by Roger Taylor
'Steady, boy!’ A hand seized him and shook him vigorously. He looked round to see Edrien, her face shocked. ‘What in the Forest's name is the matter with you?’ she said. ‘Haven't you had enough falling for one day?'
Farnor did not answer, nor did he make any effort to free himself from her unexpectedly powerful grip.
Edrien shook her head in bewilderment. ‘You look awful,’ she said, again almost sympathetic. ‘Do you want to go back to the root room and rest some more?'
The vision of the return journey, across the platform and down the ladder, took away most of what was left of Farnor's speech. ‘No,’ he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head violently. ‘I'm fine, really. I Just felt a little dizzy.'
'In you go then, if you're sure.’ Edrien opened the door by which they were standing and ushered him through.
The inside of Derwyn's lodge proved initially to be even more disorientating than the outside. Not because its shape followed the eccentric contours of the exterior, but rather because it did not. In many ways, Farnor felt that he could have been stepping into nothing more unusual than the entrance porch of an ordinary cottage. A large and exceptionally well-appointed cottage, he had to concede, but an ordinary cottage nonetheless.
He had no time to debate however, as Edrien's guiding hand shepherded him along a short passageway and thrust him through an open doorway. Two men were sitting by an open window. They both stood up as Farnor entered. He noticed immediately that the one who stepped forward to greet him was obviously Edrien's kin. There was a look about the eyes and the jawline that was quite distinctive. The similarity ended there, however, as the man's face was lined and weather-beaten, and, though oddly light on his feet, he was heavily built, in marked contrast to Edrien's slight frame. Farnor looked at him uncertainly, his mind too full of questions to formulate any one of them clearly.
The man smiled. ‘My name's Derwyn, young man,’ he said pleasantly, pulling round a chair and gently easing Farnor into it. He indicated his companion. ‘And this is Bildar, our Mender. He's been looking after you since we brought you back.'
Farnor half rose to greet the other man, but a quiet gesture returned him to his seat. ‘Are you feeling a little better now you've had a chance to rest?’ Bildar asked.
'He's very wobbly,’ Edrien said, before Farnor could reply. ‘He seems to have quite lost his tree legs.'
Farnor scowled at this intervention, but Derwyn's smile broadened. ‘I've a suspicion that perhaps he's never had tree legs, Edrien,’ he said. ‘Strange though that might sound.’ He sat down again and turned his attention back to Farnor. ‘But first things first. Are you hungry, young man? And do you have a name?'
Farnor hesitated, almost expecting Edrien to answer for him again. ‘I'm a little thirsty, sir,’ he said eventually. ‘And my name is Farnor, Farnor Yarrance.'
'Farnor Farnor Yarrance,’ Derwyn echoed. ‘Two names the same, that's unusual. Is that always the way with your people?'
Farnor looked flustered. ‘No sir,’ he said, hastily. ‘It's just Farnor Yarrance. Farnor is my given name, Yarrance is my family name.'
Derwyn nodded slowly and thoughtfully, as if he were having a little difficulty taking in this information. ‘Ah, a sirename,’ he decided. ‘And do you have a stock and branch name, or a tree dubbing?’ he went on, expectantly.
Farnor gaped.
'Apparently not,’ Derwyn concluded, after a brief but awkward silence. He glanced up at his daughter. ‘Ask your mother to join us, would you, Edrien? And bring us something to drink.’ He glanced at his companions.
'Just water for me—and for Farnor, I think,’ Bildar answered. Derwyn nodded, and Edrien left the room, a hint of indignation in her posture.
Derwyn and Bildar smiled at one another knowingly.
Farnor glanced about the room. There was nothing about it to indicate that it was built in a tree, high above the ground. Except for the occasional mysterious bulge here and there, the walls were quite straight and plain. Strangely, to Farnor's eyes, the ceiling was not lined with beams but was flat. It was also decorated with a complicated pattern of leaves and branches. In places, Farnor thought that he could see birds and tiny animals worked into the ornate pattern.
He recollected himself with a start. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said, flustered. ‘I've never seen a room with a painted ceiling before.'
Derwyn nodded. ‘Where've you come from, Farnor?’ he asked abruptly.
Farnor lifted a hand as if to point, then after gazing round futilely for a moment, lowered it again. ‘From the village,’ he said, vaguely. ‘But I don't know where it is from here. I'm afraid I don't know where I am.'
