by Roger Taylor
Derwyn's eyes narrowed as he looked at the Hearer. ‘Have you Heard things that you don't want to tell us about?’ he asked.
Marken shook his head slowly. ‘No,’ he replied doubtfully. ‘But something's wrong. Unsettled, turbulent.’ He hesitated and his face became agitated. ‘You'll have to forgive me, Derwyn, I suddenly seem to find myself not where I thought I was. As if I'd been walking uphill without realizing it, and suddenly turned to find myself looking out over a totally unfamiliar treescape.'
Derwyn looked concerned, and even Edrien forebore to make any caustic observation, so disturbed did Marken seem. ‘I don't understand,’ Derwyn said.
'Nor do I,’ Marken replied after a long pause. ‘That's the problem. Everything is at once so clear and so vague. It's clear that something portentous is about to happen—or perhaps has happened—but vague about what it could be, or might have been. Or when, or how it will affect us.'
'How long have you had these feelings?’ Derwyn asked gently.
'I don't know,’ Marken replied. ‘That's what I was trying to say. It's as if I've had them almost for years, but for some reason have only just noticed them.’ He looked at Derwyn. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said, standing up and putting his hand to his head. ‘Even talking like this is ... changing things.'
There was a long, uneasy silence, in which Marken stood motionless, staring into the trees, while his companions watched him, uncertain what to say or do. Then, abruptly, he seemed to reach a decision. ‘I'm afraid I'll have to go away for a little while. I'll have to find ... a quiet place ... calm myself, order my thoughts.'
Edrien frowned, puzzled by this remark, but Bildar and Derwyn exchanged shocked glances. Derwyn stood and took Marken's arm and looked at him intently. After a moment however, he nodded slowly, and, with reluctant resignation, said, ‘You must do as your judgement tells you, Marken.’ He sat down again, but it was almost as if he could not trust his legs to support him. Then, clearing his throat awkwardly, he became practical. ‘Do you want a companion to tend to your needs?’ he asked.
'No, thank you, Derwyn,’ Marken replied. ‘I'll have to be truly alone.’ He affected a slight heartiness. ‘And I've not lost all my Forest skills yet. I'll survive for as long as I have to.'
Derwyn was too well acquainted with the old Hearer to dispute the matter with him. ‘As you wish,’ he said helplessly. There was another uncomfortable silence. ‘When will you go?’ he asked eventually.
Marken looked pained. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘I'll get some things from my lodge and go immediately. There's nothing needing a Hearer for a little while, and ...’ he looked from side to side, restlessly. ‘... matters aren't going to resolve themselves by us sitting talking about them.'
'Whatever you wish,’ Derwyn said again softly.
Marken gave a curt nod and made a small, awkward gesture of farewell to Bildar and Edrien, then turned and walked off into the trees.
Edrien stood up hesitantly, her mouth hanging open in bewilderment. ‘What's the matter?’ she asked her father uncertainly. ‘What's happened? What's he doing? Where's he going?'
Derwyn motioned his daughter to sit down and, leaning back in his chair, put his head in his hands.
'Father?’ Edrien insisted.
Bildar laid a hand on her arm. ‘A minute,’ he whispered. ‘Give him a minute.'
Edrien turned to him, the same questions on her face, but Bildar waved a finger for silence.
'Damnation,’ Derwyn said suddenly, his face grim. He slapped the table with his hand, and the birds feasting nearby rose as one and scattered noisily into the trees.
'What's the matter?’ Edrien tried again, her voice both anxious and impatient. ‘What was Marken talking about? Why's he gone off like that all of a sudden?’ Guilt tinged her expression. ‘Was it something I did?'
Derwyn looked at her sharply, as if surprised to find that he was not alone. His dark expression faded almost immediately into regret as she flinched away from it. He took her hand. ‘No, no,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I'm afraid it's something far more serious than your acid tongue.'
'What, then?’ Unsettled by her father's sudden change of mood, Edrien let a petulant note waver into her question.
