Valderen ft-2

by Roger Taylor

  Like great sentries, he thought.

  Then the avenue widened out suddenly, like a river reaching the sea, and the crowd disgorged itself into a large circular clearing lit by brilliant sunstones that were both mounted on the trees and slung overhead by some means that Farnor could not make out. ‘This is your Congress Hall?’ he asked Derwyn.

  Derwyn nodded and pointed ahead. It took Farnor some time to realize what he was looking at, so strange did it seem. And even as he drew closer he could not see exactly how it had been built or how it was supported. For, rising from the ground was what appeared to be an enormous tangle of branches. It reminded him, in its intricate random pattern, of the strange, fine weave of rootlets that had lined the walls and columns of the stables, but here the branches were both much thicker and more varied, ranging from those with a girth of perhaps a man’s height and more, to twigs scarcely the diameter of a little finger.

  Gazing at the confusion, Farnor saw that the branches curved around the sides of the clearing until they merged subtly with the surrounding trees, while above him they rose up and curved forward like a great arched roof, though their final destiny was hidden from his view by the bright lights. The whole conspired however, to make him feel that he was once again standing in a huge root room rather than on the Forest floor.

  As they drew nearer, Farnor began to feel both awed and intrigued by the eerie splendour of the place. Eventually his curiosity overcame his immediate preoccupations. ‘How did you build all this?’ he asked, lowering his voice.

  Derwyn patted his shoulder and gave a rueful chuckle. ‘If you’re leaving tomorrow, I haven’t remotely the time to tell you,’ he said. ‘Something this size is the work of generations. Growing, nurturing, shaping.’ He tapped his head. ‘Not to mention thinking, if it’s going to work properly.’ He stopped suddenly and looked around, as if it was something that he had not done for a long time. Then he nodded. ‘I almost saw it with your eyes, Farnor,’ he said, with a mixture of pride and surprise. ‘New and different. And I have to admit, it’s as fine a Synehal as you’ll find for many a day’s ride.’

  ‘Synehal,’ Farnor muttered to himself.

  ‘I don’t know what it means exactly,’ Derwyn said, taking the utterance as a question. ‘I think it means, place of sound, or place of hearing, or some such. It’s not a Valderen word. I think it’s from one of the ancient languages, from before the time we came to the Forest.’

  Farnor nodded casually in response, his gaze still travelling to and fro across the wild, yet ordered, tangle of trunks and branches that seemed now to him to be embracing much of the clearing.

  ‘Come on,’ Derwyn said briskly, taking his arm.

  As they walked on, passing underneath the branch-woven roof of the Synehal, Farnor noticed that the hubbub of the crowd was being replaced by a resonant silence. He looked about him. Such people as were talking were doing so softly, heads bent forward.

  Then he saw that Derwyn was leading him towards a large raking platform set at the end of the clearing. Several people were already sitting on it, though Farnor noted that it was no ordinary platform such as might have been built for some village festival; rough planks set on uncertain trestles. Rather it was a continuation of the roof and wall of the Synehal. The great branches that dominated the structure threaded their way through the labyrinth to come together at this point, and thence sweep forward in a broad fan across the floor of the clearing. And, whether natural or manmade, Farnor could not decide, the upper part of the fan was shaped into curved and stepped tiers which were being used as seats. The lower, broader part flattened out and then sloped gently down to the ground.

  As Derwyn led him up this slope, Farnor felt himself to be increasingly the focus not only of the curious attention of everyone present, but even of the Synehal itself. Every part of the structure seemed to emanate from this region. He felt very small and not a little afraid. It was all he could do not to take hold of Derwyn’s hand.

  And worse, Derwyn was leading him towards a po-dium that stood on, or, more correctly, seemed to grow from, the centre of the platform. The intensity of the focus upon him seemed to increase with each step he took, until he thought that it would become unbearable. When they reached the podium, however, the sensation faded suddenly and was replaced by a feeling of calm and stillness. Derwyn sat down on a high-backed, ornately carved seat at the very centre of the podium and motioned Farnor to a broad bench which stood slightly lower and to one side. Both men had their backs to the gathering crowd, and were facing those who were already seated on the benched tiers.

