The Shadow and Night (27 page)

Jorgio wiped his face with the back of a hand. “Then he says to me, ‘Jorgio, whose is the Assembly?'

“ ‘Yours, sir,' I says. ‘It is your work.'

“Then he says, ‘Do I have a right to test my work?'

“ ‘Of course,' I answers. Because he does—he is the Lord.

“ ‘And test it I will,' is what he says. Then suddenly a door opens and a wind blows and candles start flickering and I think they are going out.”

Out of the corner of his eye Merral saw Vero staring with wide eyes at Jorgio. “Extraordinary,” he murmured. “Quite extraordinary.”

Jorgio spoke again. “Anyway the Lord speaks again. ‘Let me tell you what will happen,' he says. Then suddenly, before I could see whether the candles would blow out, the picture changes. And it's as if I am a bird—like one of them gray kites we get round here—flying around and looking down at a farm. It's beautiful. All on its own. Surrounded by trees and fields of wheat and the sun is shining on it. Then I see that there is a storm brewing. Big, thick, black clouds that go up in the sky forever. But it's not a good storm, it's a bad storm; it hates. The wind gets up; the clouds move toward the farm; the sun goes in. The trees start shaking and the rain starts and there's thunder and lightning. And the Lord says to me, ‘Will it stand?' And then the clouds sweep across it and I can't see it anymore.

“ ‘Your Majesty,' I says, ‘who do I tell?'

“ ‘Tell Merral D'Avanos and his friend from Ancient Earth,' he says.

“ ‘What do I tell them?'

“ ‘Tell them what you saw. Tell them to watch, stand firm, and to hope.' And then, suddenly, I'm back in my room.”

For a moment there was a still silence. Then Vero shook his head. “An amazing account. The candles . . . you think they were the Assembly?”

Jorgio stuck out his lip and his brown eyes tightened. “I'd say so.”

“And the farm?”

“I reckon it's us.
Farholme.
”

“And a storm approaches. Any ideas about that?”

“No.”

Vero turned sharply to Merral. “My friend, what do you think?”

“Me?” Merral heard what was almost a note of protest in his voice. “I'm not capable of analyzing this just yet. I need to think.”

“The wisest thing. But remarkable. Thank you, Jorgio. I—we—want to think very carefully about what you have said. Merral and I are going north tomorrow. To look for what is the problem. Do you have any advice?”

Jorgio's soft brown eyes looked uneasily at Merral and then turned to Vero. “No. Only that I feel that things have changed round here.” Then he looked up at the sun. “I must be on my way. Going back up to the farm now. I will pray for you. But remember that things have changed.”

Then he rose to his feet and, with an odd and awkward bow, made his way over toward the vehicle depot. “Extraordinary,” Vero said, staring after Jorgio. “Quite extraordinary. Has he done this before?”

“Once . . . last Nativity. He said that I had been at risk up north and that he had prayed for me. I didn't know what to make of it.”

Vero stared after the departing Jorgio and shook his head. “A very striking man. How did he get to be like he is?”

“The story I heard is that when he was a child there was some landslide. Must be fifty or sixty years ago now. Down by the coast. His parents were killed; he was badly injured. They did the best for him. But he was always different. He has always been—in his rather different way—a godly man.”

Vero nodded agreement. “You know how we sentinels are supposed to be able to sense things? I felt when I faced him that he was a man who knew more than I have ever learned. I had a sense that—somehow—what sentinel training tries to produce over years is what he already has.”

“You think he is naturally gifted with some insight?”

“
Supernaturally
would be better. It is a gift of the Most High. We must reflect on his words as we go north. I do not trust myself to speak of what they may mean. The vision of the candles and the farm is chilling.” He paused and then in a half whisper, as if to himself, muttered, “And evil is back.” He frowned.

“Vero,” Merral asked slowly, “how could evil come back? Would that mean the end?”

Vero looked at him. “Maybe. But maybe not. Jorgio talked of a testing, which is not necessarily the ending. But evil? You are aware that no one, not even the wisest person, knows how evil works. We never have. Not even in the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries when evil was so rampant. We all know that following those events that we abbreviate to the ‘Great Intervention' evil became less pressing on us. In a well-worn phrase we ‘felt a partial reprieve' from the effects of the Fall.”

“But could that be revoked?”

“Merral, it's the Lord's Assembly, not ours. I never heard of any guarantee that this protection from evil was eternal. It has been assumed to be his gift to his people. And, as such, I suppose he has a right to withdraw it.”

After a few moments of silence, Merral felt it was time that they returned to their preparations and went over to the stores. A silent Vero, deep in thought, followed him.

Merral already had much of the equipment he needed for himself, but finding suitable boots and a backpack for Vero was less easy. Merral found reassurance in the competent and familiar way in which his friend handled outdoor gear and the sensible suggestions he made about what to take.

Sometimes, however, what he said made Merral think. At one point Vero, his head deep in a supplies cupboard, asked in a low, thoughtful tone, “Merral, if you had to defend yourself from a hostile animal—say a deranged bear—what would you do?”