Derwyn scowled. ‘I don't know, Edrien,’ he said, echoing her tone. ‘And neither does Marken. Nor Bildar. Nor any of us. Something's troubling him deeply; very deeply. And he needs to go to what the Hearers call a quiet place.'
Edrien frowned. ‘But ...'
Bildar cut through the angry family tension that was beginning to develop between father and daughter. ‘Marken's a Hearer, Edrien,’ he said, risking the obvious. ‘No one knows what they Hear, or how, or why. But they're our only contact with them and we need them if we're to live here in any semblance of harmony. We have to weigh what they say, and we have to trust their judgement.'
Edrien's lip began to curl slightly.
'No!’ Bildar said softly, but with great force. ‘You're young, and you take things for granted. Just listen for once. That's the way it is, even though we don't truly understand it.’ He became stern. ‘And we don't denounce because we don't understand. We think and we listen and we watch and we stay silent until perhaps, one day, the light dawns.’ He tapped his temple with his finger.
Untied to her by blood, Bildar had an authority over Edrien that was in many ways greater than her father's. She nodded, but did not speak. Bildar cast an anxious glance at Derwyn and hesitated before continuing. ‘Your father's concerned because we don't know when, or even if, Marken's going to come back.'
The remainder of Edrien's antagonism drained away into shocked disbelief. ‘What do you mean, you don't know if he's coming back?’ She looked at her father and then back at Bildar, a frightened girl suddenly trying not to peer out of the young woman's eyes.
Seeing his daughter thus downed, Derwyn's own darkness faded a little. ‘We've no answers to any of your questions, Edrien,’ he said gently. ‘Hearers are Hearers. If Marken could've told us the how and why of everything then he would have done. All we can do now is accept whatever problems his leaving presents us with. His own troubles are far greater. If he needs anything at all, it's to know that his friends, his people, will be carrying on as he's always shown them, trusting in the knowledge that this is their will and that they'll not leave us without guidance for long.'
Edrien looked in the direction that Marken had taken. Her face was pale and she seemed suddenly near to tears, but her father's appeal to friendship and trust had forbidden any response other than concern for Marken now.
'You mean he's just going to wander off somewhere and sit under a tree and think?’ she said, her voice unsteady.
Derwyn shrugged, but did not reply.
Shaking her head rapidly, as if to clear it, Edrien took refuge in practicalities. ‘You men are so illogical,’ she announced. ‘How can he wander off without knowing what he's doing, or where he's going? What in the Forest's name does ...'
Bildar interrupted, a little impatiently. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘He trusts himself, and what he Hears. And we must do the same. It's a rare thing for a Hearer to leave like this but it's happened to others before now.'
Edrien let out an exasperated breath. ‘If you say so,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘But I don't understand what's happening at all. Marken's probably not been away from the lodge alone in years. How's he going to manage?'
'He'll manage well enough,’ Derwyn said, though his voice lacked conviction. He looked up at the sunny sky. ‘It's summer, after all. And he's well rooted. Try not to fret.'
Questions still tumbled around Edrien's mind, but she gave voice to none of them. After a moment she said conspiratorially, ‘Should I go after him quietly? Keep an eye on him?'
Derwyn smiled and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Leave him be.’ He stood up briskly, slapping his knees loudly with both hands as he did so, to signal an end to the debate. ‘What you can do though, is go and see if that young man's awake yet, and if he is, b
ring him to my room. He's at the heart of this business, and I think it's time we called him to account.'
* * *
Chapter 3
Farnor started awake at the sudden light. As he made to sit up however, pains throughout his body forced him down on to the bed again immediately. He let out a noisy breath.
'I'm sorry, did I startle you?'
Carefully Farnor turned his head in the direction of the voice. Gradually his eyes focused on a young woman. She was holding a small lantern which seemed to be the only source of light in the room.
If room it was, he thought, as his eyes adjusted further. For there were no familiar beams over his head, no windows, nor even, for that matter, flat walls and straight corners. With a cautious effort, he levered himself up on to his elbows and gazed around, his companion momentarily forgotten.
