by Roger Taylor
Abruptly, he was overwhelmed. Some greater power rose up and engulfed him; returned him brutally to his body in the great root room.
For an instant, he found himself staring again into the pale, fearful face of Edrien, then he plunged into darkness.
As he fell, a deep, powerful voice rang through his entire being. ‘No, Mover. Not until more is understood of your true purpose.’
Chapter 7
Farnor opened his eyes abruptly; suddenly wide awake. He was greeted by the sight and sound of Bildar, starting away from him violently with an agitated cry. ‘You frightened me to death,’ the old man gasped, patting his chest vigorously. ‘I thought you were unconscious.’
Farnor found that he was sitting on the ground, leaning against the uneven wall of the stables. He looked around. Derwyn, Angwen, Edrien, and several other people had formed a loose semi-circle about him. Like Bildar, they all looked startled. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘What’s happened? What are you all doing here?’
Edrien stepped forward and knelt down by him. ‘You fainted,’ she said. ‘You were shouting at me, then all of a sudden your eyes rolled up and you fell over.’
‘Fainted,’ Farnor blustered, as he leaned ungallantly on her to struggle to his feet. ‘Nonsense. I’ve never fainted in my life. I must have slipped on something.’
Derwyn and Bildar exchanged hesitant glances, but Edrien stormed in. ‘You fainted, you donkey,’ she shouted. She shuffled her feet vehemently in the dusty straw. ‘You’re as natural-born a faller as ever I’ve seen, but even you couldn’t trip over straw.’ Her tirade rose to a climax. ‘Especially as you were standing still at the time.’
‘I’m afraid you gave Edrien rather a bad fright,’ Bildar intervened hastily, with an air of conciliatory concern.
‘No, he didn’t,’ Edrien lied angrily. Derwyn put a hand on her arm.
Farnor clung to the easiest release from this strange predicament. ‘Well, whatever happened, I’m fine now, and I’m leaving,’ he said to Derwyn. ‘Too many odd things are happening to me here. And I’m causing nothing but difficulties for everyone. I belong in my own village, with my own people. There are things that I have to do.’
Derwyn stepped forward and gripped both of Far-nor’s arms supportively. ‘We’ll pack your things, Farnor,’ he said. ‘We’ll happily give you supplies. And we’ll take you to where we found you and accompany you as far south as we dare, back along your own tracks.’ There was reservation in his tone. Farnor stared at him, expectantly. ‘But I doubt you’ll get far. My every instinct tells me that you’ll be back here before night-fall.’ He paused significantly. ‘And I think yours does too.’
Farnor shook himself free from the grip, impa-tiently. He was going to sneer, ‘They don’t want me to leave, I suppose?’ but the venom was gone. He might perhaps choose to deny to the Valderen that he heard the voices of… someone… talking to him, but he could not deny it to himself. Just as Nilsson had effortlessly destroyed any pretensions he might have had about being a fighter, and as Rannick and the creature in full cry had left him with nothing except headlong and desperate flight, so the power that had just drawn back his hurtling will, and the voice that had spoken to him, had told him that he was no longer wholly master of his own destiny.
He looked round at the watching group. There was more in their faces than concern for a fallen boy.
‘What happened?’ he asked again. ‘Why are you all here?’
There was an awkward silence. Angwen stepped forward and took his arm. ‘Something moved us,’ she said, her voice, like the way she moved, at once gentle and irresistibly strong. ‘Derwyn and I were already down when we met Edrien running for us.’ There were various nods and mutters of agreement from the others.
Uncharacteristically, Farnor probed Angwen’s reti-cence. ‘What moved you?’ he asked coldly.
There was no hesitation however, and again Ang-wen’s straightforward gentleness swept his antagonism aside. ‘Edrien said that it was talk of the trees that agitated you, but it was they that we Heard. Not well, not clearly – we’re none of us true Hearers – but it was unmistakable.’
Farnor lowered his eyes from hers, and slowly she released his arm. ‘And it was unlike anything any of us have ever known,’ she concluded, the softness of her voice tinged with awe.