  Derwyn leaned across and laid a hand on Farnor’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know how your affairs are dealt with at home, Farnor, but here every man may speak freely, and may not be reproached outside the Synehal for so speaking. If you’re asked anything, answer if you wish, you’re under no compulsion. But, if you’ll take my advice, if you do choose to answer, be as truthful as you can.’ He gave Farnor’s shoulder a final reassuring slap. ‘And don’t be afraid to speak your mind,’ he said determinedly.

  Though Derwyn had spoken softly, Farnor sensed that the sounds were being caught and thrown out high and wide over the clearing, like the wind itself blowing through the branches. And there was a tone in Derwyn’s voice that told him that the words were not for him alone, but also a reminder to others present. He nodded, and then looked round nervously at the crowd. ‘Is this everyone in your – village?’ he asked.

  Derwyn glanced round and smiled. ‘It could well be,’ he said, and the gently hectoring tone returned to his voice. ‘It’s a refreshing change to see so many people taking an active interest in the Congress’s affairs. Most of them usually prefer to sit at home in their lodges whenever there are decisions to be made.’

  Farnor saw a ripple pass through the crowd as faces were casually turned away to examine some feature above or below, or on their neighbour’s face. The ripple was accompanied by a sudden bout of awkward coughing. ‘They can hear what you say,’ Farnor said, on impulse.

  Derwyn nodded. ‘And what you say, too,’ he replied. ‘And you’ll be able to hear what’s said just as well, when things get started.’ He remembered something. ‘And if you speak, just speak as you do normally. Don’t shout.’

  ‘But how…’ Farnor began.

  Derwyn raised a pleading hand. ‘You’ll need to stay a very long time if you want to learn about that as well,’ he said.

  Gradually the tiered seats in front of them began to fill up. Farnor watched each new arrival warily, searching for some clue as to what was about to happen. He noticed that though Derwyn appeared to be much more relaxed and reassured seated in what must be his official place, there was still a tension about him. He felt profoundly uneasy.

  Then Derwyn spoke. There was a strong note of humorous irony in his voice. ‘I think we have enough here to begin. I must say that I find this sudden interest in the Congress’s affairs most heartening. I do hope that this level of attendance will continue throughout our more routine meetings.’

  ‘Your humour’s misplaced, Derwyn Oakstock.’

  Farnor started at the sound of the voice. It was as if someone was sitting next to him. Derwyn touched him lightly on the shoulder, then pointed. Farnor saw that one of the figures on the tiered seats in front of him had stood up. It was EmRan.

  ‘No formality, EmRan,’ Derwyn replied easily. ‘We’re only here to welcome a guest.’

  ‘We’re here to decide what to do with an intruder. An intruder who drew a knife on me,’ EmRan retorted angrily.

  There was a murmur from the crowd in the back-ground. Derwyn raised his hand calmly and the murmur faded.

  ‘Menacing someone with a weapon is indeed a seri-ous matter,’ he acknowledged, earnestly. ‘One that we must certainly discuss in the fullest detail before we disperse.’

  ‘What’s to discuss, man?’ EmRan’s voice burst around Farnor, making him scowl and shake his head. ‘Just look at him. Black-haired, lowering, abominati
on. No good will come of him being here.’ He pointed a wagging finger at Derwyn. ‘They’ve taken our Hearer because you’ve sheltered him. We’ve got to get rid of him before more harm’s done. If you can’t do it, then you must stand down and make way for someone who can.’

  ‘Your willingness to serve the lodge as its Second is well known, EmRan,’ Derwyn said, with a sincerity in his voice that was more cutting by far than any sarcasm could have been. ‘I’m sure it’s a constant solace to us all to know that such selflessness is still to be found.’

  Farnor caught the sound of subdued laughter com-ing from somewhere. EmRan looked about him indignantly and the laughter faded.

  ‘However, I’m not altogether certain what your con-cern is,’ Derwyn went on. ‘Apart from the specific complaint of your being threatened with a weapon, which, I agree, must be dealt with, all you’ve given us is abuse of our new arrival, an accusation against them…’ His arm moved in an encompassing gesture. ‘… coupled with one against me, an appeal for a dire sentence where no trial has been held, and an election speech.’ This time the laughter was quite open.