The chamber proved to be roughly circular and the walls rose up and curved inwards to become a crudely domed ceiling. What held Farnor's attention, however, was not the unusual shape of the room but the fact that both walls and ceiling were decorated with dark, shadowy lines that twisted and curved and wound about one another in what seemed to be a completely random pattern. He recalled from the haze of the immediate past that at one point he had imagined himself to be in a cave. But this was no cave. At least, not one such as he had ever known. It was warm and dry and fresh smelling and, despite the peculiar walls and ceiling, it had almost a homely air about it. And the bed was wonderfully comfortable.
He stared at the walls intently, following the twisting lines up and over and down again until he found that he was looking at the wall immediately by his bed. The light grew brighter and the lines began to cast shadows. Tentatively he reached out and touched one of them. ‘They're like roots,’ he said softly, in amazement. ‘Tree roots.'
A laugh made him recall his visitor. Just in time, he remembered to move slowly as he turned around. The woman had moved closer to his bed and was holding the lantern high in order to help him with his inspection of the wall. Her thin face was full of laughter. ‘Of course they're tree roots,’ she said. ‘What else did you expect to see down here? Rooks’ nests?’ She laughed again.
For an instant Farnor felt indignant at this response, but his indignation crumbled before the confusion and bewilderment that suddenly rushed in upon him. He covered his eyes with his hands and slowly lay back on the bed.
'Are you all right?’ the young woman asked, anxious now.
Farnor nodded. ‘I was just hoping that I was dreaming,’ he replied.
'No, you're not dreaming,’ came the response, with flat simplicity. ‘Why should you be?'
Farnor scowled and, removing his hands from his eyes, turned towards his questioner. ‘Who are you?’ he asked, none too politely.
'Edrien,’ came the answer, brusquely echoing his tone. ‘Can you get up? My father wants to see you.'
'And who's he?’ Farnor demanded.
Edrien's eyebrows rose. ‘His name is Derwyn,’ she replied, with studied calmness. ‘He's the Second of this lodge. And it was he who said you had to be looked after. If I were you, I'd be prepared to answer questions rather than ask them. Are you well enough to get up, or not?'
Farnor nodded, then grimaced as the general throbbing of his body concentrated itself suddenly in his head. ‘Yes, I can get up,’ he said. ‘But only slowly, I think.’ Gingerly he eased himself upright and prepared to swing his legs out of the bed. Then he stopped abruptly and peered under the blankets. When he looked up, he was wide-eyed. ‘Where are my clothes?’ he asked, urgently.
Edrien flicked a glance towards a nearby chair where Farnor saw his clothes, neatly stacked.
'Could you pass them, please?’ he asked with awkward politeness.
Edrien scowled. ‘I'm not your servant, boy,’ she said, heatedly. But she gathered up the clothes and tossed them to him.
'Thank you,’ he said weakly. Then he looked at her expectantly.
'What now?’ she demanded.
'I want to get dressed,’ he replied, making a vague gesture to the effect that perhaps she might leave him, or at least turn around.
Edrien cast an impatient glance towards the ceiling, and turned round. ‘I don't know who you imagine helped to get you into that bed last night,’ she said stiffly. ‘Or helped Bildar with his examination.'
Farnor made no reply, but he coloured violently as he hastily struggled into his clothes.
'I'm ready now,’ he said eventually.
'Splendid,’ Edrien replied caustically. ‘Are you sure you don't want a satchel over your head when you speak to my father, in case he looks at you?'
'Now, listen ...'
'This way,’ Edrien continued, cutting short his attempted rejoinder. It was fortunate that she led the way, as Farnor doubted that he could even have found the door, which lay amid the tangle of roots and was as irregular in shape as the rest of the room. Following Edrien through it, he found himself in a narrow corridor, the walls and ceiling of which were also lined with roots. He had little time to look around however, as Edrien was motioning him forward busily. After a short but rather steep upwards journey they reached another door. Edrien threw it open, and Farnor raised his arm to protect his eyes from the bright sunlight that flooded in.
