Ibryen

Chapter 17-2

He did not have much time for reflection; very shortly, the sound of a characteristic footfall reached him along the sparsely lit corridor.

‘Physician,’ he said, as Harik’s tall lank form emerged from the gloom.

‘Commander Helsarn, I understand,’ Harik replied with a cold politeness that turned the new rank into an insult. ‘I’m not amused by your Guards blocking half the corridors in the Citadel and keeping me from my duties.’

Helsarn became expansive. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I had to make a hasty decision. Their Excellencies were personally escorting Lord Hagen’s murderer from the cells. A very dangerous person. I couldn’t take any risks.’

Harik gave a non-committal grunt. ‘He’s in there now, is he?’

‘She is.’

‘She?’ Harik started and his impassiveness wavered briefly. Helsarn enjoyed the effect and let it show in a smug smile. ‘Yes, she,’ he confirmed.

Harik recovered quickly, yet though his armour had closed about him again, he radiated concern. ‘What state is she in?’ he asked.

‘Better than that soldier she knifed,’ Helsarn retorted as though he were punching the questioner.

‘A little more dispatch in bringing him to me and he’d be alive now,’ Harik replied with the same force.

‘Exigencies of the service, Physician,’ Helsarn said off-handedly. ‘If she hadn’t cut halfway through his arm he’d be alive too.’

Harik’s jaw tightened but he did not pursue the matter further. ‘I must see her right away,’ he said. ‘I’m not satisfied about...’

‘Prisoners aren’t your concern, Physician,’ Helsarn said, not allowing him to finish. ‘Unless they have some form of contagious disease. You know that well enough. I’m surprised you should make such a request. This one’s fit enough, rest assured. She and her dogs have left others dead in the Ennerhald by all accounts, and it took four of my men to restrain her.’ He leaned forward, his voice low and filled with a deliberate mixture of surprise and indignation. ‘She even tried to attack one of their Excellencies’ mirror-bearers as she was being escorted here.’ But this provoked no response, as Harik was fully in control of himself again. Helsarn straightened up. ‘Besides, their Excellencies are in Vigil. It’s more than my life’s worth to disturb them.’

Helsarn looked past the Physician, footsteps could be heard approaching. ‘Ah, more anxious petitioners doubtless,’ he said, then, with the polite urgency of someone with weightier matters pending, he concluded his conversation with a rhetorical, ‘Is there anything further I can do?’

Harik turned and left without comment. Helsarn laughed softly to himself as he watched the retreating form. It was rare indeed to see Harik’s guard slip. This was proving to be a remarkable day. Then he signalled his men to line up across the corridor, and, lifting a finger to his mouth for silence, stepped forward to meet the advancing crowd.

* * * *

As the doors to the Watching Chamber silently closed, Jeyan’s scarecrow army swung away on either side of her and evaporated into a tapering distance, leaving her alone, eyes blinking, as she tried to orient herself amid the confusion of lights and shadows and strange shapes. The Gevethen too, slipped into the distance, mirror-bearers silently moving about them, a strange soft-shelled tortoise of a creature shifting and changing as it slithered across the shining floor. Then there was a sudden flickering and they were gone. Jeyan swayed and reached out to steady herself against a mirror standing nearby. It was part of the bottom tier of a complicated tower of mirrors. To her horror, it swayed as she touched it and she snatched her hand away. A tremor passed through the entire edifice. There was a sound like that of a reluctant hinge echoing down a long passageway, and the hall became alive with dancing lights. Looking up instinctively, it seemed to Jeyan that the whole edifice was about to topple on to her, but it was merely an illusion caused by her leaning back too far and almost immediately she fell over.

As she scrambled to her feet, a figure, oddly mobile in the still-moving lights, loomed up in front of her. It reached out to her as she lifted a hand to defend herself then it retreated as she did. She snarled as she realized that it was only another mirror, but it was gone before she could gather her wits fully. It was replaced by two others. Jeyan spun round, looking to flee, but crouching, twisting forms were all about her except on one side. As she edged towards it, the corralling figures moved with her.

Then she was in front of the throne platform. Its curving sides drew her gaze upwards. From the top of it, a host of Gevethen looked down. They swayed hypnotically. Then they were beside her, their features and forms subtly twisted by the strange reflected journey that had brought them there.