  EmRan leapt to his feet. ‘You may choose to mock me…’ he began. But he was shouting, and his voice welled up to fill the entire Synehal like a roll of thunder. There was a universal lifting of hands to ears and an immediate hiss of disapproval rose up like a biting wind. EmRan dropped his hands to his sides and then sat down with an air of angry resignation.

  ‘I wouldn’t presume to mock you, EmRan,’ Derwyn said softly, as the sound died away. ‘This is an arena for reasoned debate and I merely listed the items you yourself had raised, in an attempt to gain some clarity.’ He held out his hands to those seated on the tiers. ‘For it’s clarity we need, my friends, if we’re to make sense of the unusual circumstances we find ourselves in. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that we have a long tradition of hospitality to all travellers…’ There was a mumbled interruption from EmRan in which Farnor caught the word ‘outsider’. Derwyn turned towards him, his face darkening. ‘Just as we have a tradition of respecting the speech of others, EmRan,’ he said acidly. Turning back to the body of his listeners, he continued. ‘Marken came to me before dawn yesterday in a state of high excite-ment. Gave me quite a shock, I can assure you; clamouring on the door at that time – as you know, he’s not exactly noted for his excitable nature. Summarizing his tale however: he had been woken by a Hearing, one the like of which he had never known before, so clear was it. There had been some great commotion to the south. The feeling that was given to him, very vividly, as he kept on telling me, was that our help or perhaps our judgement was called for, as a Mover lay at or near the heart of the disturbance.’

  Briefly he outlined the search that they had made, ending with the discovery of Farnor and the return to the lodge. ‘In these last two days I’ve learned a little of this young man’s recent past, and I think you too should hear it. Whether or not he wishes to relate these events to you is, of course, his choice entirely, and I have advised him so, as many of you will have heard. I should add, in all honesty however, that in any event, his story will leave you with more questions than answers. I must also tell you that, despite my exhortations that he should stay so that we might perhaps learn more about why he was allowed to come so far into the Forest, his dominant wish is to leave us as soon as possible. It was only the nearness of night that kept him here so long. He attends on us here purely at my request.’

  EmRan stood up and pointed at Farnor. ‘If you were called to exercise your judgement on their behalf, what possessed you to pick up something like that?’ he said.

  ‘The same judgement that would make me help any faller,’ Derwyn replied, a cold anger suddenly permeat-ing his whole manner. He dispelled it almost immediately, however, with a soft laugh, before it could provoke an equally angry response. ‘And this one is a faller, my friends, believe me. He’ll have your hearts in your mouths every two paces.’

  Farnor heard murmurs of confirmation from the crowd and there was much smiling and many nodding heads amongst the listeners seated along the tiers.

  ‘But, answering your question further, EmRan, ra-ven-headed he may be’ – Derwyn became mockingly dramatic – ‘like some demon from an ancient tale.’ Then, serious again. ‘But Forest forbid that we judge one another by our looks. Suffice it that I felt no harm in him when I found him. Nor have I since, nor has Bildar. And Marken, too, heard nothing.’

  ‘But Marken’s gone now,’ EmRan said. ‘And why else should he have been taken from us except as a punishment for your faulty judgement?’

  Farnor caught a dangerous glint in Derwyn’s eyes. ‘We’re all of us capable of faulty judgement, EmRan,’ he said. ‘That’s why we have this forum. But I wouldn’t presume to dispute the judgement of a Hearer who feels the need to find a quiet place.’ In spite of himself, his anger spilled out into his voice, though he actually spoke more softly. ‘Or have you developed hidden traits in your middle years? Do you wish to become our Hearer now, as well as our Second, in your anxiety to be of service to the lodge?’

  EmRan’s mouth worked angrily. ‘They have taken Marken from us because we haven’t done as they wished with this…’ He jabbed his finger towards Farnor. ‘… person,’ he managed eventually.

  Derwyn shook his head. ‘You weary me, EmRan,’ he said. ‘You accuse me of faulty judgement when you’d judge a man by the colour of his hair and his horse! And you’d argue the judgement of a Hearer about a Hearing! And do you seriously think that they would have been disturbed by a solitary rider? That they could not have turned him about? Led him into a mire? Over a cliff? Destroyed him in countless ways, had they wished?’ He leaned forward. ‘And consider for a moment why they should make themselves Heard to so many of us when he collapsed in the stables?’ He patted his chest. The hollow sound echoed around the Synehal like a drumbeat. ‘Us! The ungifted ones. Why should they send perhaps two score or more of us running from our lodges to tend someone you call an unwanted intruder?’