Edrien doused the lantern and placed it on a shelf by the door. Then she took Farnor's arm firmly and pushed him towards the door. ‘Come on,’ she said.
Eyes screwed tight, Farnor found himself in a wide, grassy clearing, surrounded by trees. Closing the door, Edrien marched off again, with another, ‘Come on.'
'Where am I?’ Farnor asked, as he caught up with her.
'I told you. My father's lodge,’ came the unhelpful reply. Before he could inquire further however, they had reached the edge of the clearing. Edrien stopped by a huge oak. ‘Boys first,’ she said, holding out her hand. Farnor did not notice the taunt in her voice, but turned to see a ladder fastened to the trunk of the tree. As his eyes followed it upwards, it tapered giddily until it was eventually lost in the foliage.
He returned his gaze to the waiting Edrien, and pointed a questioning finger up the ladder. The impatience on Edrien's face faded, to be replaced momentarily by concern. ‘What's the matter?’ she asked.
'Nothing,’ Farnor replied hastily, then, clearing his throat, he asked awkwardly, ‘Does your father live up a tree?'
The impatience returned. ‘Of course he does,’ Edrien replied, crossly. ‘Where else would he live, for pity's sake?’ She stepped past him. ‘Here, follow me.'
Farnor watched in amazement as she clambered effortlessly up the long ladder, for the most part taking two rungs with each step. Hesitantly he started after her. Having, in the past, helped to build ricks and barns and repair wind-damaged roofs, Farnor was not unduly disturbed by either heights or ladders, but this was the first vertical ladder he had climbed and he soon began to feel alarmingly exposed. Despite being aware that his progress was becoming painfully slow, he made no effort to emulate Edrien's light-footed ascent but concentrated instead on ensuring that he had a good hand grip and both feet on each rung before taking the next step.
You're very slow,’ Edrien informed him unnecessarily when he eventually reached the top and, with some relief, carefully stepped on to a wide timber platform. ‘Anyone would think you'd never climbed a ladder before.'
'I'm stiff,’ Farnor replied defensively.
Edrien grunted. ‘This way,’ she said.
The platform curled around the wide trunk of the tree, rose up through a small flight of steps, and then floated out into space to reach what Farnor presumed must be a neighbouring tree. As he stepped on to it, it moved a little. He desperately wanted to ask if it was safe but Edrien was almost at the other side. The thought came to him that she was a lot lighter than he was, but he set off after her in resolute silence, holding very tightly on to the ropes that apparently supported the structure.
Edrien turned and watched him walking across, her head inclined to o
ne side a little. ‘You are stiff,’ she said when he arrived, her voice puzzled and almost sympathetic. ‘Never mind, not far now.'
Nor was it. Another platform carried them round to the far side of the tree and Farnor found himself looking open-mouthed at a door set in its trunk. But was it the trunk? He looked from side to side, and then upwards along the ... wall? ... that housed the door. Where it was visible, it was covered seamlessly in bark, yet surely it couldn't be a tree trunk. It was far too wide. Then he noticed what appeared to be a window set in it. As if to confirm that he was indeed high in the woodland canopy, he peered over the handrail behind him, but he could not see the ground below; only dense summer foliage.
Then he looked around. There were other walls of bark. And there were more windows—and doors! Doors served by platforms such as he was standing on. And there were other platforms too, winding hither and thither between the leafy branches; some wide, some narrow, some slung on ropes, others carried on beams and intricate frames, some, alarmingly, with no apparent means of support whatsoever.
He had little inclination to stand and study this strange scene, however, as its dominant feature was becoming the number of faces that were appearing at the many windows and staring at him with a blatant curiosity that was both embarrassing and disconcerting. For a frightening instant he felt completely disorientated. His mind seemed suddenly to run out of control as if it were searching for something ordinary and familiar on to which it could latch and from which it could measure everything else. Images of his mother and father, and Marna and Gryss, and Rannick and the creature crashed in upon him, cacophonous and confusing. His stomach lurched violently and he felt himself swaying.
