"Whistler" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

Chapter 5

Both men started violently and spun round. Horld lost his balance as he did so, but Cassraw’s hand on his shoulder stayed his fall and steadied him effortlessly. So heightened were Vredech’s senses by this sudden shock that he took in Cassraw’s entire appearance instantly. He saw the formal black cassock, elegant and well-made, torn and stained beyond repair, with bloody weals showing through several of the larger rents. He noted the grimy face and tousled hair, the scratched and bleeding hands. But, distressing though all this was, to Vredech it appeared to be only the surface manifestation of a far more profound change. For, despite his dark and soiled attire, Cassraw’s presence seemed to cut through the gloom as though a light from some distant place were shining on him, like unexpected sunlight striking through storm clouds.

And his eyes… Vredech started.

Were they black…

Not just the irises, but the entire orbs…

Like pits of night.

Vredech had scarcely registered this chilling impression than it was gone and Cassraw was again nothing more than his familiar friend, battered and bruised but seemingly whole, and carefully supporting Horld.

Horld, however, was less than grateful, for all that Cassraw had probably saved him from an unpleasant fall. He yanked his arm free and the blacksmith in him opened his mouth and began to abuse Cassraw roundly for the folly of his sudden and silent approach. Cassraw did not respond, but merely stared at him and smiled absently. Meeting no opposition, Horld’s tirade foundered awkwardly and the obligations of his latter day calling returned to reproach him for his intemperance. Thus, after a few terse but vivid sentences, his rebukes began to be leavened with more charitable and concerned observations about his returned colleague. Still Cassraw made no reply, though his smile became knowing, like an understanding parent waiting patiently for his clamouring children to fall silent.

‘Where have you been? What’s happened to you?’ Vredech asked a few times while Horld’s tirade was plunging on, but even as this faltered into silence so his own questions died. He would receive no answers; he knew this as plainly as if Cassraw had placed his dirt-stained hand across his mouth to silence him.

Then Cassraw was holding their arms and motioning them down the mountain. His grip, though not painful, was quite irresistible and, for a little way, Horld and Vredech found themselves carried along by it. The ground was too uneven for walking thus for long, and after a little while Cassraw released his charges and set off on his own. His pace was not that of a man who had just careened recklessly up a mountain or suffered some great ordeal, and Vredech and Horld fell steadily further behind him.

When he reached the rest of the group waiting on Ishryth’s lawn, Cassraw was not only quite a way ahead of his would-be rescuers, but he looked much fresher than they did.

The Chapter Brothers milled around him, bombarding him with questions, but he did not acknowledge any of them other than by nodding occasionally and smiling mysteriously. The questions were redirected towards Horld and Vredech as soon as they arrived but all they could do was shrug.

‘We didn’t find him, he found us. He was there behind us when the darkness vanished. And no, he hasn’t said anything since then,’ they replied several times, by some common consent not referring to the enigmatic remark with which he had greeted them.

Morem had trained as a physician when younger and though he had subsequently chosen the church as his vocation, he still had considerable skill as a healer. ‘He’s probably in shock,’ he offered quietly. ‘It takes people in odd ways. He looks an awful mess but at least he doesn’t appear to be seriously injured. We shouldn’t pester him. He may be more fragile than he looks. I think perhaps we should just go back and let things take their course. He’ll tell us what happened when he’s ready.’

Even as he was speaking however, Cassraw was moving off again. He went to the rocky edge where, a little earlier, Vredech had stood and stared out into a terrifying black emptiness. Now, though the light was grey and wintry, the scene was more familiar. The lights of Troidmallos could be seen twinkling far below, and the shapes of most of the adjacent mountains could be made out. Cassraw’s head moved from side to side as he reviewed the dull panorama, then he nodded to himself very slowly and unfolded his arms until they were held out wide as though he wished to embrace the entire country.

His companions watched in silence, not so much following Morem’s advice as simply not knowing what to do. They had little time to ponder, however, for, his brief contemplation over, Cassraw was once again determining the course of events. Striding across Ishryth’s lawn he headed towards the gully that would start the descent back to the Witness House.

The return journey gave the Brothers no great insight into Cassraw’s condition. In fact, it served only to compound their confusion as Cassraw, though remaining relentlessly silent, continued to take effective command of the group, moving back and forth amongst them, patiently supporting and helping the frailer Brothers who were now beginning to feel the strain of their strange journey.