Farnor listened to the silence that filled the great chamber.
Even the horses seemed to be waiting for something. Then his own horse shook itself noisily and broke the spell. He turned to Derwyn. ‘I don’t know what to think,’ he said. ‘You’ve been very kind and generous. Indeed I probably owe you my life. But everything about this place – your people – is so… disconcerting. I need to be back with my own kind. People who concern themselves with sheep and cattle…’ He gave a dismis-sive shrug, then concluded incongruously, ‘… and turnips.’ He put his hands to his head. ‘I feel that my sanity will go if I stay here,’ he went on. ‘For all your kindness, I don’t belong here. And while I don’t know what’s happening, I do know that I have matters to attend to at home which can’t be set aside for any reason. I must leave.’
‘This matter is a family matter? A matter of honour?’ Derwyn asked.
Farnor nodded reluctantly, sensing what was to follow.
Derwyn stepped very close to him. ‘You’re going to seek vengeance for your parents,’ he said softly, but with great intensity. It was a statement, not a question. ‘Listen, younger to elder, for a moment. Vengeance is no way for a young man. It’s no way for anyone. And you’ll die, or worse, destroy yourself and perhaps others who care for you, if you pursue it. There will be law some-where in your land. Seek that. And if there’s no law, then seek to bring it there.’
Farnor heard tones in the voice that could have been his father’s. Something stirred deep inside him; struggled to reach into the cold emptiness inside him, where the only warmth came from the image of the death of Rannick.
But the power of the image was too strong and he clung to it fearfully. It was all that he had left.
He met Derwyn’s gaze. For all his kindness and, doubtless, wisdom, the man did not understand. Indeed, could not understand, unless his parents had been arbitrarily, brutally murdered. Straightening up, he said, ‘I thank you for everything that you and your people have done for me, Derwyn.’ His manner was formal and respectful. ‘I would impose on you for just one more thing, if I may, and that’s to accept your offer to take me back to where you found me. I want to leave today. Now.’
Derwyn’s eyes were pained as he held Farnor’s gaze, then defeat and regret came into them, and he nodded. ‘As you wish, Farnor,’ he said, sadly. ‘I’d have liked you to have stayed, for many reasons. To have talked about your people. And our people. And other things. But…’ He made a gesture of resignation. ‘… you know your own mind. I’ll do as you ask.’
An unhappy silence pervaded the members of the group as they made their way out of the chamber. However, as they stepped outside, they were met by a large and noisy crowd, filling the wide defile that led down to the stables.
Derwyn nodded, as if this was what he had antici-pated. He raised his hands as people moved forward expectantly. ‘My friends,’ he shouted above the hubbub. ‘I know what strange call brought you here. We all Heard it too. And I know that the lodges have been alive with gossip and rumour about this young man ever since he came amongst us so unexpectedly, yesterday…’
Questions came from all sides before he could con-tinue. He waved his arms a few times in an attempt to beat down the rising clamour, then he gave up and, putting his fingers into his mouth, gave a piercing whistle. ‘I myself have far more questions than answers, I’m afraid,’ he said into the ensuing silence. ‘But…’ He seemed to reach a decision. ‘We’ll hold a Congress meeting tonight, and I’ll tell you what I know for certain, and also what I think. And then we can talk and conjecture and see if we can muster a little wisdom to help us make some sense of what has happened.’
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nbsp; This declaration ended much of the questioning, but, as the centre of the attention of the crowd, the focus of the pointing fingers and craning necks, Farnor felt as he had when he climbed his first vertical ladder the previous day: exposed and extremely vulnerable. As he walked along, flanked by Derwyn and Angwen, the trailing crowd did nothing to lessen his discomfort. The children especially, were particularly forthright in their curiosity, coming close and staring up at him, wide eyed and unblinking. One or two of the older ones, on the pretext of satisfying the curiosity of their younger relatives, carried them up to Farnor and encouraged them to reach out and touch his black hair, showing them, by the way, how it should be done.
