Ibryen

Chapter 12-3

Ibryen closed his eyes and lowered his head, moved by what he had just felt and floundering for words that would carry him forward. When he looked up he spoke slowly, carefully, for fear that such clarity as he had would stumble over some facile phrase and slip away from him.

‘The Culmaren are the... clouds... on which the Dryenvolk build their cities?’ he laboured.

The Traveller nodded. He too was listening intently, partner in Ibryen’s caution. ‘They look like clouds, but...’ He abandoned the explanation. ‘The Dryenvolk don’t build,’ he said. ‘They shape, they form, they tend and — you would perhaps use the word, grow — their cities — their lands — from the Culmaren.’

Ibryen frowned and struggled on. ‘Why would such... a thing... such a huge thing... be crying out in distress in our mountains?’ He gestured towards Marris though he kept his gaze on the Traveller. ‘Marris has seen one of these cloud lands, but only once, and I’ve never even heard of one passing over Nesdiryn, or over any of our neighbours for that matter. How can it be that one of them is now so near to us and apparently suffering in some way, with none of us having seen any sign of it?’

Now it was the Traveller who was struggling. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ve met and spoken with Dryenvolk on occasions, but I know very little about them. As to the Culmaren, they themselves admit that their own understanding is marked more by ignorance than knowledge, and I’ve only the merest fraction of the knowledge that they have. However, such as it is, I’ll tell you, but expect no great revelation.’ He gave Ibryen a schoolmasterly look. ‘The Culmaren is both a whole and many parts just like... a tree... or a person. But unlike a tree... or us... each part is also a whole in itself, sentient after its way, and quite entire. It can take many forms seemingly at its own will, and in the hands of those who know how to use it. Many forms. But it’s deeply mysterious and, I suspect, its true nature’s far beyond the understanding of anyone of this world. And the bond, the affinity, between the Culmaren and the Dryenvolk is scarcely less strange. I’d call it a caring, but the word is inadequate. And perhaps it’s more a need, a mutual need.’ He gave a shrug and waved his hands dismissively. ‘I don’t know. I’m weaving a tale now, speculating not instructing. I’m sorry.’

He was abruptly silent, but as Ibryen made to speak, he began again. ‘Now, you tell me what it was that you heard — that took you up on to the ridge to the alarm of your adviser here?’

Ibryen started a little at this sudden counter-thrust. ‘I...’ he began, with a stammer. ‘I don’t think I can.’

‘No,’ the Traveller declared, schoolmasterly again and refusing the answer. ‘You must. You must.’

Marris, still watching in silent concern and forcing himself to listen with as open a mind as he could, felt himself torn between indignation and amusement at this insistent harrying of his Lord.

The Traveller’s words pinioned Ibryen, wilfully burdening him with a duty to explain as the Traveller had explained. ‘But I heard nothing... plain and simple,’ he said, pleading mitigation in advance and using the Traveller’s own words. A flick of the Traveller’s hands hurried him on relentlessly. ‘Indeed, I heard nothing. I was just disturbed — made uneasy.’ He was almost spluttering. ‘It was as though something inside of me was demanding attention. Sometimes it was clear and sharp, at others, vague and elusive.’ He threw up his hands. ‘This is impossible!’ he exclaimed.

‘I’ll decide what’s impossible,’ the Traveller said powerfully, almost menacing now. ‘There’s more in your words than you know. Finish them.’

The two men stared at one another.

‘Finish!’ the Traveller snapped, ending and winning the duel.

Ibryen turned his head away for a moment, then went on as if he had never stopped. ‘When it was clear, there seemed to be a need in it — an urgency. It wanted something. When it was vague, it was as though I could... sense... without hearing, many voices crying out.’ He fell silent.

The Traveller hummed to himself, his brow furrowed. ‘Is it with you now?’ he asked eventually.

Ibryen gave a rueful grunt. ‘It was at the limit of my perception when I lay alone in the darkest part of the night, and when I was surrounded by the stillness of the mountains. Now, there’s too much turmoil, too much upheaval.’