'How did you come here, then?’ Derwyn went on.
'I ... I ... rode north,’ Farnor replied, stammering unexpectedly. As he spoke, he felt waves of alarm passing through him. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms about himself.
'Are you all right?’ he heard Bildar asking.
He nodded. Then he shook his head. ‘No. Yes. I don't know,’ he said uncertainly.
Bildar was by his side, a cool hand feeling his forehead. Gradually the surge of panic receded into the depths from whence it had come. ‘Yes, I'm all right now—I think,’ Farnor said, after a moment. ‘I'm sorry, I don't know what ...’ His voice tailed off.
'You've had some kind of a nasty shock, I'd say,’ Bildar said, sitting down beside him. ‘But whatever's ...'
Some pent-up wildness within Farnor was released. ‘Shock!’ he heard himself crying out, his voice cracking with an almost childish incredulity. ‘My parents murdered, my home burned, me beaten like a dog—and then pursued by ...’ He wrapped his arms about himself again and began to shiver violently as some other, darker compulsion welled up inside and silenced him. Gritting his teeth, and driving his fingers painfully into his arms, he forced himself to stop trembling.
Derwyn and Bildar, both standing by his side now, were looking at him in horror. Derwyn's arm was extended to warn Edrien, who was standing with another woman in the doorway, not to enter.
'He has no fever. Nor any contagion that I can find,’ Bildar said, in answer to the unspoken question on Derwyn's face. He touched his own temple discreetly. ‘But he seems to be appallingly troubled. We must be patient with him. I think perhaps we can do nothing but tend him until he can find the strength to speak of what's happened.'
'Don't talk about me as though I weren't here,’ Farnor said angrily.
A flash of reciprocal anger lit Derwyn's face, but Bildar laid a restraining hand on his arm. ‘I apologize,’ he said to Farnor, before Derwyn could speak. ‘It was ill-mannered and thoughtless of me. A Mender's way, I'm afraid. But you'll understand, I'm sure, that you've come to us as mysteriously as if you'd dropped out of the sky. Almost like something out of an ancient tale. Your appearance and your speech tell us that you're not Valderen, or even of the Forest, and suddenly you talk of the most fearful happenings. We're concerned for your pain, as we would be for one of our own, and we're concerned for what your pain might mean for us, if evil things have driven you from your home and land, Farnor Yarrance.'
Farnor put his head in his hands but did not reply.
Derwyn frowned thoughtfully, then crouched down in front of Farnor. ‘Tell us what you can, when you can, Farnor,’ he said. ‘You may stay in our lodge until your body's truly rested, and your spirit's more at peace.'
Farnor looked up sharply, his face riven with conflicting emotions, greatest amongst which was anger. Gradually however, he seemed to gain control of himself again. ‘Thank you, Derwyn,’ he said, his voice subdued. ‘I seem to be full of dreadful thoughts and feelings that I've never known before. I'm sorry. I can't stay, I have nothing ...'
Derwyn rested a hand on his arm. ‘For such time as you need to recover yourself, you'll be our guest, Farnor,’ he said. Then he straightened up and affected a heartiness which, in truth, he did not feel. ‘I've no doubt that as you get better we'll find some chores to keep you occupied.'
> Farnor nodded dully.
Derwyn indicated his daughter. ‘I'll not ask you any more questions now, Farnor. I should've let you rest more, you're obviously still too distressed. I'll leave you in Edrien's charge.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘You're not used to lodges—homes—like ours, are you?’ he asked.
Farnor shook his head.
'Incredible,’ Derwyn said softly to himself, then, ‘Well, ask Edrien if there's anything you want to know, but don't wander off without her. And do as she tells you. That way, you should come to no harm.'
He beckoned Edrien into the room and, taking her to one side, spoke to her softly. ‘Watch him carefully, listen to him, and learn what you can about him—without actually questioning him, that is. He's probably more likely to confide in you than in old hollow trunks like me and Bildar.’ He glanced back at Farnor, who was sitting motionless with his head bowed. ‘For all he looks a bit odd, he seems to be a well-set-up lad. I'd say he's been a hard worker in his time, judging by his hands. But even I can tell he's broken inside in some way. I fancy he'll need a lot of help and a lot of patient tending, so keep a rein on that acid tongue of yours, my girl. Do you understand?'