‘Child.’

The two voices grated through her.

‘You have a name?’

She did not answer. The two figures looked at one another, red lips pouted in mocking sorrow.

‘Do you think that our knowing your name will put you in our power, child?’

‘Or that not knowing it will protect you?’

‘Do you think we are magicians?’

‘Conjurors and mountebanks?’

Regretful heads were shaken. ‘A superstitious primitive. A simpleton. The great Lord Hagen has been destroyed by a simpleton.’

‘It does not seem possible.’

‘But it is so. The scent of his dying is all about her. What could he have thought, our proud Lord Counsellor, to find himself impaled on the cruel thorns of this sapling from the Ennerhald?’

‘This ragged simpleton.’

‘With no name.’

‘What could he have thought?’

‘He was surprised. He was irritated like a peevish child.’ The words, sneering and venomous, spat out of Jeyan, driven by an anger goaded beyond restraint by the nerve-jangling tones of the Gevethen. ‘He could not believe what was happening even as I killed him.’

‘Ah!’

‘And my name is Jeyan. Jeyan Dyalith.’

‘Ah.’

‘The child of the traitor.’

‘No!’

‘A tainted line. We were right to expunge it.’

‘To root it out.’

‘To lop it off.’

‘Tainted.’

‘No!’ Jeyan screamed and swung the edge of her fist at the nearest moon-faced image. On the instant it was gone and her fist struck only the fist of her own reflection. The impact made her recoil violently. Then the mirrors were all about her and she was staggering to and fro, lashing out wildly, a jerking hobby-horse leading her own wild scarecrow round dance. Someone, somewhere, was clapping out a beat for the buffeting mirrors.

Abruptly, and without signal, it was over. Jeyan slumped to her knees. Aisle upon devout aisle of kneeling figures appeared beside her. But still she was filled with a rage sufficient to hold her terror at bay. ‘Come within arm’s reach and I’ll surprise you too,’ she snarled.

‘Would you?’

The pallid faces and floating hands were beside her again, though the voices still came from the swaying figures above. Nevertheless, their sudden reappearance and an oddly plaintive note in the voices, shook Jeyan. As she struggled to rein in her passion, her mind began to race. She must escape this place. But the problem was the same as it had been before. Even if she could escape this room, how could she escape the Citadel? And, in any event, how could she escape this room? These mirror-bearers moved with uncanny and alarming speed. And, incongruously, she did not even know where the door was.

‘Excellencies, forgive me,’ she heard herself pleading. ‘I’ve been so long in the Ennerhald. And so alone. A madness must have seized me. A madness that required the payment of blood debt for the murder of my parents by Lord Hagen.’

‘Blood debt!’

The tone was awful. Jeyan cowered, truly fearful now.

‘You do not know the meaning of the words, child.’

‘When He comes to collect His blood debt, then you will know.’

‘All will know.’

‘Great will be the winnowing.’

‘The levelling.’

‘And where will you be with your petty vengeance, mote, amid this dusting storm?’

‘Safe under a sheltering wing?’

‘Or crushed utterly and scattered into oblivion?’

Jeyan had the feeling of a great power having been released. A power before which she could not hope to stand. A power which at best she could only seek to avoid. ‘I don’t understand, Excellencies,’ she managed to say. ‘Who are you talking about? Who...?’

In-drawn breaths like the sound of a rushing wind filled the hall, mirrors domed up over her and the power that had marched her from the dungeons returned to throw her face down on the wooden floor. She could not move any part of her body. It was as though a great hand was pressing down on her and that with the least effort she could be extinguished absolutely.

‘It is beyond greater minds than yours to understand such things.’

‘Seek not to know His name, lest you feel His touch...’

Struggling though she was under the unseen weight, Jeyan heard a quality in the Gevethen’s voices that frightened her more than anything she had ever experienced before. It was fear. The Gevethen were afraid! How could there be anything — anyone — who could strike such fear into this awful pair? But the impression was momentary, swept aside by the dreadful weight now pressing her into the floor.

‘Forgive me, Excellencies,’ she gasped. ‘Forgive me.’

The pressure did not ease but there was a faltering in the atmosphere as though her faint plea had sufficed to catch the attention of the Gevethen amid their own fearful concerns.