It was thus some time before they reached the tree which led to Derwyn’s lodge, and Farnor was by then more than a little ruffled. Derwyn went first up the ladder, closely followed by Angwen. Farnor watched her and wondered how she could possibly be so graceful when climbing a ladder.
He knew that his own marked lack of grace, or even agility, would be highlighted by the contrast, and that such confidence as he had acquired so far would not withstand the scrutiny of the crowd now watching him keenly. For a moment he considered asking Edrien to go ahead and bring his packs down, but some residual pride prevented him. That and the fact that such an action would leave him alone and feeling even more foolish in the middle of this curious crowd.
As he set off up the ladder he thought that he heard Edrien whispering some kind of injunction to silence, in the midst of which he caught the word, ‘Faller.’
It was however, a useful reminder to him that what he was doing was dangerous and he forced himself to concentrate as he began to pull himself slowly upwards. Only occasionally now did he need to put both feet on one rung before he continued, but each time he did so he seemed to sense the silence of the crowd below deepening under Edrien’s gaze.
Determinedly he refused to look down. Indeed, he did not need to look to feel the eyes of the crowd fixed on him unremittingly. He was glad however, that they were silent, though there was the occasional giggle, or worse, anxious gasp, both of which were followed by a rush of ‘Ssh… Ssh…’, embedded in which, like a barbed arrow, came again the dread word, ‘Faller’.
When he reached the first platform he stepped off the ladder and, looking down at the crowd, risked a wave. The upturned faces were, for the most part, smiling, and there was some tentative waving in reply, together with a little, possibly ironic, applause. There were also quite a few shaking heads to be seen as the crowd started to disperse, noisy again now, freed from Edrien’s stern restraint.
Then, swiftly, Edrien was trotting up the ladder. As she swung off it next to him, she silently motioned him along the platform. More relaxed now, at the prospect of leaving, an old walking habit reasserted itself and Farnor glanced around to see if there were any land-marks that he could identify in the mass of branches and leaves, but there was nothing. How could these people find their way about up here, where everything looked the same? The sooner he got away from this place, the better.
Yet even as he thought this, it occurred to him that at some other time perhaps, to come here would have been a wonderful thing, with so much to be seen, and so much to be learned. He had a fleeting vision of himself as an old man, like Gryss, sitting in his cottage sur-rounded by mementoes of the strange places he had visited in his foolish youth, but it was gone before he could dwell on it. That was a future that now could never be.
As he walked along the platform after Edrien he became increasingly aware that there were far more platforms, walkways and lodges up here than he had noticed before. And too, he became acutely conscious of the fact that he was still the object of a great deal of scrutiny; every person they encountered, and any that he saw nearby, all stared at him intently.
A short walk, and a few ladders later, however, he was once again entering Derwyn’s lodge. It was no small relief to be away from all that increasing curiosity.
Edrien led him along a wide passage and opened a door to reveal a small cupboard. ‘Here’s everything that we found on your horse,’ she said brusquely. ‘Bring it through. You’d better check what’s there, in case anything fell off during your journey. I’ll get you some fresh food and water before you go.’
Farnor ignored the reproach in her voice and dragged the saddlebags into the room that she had indicated. As he checked the contents, Derwyn entered and sat down. He watched Farnor silently, but Farnor avoided his gaze until, satisfied that nothing had been lost from the bags, he had painstakingly refastened them and had no alternative but to look at him.
‘Everything is there that you need?’ Derwyn asked.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Farnor replied, adding self-consciously, for want of something to say, ‘I think I was lucky not to lose them, the way I was riding.’
Derwyn nodded, understandingly, and then glanced out of the window. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m obstructing you in any way, Farnor. You’ve made your wishes quite clear. But it is late in the day, and it’ll be dark before we even reach the place where we found you. I don’t know how good a tracker you are, but frankly I think you’re going to find it very hard to find your original tracks in the dark, and there seems to be little point in you camping out there.’ Farnor looked at him in silence. Derwyn continued. ‘Also, that region is not one that any of us are familiar with and, to be honest, I’m not too anxious to be travelling over it at night. We’ll take you right away, if you insist, but would it really disturb your plans to postpone your journey for a few hours and leave say, at dawn?’