  EmRan waved his arms as if to dash away such prot-estations. ‘He drew a knife on me,’ he blustered.

  Derwyn put his hand to his head in despair, and a general sigh of irritation washed over the platform. It was, however, larded with no small number of angry voices supporting EmRan’s protestations.

  ‘We’re all concerned about what’s happened,’ Der-wyn said. ‘Indeed, I think it’s fair to say that we’re all a little frightened. But we’re also civilized people, and we’re here to discuss these events rationally. You’re lashing out blindly in your fear, EmRan, and you’re serving no good end by so doing.’ His voice rose a little and boomed through the Synehal. ‘Consider the logic of what you’ve been saying. What would you have done if you’d come upon this man? Slain him where he lay, like an exhausted animal? Murdered him?’

  Before EmRan could reply, Farnor, increasingly unnerved by his accuser’s ranting, jumped to his feet. ‘My name is Farnor Yarrance,’ he said hurriedly, but remembering just in time not to shout. ‘I didn’t come here through any choice of my own. I was pursued by…’ He hesitated. If he told the truth, he could not begin to answer the questions that would follow. Moreover, his own ability to Hear the trees might slip out, and who could say what would happen as a result of that?

  He must lie.

  ‘I was pursued by the people who killed my parents and burned down my home. I have had only kindness and help from Derwyn and his family. And Bildar. And I thank them.’ He pointed at EmRan. ‘But it’s true, I drew my knife against that man there.’ He pulled the knife from his belt and held it high. It glittered in the light of the bright sunstones. He was aware of a shocked response about him, not least from Derwyn, but he ignored it. ‘I drew it because he crashed into Bildar’s lodge unannounced and uninvited, like the very bandits who’d pursued me.’ His anger suddenly vanished, and his voice fell. ‘I thought you were one of them, come to kill me. I’m sorry. I meant no harm, but I couldn’t have done anything else. All
I want to do now is return home.’ There was a deep silence all around him as he sat down again, his head bowed.

  He heard Derwyn’s voice, very gentle. ‘Sheathe your knife, Farnor. This is not a place of weapons, and you’ve made your case far more eloquently than I or anyone else could have done.’ He patted him on the shoulder, then leaned back in his chair of office and looked at EmRan, who was sitting, grim-faced and motionless. ‘This was as Bildar told it to me also,’ he said. ‘And my daughter. Your conduct needs more explanation than does this young man’s. I think that in a quieter moment, EmRan, you might consider apologizing to our guest, and to our Mender, and to my daughter, for your reckless intrusion this morning.’ Then, despite an obvious effort, his anger showed again. ‘What possessed you to do such a thing? And then to blame someone for defending their hearth – indeed, defending someone else’s hearth?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘For what you did you could have been cut down on the spot and no reproach to anyone. We must forgive Farnor for drawing a weapon in this place, he can’t be expected to know our ways, but perhaps it’s fortunate, EmRan, that his people don’t maintain the tradition of the Threshold Sword, or this might have been your wake tonight instead of a Congress meeting.’

  Silence descended on the gathering.

  ‘Who else wishes to speak?’ Derwyn said quietly, after what seemed to Farnor to have been an intermina-ble interval.

  ‘I do.’

  Derwyn started violently and turned in his seat to look for the speaker. Farnor followed his gaze. A pathway was opening through the crowd and a frail-looking figure was walking along it. A murmur rose from the crowd to fill the Synehal like a great wind howling through the trees. Gradually Farnor began to hear a coherent pattern in the sound. ‘Marken!’ Derwyn’s voice crystallized it. He stood up. Farnor joined him and the two stood side by side to watch the Hearer’s progress. Hands came out to support the old man, but he waved them aside. Derwyn left the podium and moved down the sloping platform to greet him, his face full of both relief and inquiry, although, ‘You look tired,’ was all he could think of to say as he reached him.