‘Forgive me, Excellencies.’

For an instant, the pressure increased sharply and a gleeful malice was all about her. Then it was gone and the scream of terror and pain that had been forming inside her leaked into the shadow-streaked gloom as a whimpering sob.

There was a long silence, broken only by Jeyan’s gasping.

‘You distract us with your lies, child.’

The voices were steady again.

‘Do so at your peril.’

‘You stray into regions where Death itself is the least of terrors.’

Hesitantly, Jeyan pushed herself into a kneeling position. She dared not speak and all thought of escape had gone. She knew now that, however it was achieved, the Gevethen could exert a power over her person unlike anything she had ever known, or even heard of. The spirit that had taunted the soldiers in the Ennerhald in the hope that her fleetness would carry her from harm, was silent. Now she must look only to survive the moment.

‘Jeyan Dyalith, do not lie to us.’

‘Nothing can be hidden.’

‘We have known of you always.’

Denial rose in Jeyan but she neither moved nor spoke.

‘As we peered into the darkness we felt your vengeful spirit blooming.’

‘Saw it glowing in the night, along the Ways.’

‘A black magnetic star, luring us forward.’

‘Watched you.’

‘Wanted you.’

‘You are kin.’

Jeyan could remain silent no longer, but she forced her voice into courtesy. ‘Excellencies, I am Dirynvolk. You are from another land. I cannot be your kin.’ Then, with an effort, ‘I am not worthy to be your kin.’

Amusement descended upon her like a cloying mist.

‘True. But that is mere flesh, Jeyan. You are kin to our spirit. True kin. You are one of the chosen. We are few. Power will be given to you beyond your imagining. You will stand with those destined to bring order to an ill-created world where now there is only the squabbling ferment of a myriad petty tribes and chieftains. You will stand with those who will re-create the world in His image, with those before whom all others will bow, with those who are destined to prepare the Way for the coming of the One True Light.’

To her horror, Jeyan felt a distant thrill stirring in response to this enigmatic call.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said, searching amongst these strange words for something that might enable her to get away from this bizarre, disorienting hall, with its flickering lights, and its silent moving shadows.

The amusement returned.

‘It is not necessary. Does the axe understand the tree?’

‘Does the plough understand the soil?’

‘You are the blade.’

‘You are the tool.’

‘We the wielder.’

‘Clearing the ancient tangled roots, the foetid by-ways.’

‘Making pure and whole.’

Jeyan could do no other than remain silent. Such questions as struggled through her jangling thoughts she dared not ask, fearful of what had happened before. It came to her that perhaps all this was no more than a subtle torment. Perhaps the Gevethen were playing some elaborate game with her. How far would it go? Would she be lured to within a fraction of some greatness, only to have it snatched from her, and then be delivered into the hands of the Questioners? Zealously placed there by the soldier she had killed, images of a protracted public execution filled her mind. She wanted to vomit, so awful was the sudden terror. Yet, instead, she clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. She was where she was. She was not on the gallows. She must, above all, retain control of herself, of her thoughts, if she was to avoid such a fate. At the worst, she realized coldly, she must find some weapon with which she could end her own life. A simple edge across her wrists and she would enjoy the same fate as the man who had brought her here. The irony almost amused her. The finality of the decision quietened her. Carefully, she stood up.

The minors shifted and all about her were the strained images of the Gevethen, watching, waiting, bird hands hovering.

‘How can this be?’ she asked, looking up at the figures crowding the throne platform. The Gevethen around her gazed up and then down and were gone. She was alone, save for the silent mirror-bearers. There was a long pause.

‘You are kin.’

‘You are chosen.’

‘I killed the Lord Counsellor Hagen. Was he not chosen?’ She braced herself for some brutal impact. But none came.

‘He was flawed.’

‘He served his turn.’

‘One more fitting dispatched him.’

Stepping to the edge, she said, ‘Am I not to be punished?’

‘Is the axe to be punished, for felling the tree?’

‘The plough for turning the soil?’

She leapt. ‘But I did what I did of my own free will. No one urged me. No one bought me.’

Laughter, cold and humourless, rose to a climax that filled the hall. The mirrors about Jeyan began to tremble.

‘Take the Lord Counsellor to her chambers...’

‘...her chambers.’