“It's a rare threat. We coexist pretty well. But sometimes, if you meet one of the big tawny bears and get between them and their cubs, they get ugly and try and take a swipe. And if you have to bring one in for any reason, say for a veterinary or biology study, we use neuro-potent tranquilizer guns. There's one up there.”

Vero pulled out the box and read the instructions. Then he looked up at Merral. “I think we should take it and a few cartridges. Put the dosage on maximum.”

“Yes . . . I suppose that makes sense.”

In another cupboard Vero found a lightweight, twin-eyepiece fieldscope with a variable magnification and low-light capability. “Ah, this looks useful. What do you use it for? Normally.”

“Counting deer herds. Wolf packs at night—that sort of thing. It's useful but it weighs half a kilo or so. You seriously want to take it?”

“Yes,” Vero answered firmly. “It may help us to keep a distance.”

Merral found himself shrugging agreement.

A few minutes later, as Merral was checking a suitable tent, Vero came over to him carrying a short red tube. “I see you have some of these excellent bush knives.”

“Careful!” Merral raised a hand in caution. “That blade is sharp. It's molecularly tuned to cut through wood. They are useful for clearing ground.”

Vero pointed it away from himself and cautiously slid a catch. Slowly but smoothly, a dull gray blade slid out in three nested segments extending to an arm's length, before it locked open with a soft, precise click.

“I have seen them used in Aftarena. I think we should take two.” Vero's tone suggested that it was not a negotiable point.

“Two? There isn't that much bush but, well, you may be right. They weigh little. But be careful in their use. They can take a hand off and without a surgeon nearby—that is likely to be permanent.”

Vero slid the catch again and the blade slid softly back into its handle. His brown eyes looked impassively across at Merral. “I know,” he said quietly, “but we may need them.”

“What for?”

Vero hesitated, seeming to weigh his words before continuing, “Merral, I do not know what we face. I was concerned before today. But after talking with Jorgio I am even more concerned. There is an expression that I am reluctant to use. It has been thankfully obsolete for most of our history. . . .” He stared at the knife for a moment. “But yes, I must—there is no other. Merral, out there, this time, you—we—may be among enemies.”

10

W
hen Merral and Vero had agreed on a pile of equipment and supplies that they felt was the maximum that they could carry over rough terrain for four days, they took the two backpacks down to the rotorcraft hangar and stowed them on board their allocated machine. Then they went back to Merral's house, which was empty as his parents were still at work. Vero put down his things in the spare room, lay down heavily on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

“Nice to be back here, if only for a night.”

“Better enjoy it. The beds out along the Lannar River won't be as good.”

“I can put up with a lot. Sentinel colleges are notoriously Spartan. How is your castle tree by the way? You are still working on it?”

“It's fine; with it running on sped-up time, it's had three winters and summers since you looked at it. Still growing. Mind you, I need now to work out how it reproduces.”

“Any ideas?”

“I think it needs to have flowers and insect pollination. That could be fun visually. Imagine the whole outer surface of the tree—tens of kilometers square—all covered with flowers.”

“Let me know when you do it. It should be quite a sight.”

“I will,” Merral said. A moment later he was struck by a thought. “By the way, should we spend any time with the Antalfers? Don't you want to interview my uncle?”

Vero stretched out his arms. “A point I have been thinking about. Only briefly, if at all. Barrand may simply be a symptom of something. Besides—”

He sat up and gave a deep and impatient sigh. “Besides, Merral, I need
data.
Real data. More than twisted notes on a piece of music. Contact, an image, an
identification.
I do wish Anya could come up with something. Anyway, this evening I'm going to put my notes in order. Before we travel.”

Before Merral could comment, the downstairs door was heard opening.

Vero smiled. “Well, it can wait. I think we'd better see your parents. And if I know your mother, I think there will be food.”

Vero was not disappointed, and after hearty greetings and the sharing of the most pressing news, food was brought out. They had no sooner started to eat than Merral's father, visibly tired from work, came in and joined them. His mother bubbled on about life in Ynysmant, and his father, rambling as ever, talked first about machines and then his Historic, Welsh, and confused everyone in trying to explain the three basic types of the
cynghanedd
form of poetry. As a result there was little space for Merral or Vero to reveal their own concerns.

Halfway through the meal, there was a knock at the door and Isabella came in. She beamed at all and then gave Merral a shy, almost secretive, smile. Merral rose from his seat and kissed her on the cheek.

“I heard you were both in town,” she said.

Vero bowed. “Nothing is overlooked in Ynysmant, that is sure.”

“I'm afraid,” Merral said, “that this is purely an overnight stop, Isabella.”

She looked sideways at them. “So you must be going back up to Herrandown. There's nowhere else to go.” Merral sensed a vague disappointment.

“Sorry,” he replied. “We should be back in a week. Probably very much less.”

“I see. . . .” Now the wistful note to her voice was unmistakable.

“Isabella, are you free at all tonight?” Merral asked.

“I have to look after Eliza. That's my youngest sister, Vero; everyone else is out. It's too late to change.”

Vero coughed quietly and they looked at him. “Er, Isabella, I was only saying to Merral earlier that I need to work tonight. So, if you and he were to meet, you would not be depriving me. Besides, we
are
going to be seeing quite a lot of each other over the next few days.”