Finally the Witness House was in sight.

Cassraw stopped on a rocky spur and looked down at it in an almost proprietorial manner, then he turned and stared towards the summit of the Ervrin Mallos. After a moment he nodded to himself as he had at the edge of Ishryth’s lawn. It seemed to Vredech that Cassraw was making a decision.

As the group, moving slowly and wearily now, wended its way down the final slopes towards the Witness House, they were greeted by Mueran and several of the other Chapter Members. Mueran had led them forth when the darkness had disappeared, after carefully ensuring that all the novices and servants were kept occupied elsewhere in the building. Vredech thought he noticed a momentary flash of anger in Cassraw’s eyes as he caught sight of the Covenant Member approaching, but it was gone before he could register it fully.

He could read the debate in Mueran’s eyes, however, even if it lasted only a little longer than Cassraw’s seeming anger. Was his greeting to be a rebuke, or a welcome?

Mueran’s face became pained and he opened his arms wide. It was to be a welcome.

‘Brother Cassraw,’ he said. ‘We’ve been greatly alarmed for you.’ He looked around at the others. ‘For all of you. The darkness seemed to deepen so after you’d left.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘I never thought I’d be so glad to see such a dismal wintry sky, but…’ He chuckled genially in an attempt to lessen the tension but the sound jarred and he concluded awkwardly, ‘Ishryth be praised for carrying the darkness from us anyway.’

Cassraw fixed him with a stern gaze. ‘Ishryth’s will is written on this day truly,’ he said, unexpectedly breaking his silence.

Unnerved by Cassraw’s stare and uncertain how to respond, Mueran nodded non-committally and said weakly, ‘We’ve warm food and a good fire for you all inside.’

Cassraw’s response was an authoritative gesture, which motioned everyone towards the Witness House. A frown flickered across Mueran’s face at this cavalier action, but he turned with the rest and, after a short, none too dignified sprint, caught up with Cassraw who was now striding out boldly, his flock abandoned.

Once inside the Witness House, Cassraw maintained the same vigorous pace in the direction of the Debating Hall, drawing the group after him, noisy but too flustered to question him. He seemed to be gathering energy with every step. Mueran was no longer even trying to keep up with him, and kept looking around anxiously for fear that any novices or servants might have strayed from their carefully allotted tasks and be witnessing this scuttling procession. From time to time he lifted his hand as if he were about to call out to Cassraw, but no sound came.

Suddenly, Vredech had had enough. Tired and drained after the ordeal of struggling up the mountain through the darkness, and the strain of the bizarre descent, his patience abruptly evaporated. He ran forward as Cassraw reached the Debating Hall and, stepping in front of him, placed his hand firmly on the door.

‘Enough, Cassraw. Enough.’ He was out of breath but his voice was nevertheless powerful and angry. The others fell silent. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing, or even if you know what you’re doing, but some of us who came out to find you are in a sorry state as a result. They need rest and attention now.’ He looked Cassraw up and down and his tone softened. ‘As do you, for pity’s sake. Whatever’s keeping you on your feet, there’ll be a price to pay if you don’t get some rest.’ Without waiting for a reply he turned to Mueran. ‘Warm food and a fire, you said. Where?’

Mueran nodded hesitantly. ‘In the Guest Room, next to the Refectory. I…’

‘Then let’s get up there,’ Vredech interrupted. ‘Let’s wait until we’re cleaned up and fed and we’ve got some normality around us again before we do any talking about what’s happened here.’

Several voices spoke out in agreement.

‘Of course,’ Mueran said. ‘You’re quite right, Brother Vredech. We must…’

‘No!’ Cassraw had not moved since Vredech had stepped in front of him. Now, as his voice rang out, his frame became alive with agitation. Vredech winced away from the sound which had been spoken directly into his face, but immediately returned his gaze to meet Cassraw’s.

‘There are things which you must know,’ Cassraw went on, apparently addressing everyone present but still speaking directly and forcefully into Vredech’s face. ‘Matters of great import. Matters concerning…’

‘Enough, I said, Cassraw!’ Vredech shouted. ‘And I mean it. You’ve caused enough problems today. You’re not well – you need rest. We all need rest.’