Farnor looked out of the window. The light suffus-ing the trees was now that of a bright sun, low in the sky, leeching the colour from everything that it touched and etching long, dark, wavering shadows through the mote-filled air. Derwyn’s request was too reasonable, and too reasonably put, to be denied. Besides, memories of the creature reaching out to him through the night were beginning to hover about him. ‘I didn’t realize I’d slept so late,’ he replied weakly. ‘And I would prefer to travel in the daylight – if you don’t mind me staying here another night.’
Derwyn smiled in a fatherly way and stood up. ‘No, we don’t mind, Farnor,’ he said.
Farnor patted his saddlebags comfortingly, uncer-tain what he should do next. ‘And anyway, you have your Council meeting tonight, haven’t you?’ he said, to fill the silence.
Derwyn took a sudden deep breath, and muttered something under his breath that Farnor did not quite catch, but which he took to be an oath. Then, with a hasty ‘excuse me’, Derwyn left hurriedly. Farnor heard his footsteps resounding through the lodge accompa-nied by a great deal of agitated shouting, until finally it ended in a ripple of female laughter and the slam of a door.
Angwen was still laughing when she came into the room. ‘It’s a good thing you reminded him, Farnor,’ she said. ‘There’d have been real uproar after what he said at the stables if he hadn’t summoned the meeting after all.’ Then she rubbed her arms and moved over to the open window. As Edrien had in his room that morning, Angwen casually touched something by the window.
This time, two glazed panels swung silently into the opening. What struck Farnor most forcefully however, was not the silence and seeming efficiency of whatever mechanism worked the windows, but the fact that the room seemed to become brighter, as if the windows were gathering more sunlight than had come through the open window and were scattering it into the room. There were so many fascinating things about these people…
‘I think you’re wise to leave your journey until the morning,’ Angwen said, breaking into his thoughts. ‘Night tracking’s so difficult, even when you’re used to it. Do your people do much hunting?’
‘No, no,’ Farnor stammered. Somehow, this strangely beautiful woman disconcerted him pro-foundly. ‘We’re farmers. We catch the odd rabbit for the pot now and then, and perhaps a fox or a wild dog if they’ve been worrying the sheep.’ Unbidden, the memory of the motley gathering in the farmyard came to him, wit
h Gryss sternly forbidding the carrying of bows, and Marna slipping through Gryss’s guard so that she could accompany them. Then, other memories threatened to come in the wake of these; the now childish-seeming excitement at passing for the first time beyond the bounds of the valley as he had always known it; of looking up giddily at the clouds moving over the swaying castle walls; his strange contact with the creature…
Suddenly agitated, he turned away from Angwen’s gaze and twitched his hand nervously over his mouth as if wiping it.
‘I’m sorry,’ Angwen said. ‘Does it bring back too many painful memories to talk about your people?’
Farnor’s hands fretted a little more before they set-tled on his knees. ‘No,’ he lied, then, smiling uncertainly, ‘A goose walked over my grave, that’s all.’
Angwen clapped her hands. ‘We say just the same,’ she said, laughing. ‘How strange.’
Her laughter seemed to fill Farnor just as it filled the room, and he felt a great easing. ‘What’s going to happen at this Council meeting tonight?’ he heard himself asking.
‘The Congress meeting?’ Angwen corrected. She gave another rich laugh. ‘If Derwyn manages to notify everyone, it’ll be full of talk about you, Farnor. Talk, talk and more talk. All about the grim, black-haired outsider on his grim, black horse; the strange intruder who’s cost us our Hearer.’
Farnor grimaced and self-consciously ran his hand through his hair. ‘Does no one round here have black hair?’ he asked.
Angwen shook her head. ‘No one,’ she confirmed. ‘And, unfortunately, it’s a colour that’s always given to the invaders and the evil mages in our legends.’ She smiled broadly.