‘I could still it for you,’ the Traveller said. ‘Quieten the turmoil. Let you listen in peace.’

‘No!’

It was Marris. His elbow resting on the table, he levelled a finger at the little man, though his words were for the benefit of Ibryen. ‘You’ll get courtesy and honourable treatment from me until the Count says otherwise, but you’ll get no trust — few do. You’re getting further and further into our ways, but we’ve still got to find out whether you’re who you say you are, or at least, whether you’ve come here from the south as you claim. And as for this... gift... of yours, that’s beyond me utterly and you’ll do nothing until I’ve got the measure of what deceits you can practise with it.’

Ibryen’s face was impassive. Marris’s warning was timely.

‘It was only a suggestion,’ the Traveller protested in an injured tone. ‘Don’t you want to know what’s going on?’

‘Yes I do, very much,’ Marris retorted. ‘And I want to hear someone telling me about it, as you said, plain and simple, without any descant from you.’

‘It’s not going to be that simple.’

‘Make it so.’ Marris’s conclusion was of parade ground finality.

The Traveller conspicuously refrained from replying, but turned his attention again to Ibryen. ‘Is there anything else that comes to you when you think about the call you heard?’

Ibryen shook his head. ‘No.’ The Traveller’s head tilted at the equivocation in his voice, but he made no prompt. ‘Though there was a quality about it that was oddly beautiful at times.’ He frowned, patently reluctant to say what came next. ‘But it came and went so independently. It was so indisputably at once inside and beyond me, that more than once I had doubts about my sanity.’

Marris half reached out to lay a reassuring hand on his arm, but left the movement unfinished.

‘It’s odd,’ Ibryen went on. ‘What’s happened over the last few hours would give anyone cause to doubt their sanity, but I’m easier in my mind than I’ve been for days. More confused and bewildered and even alarmed, I’ll grant, but still easier. Rachyl, Hynard, you...’ He motioned to Marris, then extended his hand casually to embrace the whole Hall. ‘Everything about us and everything that’s brought us to this time, is so solid and sustaining. A single burrowing doubt nurtured in my own darkness might have brought me low, but all this isn’t so easily destroyed.’ He ended his declamation with an airy wave.

‘Anyway, I’ve done as you asked,’ he said to the Traveller. ‘Told you what I can, as best I can. Now...’ He leaned forward and his eyes were piercing. ‘...Whoever you are, you’ve clattered through my thoughts like a mad horse in a market place, and they’re far from recovered yet, though you’ve done me no harm that I can see, other than wind me. Now I’ve deliberately set words in stone by telling Iscar what I did. Done it in complete ignorance of what I was going to do, but in complete faith that something was imminent. My judgement, not yours. But now I have to find that something. Turn conjecture and speculation and airy phrases into hard-edged practical details that can be measured in fighters, resources, plans and counter-plans. Details which my people can see leading us to the Gevethen’s heart. You must help me in this.’

The Traveller had held his gaze throughout, although his eyes were unfocused, as though his entire concentration was elsewhere. As Ibryen finished, life returned to them. He shook his head unhappily. ‘I can’t help you further,’ he said. ‘I...’

Anger broke through on to Ibryen’s face and his fist thumped the table. ‘You can! You must! Despite all that’s happened since I met you, all I really have now that I didn’t have before is the soft silver thread of the call that reached into my sleeping hours and drew me up on to the ridge. And you’re the only...’

The Traveller stopped him with a sharp gesture, his face lighting with realization. ‘Silver thread,’ he echoed. The words flew up into the arched silence and shimmered around the Hall like tiny excited birds. They returned and hovered about him, waiting, breathless. ‘Soft silver thread,’ he repeated, looking at Ibryen as though he had never seen him before. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘A way is there. Perhaps. I’ll help you find it.’ He glanced at Marris. ‘But I doubt you’ll like what I have to say. And as to where it will lead...’

He shrugged.