Cassraw’s eyes suddenly blazed and he reached past Vredech to take hold of the handle of the door to the Debating Hall. For an instant, as he stared into his old friend’s black eyes, Vredech felt that he was looking into the very heart of the darkness that had loomed so terribly over them that day. The memory of the dancing shadows and the menacing presence that had reached into him flitted around the edges of his consciousness, threatening to bring with it the babbling host of questions that so far he had been able to hold at bay. But, as during the final part of his journey up the mountain, something else stirred within him, something deep and resolute. And then there was no Mueran, no Brothers, no Witness Hall. Nothing except himself and Cassraw.

And while Cassraw was his friend, he must nonetheless be opposed.

Will against will.

No reason sustained this knowledge. It was simply a truth.

He must not yield.

But it was not a raging power that came to him. He simply said, ‘No,’ very softly. ‘As I love you, my old friend. No.’

And he was once again standing outside the Debating Hall, suddenly noisy now with his fellow Brothers rushing forward to catch the falling Cassraw.

‘The people’s faith is our charge,’ Mueran said at the hastily-convened meeting that followed Cassraw’s collapse into unconsciousness. ‘We must do what we can to protect the church. News that one of our Brothers has become… deranged, because he may have been burdened with too much too soon will give rise to great doubts and distress amongst our flocks.’ Then he struck nearer to his true thinking. ‘And who can say what the Sheeters will make of it? The truth’s going to present us with enough problems, let alone what they’ll say. The last thing we need is any more controversy about the Haven Parish.’

His assessment of Cassraw’s condition was not accepted unopposed however.

‘Cassraw’s not deranged, he’s possessed,’ Laffran declared harshly. ‘Some servant of Ahmral has entered into him.’

There was uproar around the table, but Vredech, normally a vigorous opponent of such opinions, remained strangely silent even though many heads were turned towards him expectantly.

By default, Mueran spoke on his behalf. ‘Those are precisely the kind of remarks we must avoid, Brother Laffran,’ he said. ‘Possession is an area fraught with difficulty, not least because even today it still carries with it lingering memories of… less happy times.’ This was Mueran’s euphemism for the time of the Court of the Provers, when methods of appalling brutality had been used in the search for Ahmral’s servants. A dark time, when the church had been at once more powerful and less civilized, a time before reason had fought its way through to curb the excesses of superstition. An institution set up by the church to protect the faith and maintain its purity, the Court of the Provers had eventually led to the persecution of thousands for the least of deviations from the True Way. It had finally been swept aside by the forces of an increasingly nervous secular state empowered by a sickened populace, but its name lingered as a byword for terror, sadism and savagery, and all that is foul in human nature. It was an era that the modern church of Ishryth earnestly disowned though it was still apt to become overly defensive when reluctantly drawn into debates about it.

Laffran made to interrupt but Mueran ploughed on. ‘I’m not going to allow a discussion on that matter now,’ he said, with uncharacteristic firmness. ‘The church’s position is quite clear. The Santyth is, at best, ambiguous on the matter and we favour the search for rational causes for sickness before we invoke Ahmral’s personal intervention.’

Though Mueran was merely stating the church’s official view on such matters, he was far from happy. Laffran’s remark could pitch the gathering into the deepest theological waters and he desperately wanted to keep their discussion on the simple pragmatic level of a sick colleague presenting an awkward administrative problem.

He was spared any further debate by the entry of Morem, who had been attending to Cassraw. He went straight to his seat, dropped down in it heavily and put his face in his hands. When he looked up he started a little, as if surprised to find himself where he was.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I was preoccupied.’

Mueran’s concerns were not eased by Morem’s manner. ‘How is Brother Cassraw?’ he asked, only just managing to keep his voice calm.

Morem frowned. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘He’s covered in cuts and bruises. Presumably he must have fallen over a good number of times when he was going up the mountain, but he’s suffered no blows to the head or anything else that I can see that should affect him this way.’

Laffran cleared his throat noisily, his jaw taut. Mueran glowered at him. ‘Could he just be exhausted?’ he tried hopefully.

‘We’re all exhausted, Mueran,’ Morem replied, unusually sour. ‘It’s been far from the day any of us thought it was going to be. But no one’s anywhere near the point of collapse. And Cassraw’s probably the fittest amongst us.’

There was an awkward silence. Mueran was at a loss to know what to ask and Morem seemed disinclined to offer any suggestions as to the nature of Cassraw’s condition. Vredech looked up. He was having difficulty in concentrating. He wanted to be away from here. He needed to think about everything that had happened today; needed to let loose the questions that were clamouring for release and preventing him from thinking clearly. He turned towards Morem. ‘No reflection on you, Morem, but do you think we should call in his physician?’ he asked.

