirming. ‘Who is He, Hagen?’ she said, driving the words into the growing distress like stilettos. Still there was no reply. ‘Who is He, damn you!’ she blasted, suddenly furious. ‘Who is this creature that the Gevethen grovel before? Tell me!’ The darkness quivered with her rage, wringing a reply that was the merest of whispers.

‘He is the One who gave them their powers. Gave them the mirrors to enter the Ways. Sent them here to prepare for His Coming, for the time when the Righting of the Beginning shall begin.’

Jeyan’s anger became contempt once more. ‘You’re parroting their words, Hagen. I’ve heard them. And they’re as meaningless from you as they were from them. If you know anything worth knowing, tell me who He is and where He is, so that when I’ve finished with the Gevethen I can stick a knife in His throat like I did in yours and avenge us all.’ Hagen’s presence began to flail and gibber in terror. Jeyan’s rage grew in proportion. ‘Tell me why this all-powerful Master has abandoned His servants.’ Hagen finally tore himself away. Jeyan screamed after him, ‘He has, hasn’t He? Abandoned them? TELL ME WHERE HE IS, DAMN YOU! I’ll spill His blood like I spilled yours! I’ll drown His every follower in a flood of it!’

Her scream dwindled into the empty darkness.

Then it was echoing back, ragged and broken, bringing with it shards of sound and light, glittering and shining. They hovered about her, merging imperceptibly into the chaos of movement and noise of where she had been with the Gevethen before her casual question to them had wrought such havoc. And, to her horror, in front of her, silhouetted against a brilliant, whirling maelstrom of light, were the Gevethen.

What had they heard?

Hastily she tried to calm herself, pushing from her mind the murderous frenzy into which she had wound herself. Should she turn and flee while she was still free?

But there was something strange about the Gevethen that held her there. It took her some time to realize what it was. They were motionless. Even the drifting birdlike hands were still. And they were leaning against one another, like two once-proud statues, now tilted with age. But the real strangeness lay in the fact that she could see only two of them. There were no mirror-bearers flowing about them making milling moon-faced crowds and marching ranks and files. There were just two men.

If she had a knife she could kill them both, she knew.

But she had not!

Rage and frustration flooded through her, threatening to bring back the screaming passion with which she had just blessed Hagen. Mirror-imaged, the two figures started apart slightly, then slowly began to turn to face her. Quickly she dropped to her knees and bowed her head.

‘Ah!’

She waited, holding her breath, still and silent. Had they heard?

There was a faint whispering, but she could not catch any of it through the all-pervading clamour. Well, knife or not, if she was threatened here she would rend at least one of these creatures with her bare hands! Mar their precious perfection!

‘Ah!’

‘You have learned…’

‘… learned.’

‘We feel the spirit of Lord Hagen about you.’

‘I have been in his presence, Excellencies,’ she said, choosing the truth in the absence of any other inspiration. It brought its own. ‘Seeking the benefits of his wisdom, the better to serve you.’

‘How did you come there, Lord Counsellor?’ There was uncertainty in the question and she could not avoid a hint of surprise in her answer.

‘By your will, Excellencies.’

There was more whispering, then, ‘Rise.’

As she stood up, the Gevethen’s grip closed about her shoulders again. It was different, however. There was a hint of a tremor in it and a weight which told her that they were leaning on her as they had just been leaning on one another. Vulnerable, vulnerable, she thought. She had hurt them with the least of questions. She must seize the initiative again. Who could say what might follow?

She looked at the whirling confusion of lights in front of her.

‘What is that, Excellencies?’ she asked, affecting a nervousness she did not truly feel.

There was a pause and the grip on her shoulders shifted.

‘Beyond your understanding, Lord Counsellor.’

‘A wonder few have seen.’

Liars! It’s the wreckage left from your attempt to reach your precious Master, isn’t it?

Oh for a knife, she could surely slay them both now!

Perhaps she could pitch them into this swirling violence? But while the Gevethen were obviously weakened in some way, they were not leaning so heavily on her that she could hope to unbalance them without throwing herself in as well. And too, what end would it serve even if she could? Would that maelstrom destroy them? She had no answer. Besides, she realized starkly, not only did she not know what it was, she did not even know where it was, so disorienting was this place. True, it was in front of her. But was it a dozen paces away, or ten dozen, or half a day’s walk? She could not tell, nor was there anything nearby that could help her.

The Gevethen were drawing her firmly backwards. Reluctantly, she offered no resistance, trying to take solace in the thought that having tried to create the tunnel twice within the last few days, the Gevethen would undoubtedly try again and probably have no greater success. But, despite herself, a raging frustration at the loss of this opportunity swept aside any consolation.

The Gevethen hesitated.

‘The Lord Hagen has truly inspired you, Lord…’

The single voice stopped. An urgency was suddenly patterning the shapes and sounds that filled this world. And moving with it, as though it had been there for an eternity, was the sound of Assh and Frey, baying in full cry.

Ibryen and Isgyrn walked slowly through the forest. With no destination in prospect they seemed tacitly to have agreed that nothing was to be gained by moving quickly. Ibryen’s gait however, was markedly at odds with his racing thoughts. What had happened? Where were they? How were they to return? Could they return? But worst of all, clutching coldly and tightly at his stomach, his many and long-carried responsibilities returned with unusual force. What would happen to his beleaguered people if he could not return? He tried desperately to keep the speculations that cascaded frantically from this question from overwhelming him with guilt and shame, but with little success.

Unexpectedly, and despite his many other dark thoughts, he also found himself burdened with an acute sense of responsibility for Isgyrn, though the latter, now that he was whole again, seemed to be accepting this further inexplicable and bewildering change in his circumstances with remarkable equanimity. Ibryen glanced around at the sunlit forest. Stern and logical was he, this man? he mused bitterly. I wonder how calm he would be if our surroundings were not so idyllic? Then he grimaced and inwardly apologized.

‘We must try to find a high place,’ he said. ‘See if we can get some idea of where we are.’

Isgyrn agreed readily. ‘The higher the better,’ he said.

They talked as they strolled. Ibryen told Isgyrn of his land and of the Gevethen who had treacherously ousted him and now held the people in thrall with brutality and terror. And he told too, of the strange call that had carried him alone up on to the ridge to meet the Traveller. The story of the Gevethen seemed to disturb Isgyrn disproportionately and though he seemed reluctant to discuss his own concerns, either from fear of further burdening his host, or because the memories and uncertainties were too recent, he told enough to show a common bond between their fates. For the evil that had usurped some of the Culmadryen lands had also come at first in the guise of good will offering betterment to the people.