Mueran’s finger tapped the table nervously.

‘I don’t think so,’ Morem said, after a moment’s thought. ‘Cassraw will be in some pain for a while, thanks to the knocking about he’s given himself, but I’ve examined him very thoroughly and nothing’s broken. Nor is he losing blood. Everything that really matters seems to be all right. Pulses, breathing – calmer and steadier than mine, for what it’s worth. Reflexes – fine.’ He rubbed his thighs gingerly. ‘He should be wide awake and grumbling like the rest of us, not lying there motionless.’

‘Well, we’ve got to do something,’ Mueran said pointlessly.

‘Perhaps his wife might be able to help,’ Morem said, his face lightening a little.

The atmosphere around the table changed. ‘We can’t bring a woman into the Witness House, just like that,’ Laffran exclaimed, eyebrows raised. ‘It’s…’ He floundered.

‘It’s a good idea,’ Vredech heard himself saying, cutting through Laffran’s confusion. ‘If Morem says he’s not badly injured that’s good enough for me. And if there’s nothing physically wrong with him then it’s head or heart.’ He tapped his head, then his chest. ‘Either way, his wife’s better equipped to reach him, wherever he is, than any of us.’ He became practical. ‘Besides, Cassraw would have gone home tonight. She’ll be expecting him.’

Thus it was that, despite his reservations about the matter, Laffran found himself escorting Dowinne to the Witness House. Reluctantly, after his announcement that Cassraw had ‘had a bit of an accident’ he had found it necessary to give Dowinne some assurance that nothing serious had happened to him but that Mueran thought it would be helpful if she were with him. It was near enough to a lie to make him decidedly uncomfortable, and he could do little except smile at her rather weakly in the dim lamplight whenever he caught her eye as they swayed from side to side in the carriage.

It did not occur to Dowinne that it was odd that she should be travelling in one of the church carriages with the blinds pulled down. Had she thought about it at all, she would perhaps have reasoned that although those appalling black clouds had dispersed, it was still very gloomy and near night-time anyway. The reality was that Mueran wanted no indication of anything untoward reaching anyone other than those who already knew, and the sight of Cassraw’s wife being driven through the streets towards the Witness House would be around the town within the hour.

Her thoughts were elsewhere, however. After the initial shock of Laffran’s news, she tried to work out what might have happened in order to decide how she must behave when she arrived at the Witness House. But to no avail. Apart from one or two servants, women were rarely allowed into the Witness House, and then usually on special ceremonial occasions. Thus, despite Laffran’s assurances, she knew that something serious must have happened even though it might not involve any physical injury to her husband. Once or twice she questioned Laffran, but he was evasive and obviously under instructions not to say anything. After a while she leaned back into the corner of her seat and, lifting her hand, rested her head on it. The action relieved Laffran greatly as he had been looking all around the carriage in an attempt to avoid her gaze. Dowinne had always made him feel uncomfortable and being confined with her under these circumstances was proving to be a considerable ordeal.

In the darkness behind her hand, Dowinne did not find the calm reflection she was seeking. Unthinkingly, she lifted her other hand and tested the bruise where she had inadvertently struck the metal dish earlier. The slight pain brought back the thoughts that had been troubling her all day; the feeling that something bad was about to happen, that forces beyond her and her husband’s control were in motion. It was not something that was susceptible to logic, but it was real nonetheless and it was some measure of Dowinne that not the slightest sign appeared on her face, as she faced this unknown, unreasoned intrusion and determined that she would deal with whatever had happened, however grim or strange.

Alert, but calm and clear in her mind now, she lowered her hand and examined her companion. He smiled feebly yet again, and she acknowledged him with an uncertain but calculated smile of her own. ‘Not much further now,’ he said needlessly, assuming his professional sick-visiting manner.

Part of Dowinne’s old self had already noted the discreet luxury of the carriage, but now she became aware of the even more discreet quality embedded in its design, as shown by the fact that she had not noticed when they had begun the final uphill climb. It reaffirmed her new intent. She would deal with this pending problem without losing sight of her long-term ambition for a single moment.

When they finally drew to a halt in front of the Witness House, Laffran helped Dowinne down the carriage steps. She had never felt more assured. It wasn’t something bad that was going to happen – or had happened – it was only something disturbing, something that brought change in its wake. And that could only be to her advantage.