Edrien nodded. ‘I think so, Father,’ she replied, tartly. Then she went over to Farnor. ‘Is it true you've never seen a lodge in a tree before?’ she asked bluntly.
Farnor looked at her suspiciously, but saw that the question was sincere. ‘Yes,’ he replied.
Genuine amazement filled Edrien's face. ‘I'll help you with the ladders and the ways, then,’ she said. ‘I never realized ...'
Derwyn laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Go with Edrien now,’ he said to Farnor. ‘It's growing dark. She'll find somewhere for you to sleep tonight, and tomorrow she'll find you a room of your own and show you around. Then perhaps we can have another talk.'
No sooner had Farnor and Edrien left, than Derwyn's concern showed on his face, and he started to pace up and down. The woman who had accompanied Edrien came into the room. Her movements were soft and fluid and seemingly quite without effort. She sat in the chair that he had been using. ‘You can stop that before you start,’ she announced, with a purposefulness markedly at odds with her gentle demeanour. ‘There won't be a leaf left on the tree if you carry on pounding up and down like that.'
Jaw set, but making no reply, Derwyn sat down by the window and leaned on the sill, his head on his hand. The setting sun threw the Shadows of the branches outside on to his face, deepening its already well-defined furrows. ‘What do you make of it all, Angwen?’ he asked. ‘Have we taken a cuckoo into our nest?'
The woman laughed softly. ‘It'd be a rare bird that could throw Edrien out of anywhere,’ she replied. ‘That black hair makes him look strange, but from what I've just seen and from what little she's told me, he seems a fragile kind of a soul.'
Derwyn nodded. ‘My impression, too,’ he said. ‘But ...’ He stood up and walked over to his wife. ‘... somehow he's cost us our Hearer and, impressions or no, I want to find out a great deal more about him, and as quickly as possible.’ He sat down opposite his wife and turned to Bildar. ‘How long?’ he asked simply.
Bildar shrugged. ‘I've no idea,’ he replied. ‘What he's said should give you some clue to the state he's in. What was it? His parents murdered! His home burned. Burned, Derwyn.’ He gave a slight shudder. ‘And then something about being beaten and pursued, just as we'd worked out for ourselves. He's been through some fearful ordeal, and I doubt he's Edrien's age. All I can suggest is that we wait, and in the meantime keep an eye on him. I'll have another look at him tomorrow, but as far as I can tell there's nothing wrong with him physically that time won't put right. I think we'll have to be very careful about how we question him, though.'
Derwyn looked unhappy. ‘You may well be right,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘But, apart from the disturbance that Marken was talking about, it worries me that something might be happening beyond, that could affect us. Suppose whoever was pursuing him returns to the search. And the people who murdered his parents and burned his home. What if they come looking for him?'
Bildar made no reply.
Derwyn went on, his expression becoming increasingly troubled. ‘Or suppose he's a criminal of some kind, fleeing from lawful pursuit?'
'That's not what you feel, is it though?’ his wife asked, her eyes fixed on his face.
'No,’ Derwyn replied. ‘All I feel is that an injured sparrow has fallen into our care, but ...'
Angwen smiled and her manner became mocking. ‘First a cuckoo, now a sparrow,’ she said. ‘What next, Derwyn? An eagle messenger from one of the cloud lands? A white swan from the snow mountains? Or perhaps the raven from the Great Castle of Light?'
'Stop that,’ Derwyn demanded, impotently, with a jabbing finger. ‘This is serious.’ But his scowl had become a reluctant smile.
'Of course, my dear,’ Angwen replied, agreeing completely and conceding nothing, as was her usual way. ‘But of the many things he might be, I can't see him being a criminal, can you?'
'He might be,’ Derwyn insisted. ‘How can we tell? Just because he's hurt and fragile looking?’ His eyes widened. ‘He's got a temper, and he's shown it already.'
'And you haven't, I suppose?’ Angwen retorted.
'That's different,’ Derwyn replied defensively.
Angwen raised her eyebrows, mocking again.
'You're not helping, Gwen,’ Derwyn spluttered in exasperation.
'Yes, I am,’ his wife replied simply. ‘You've been fretting about this boy ever since you found him, instead of thinking. You're trying to do too much, too quickly, and you're not stopping to look at the obvious.'
Derwyn's eyes widened in feigned surprise. ‘And what obvious is that, my dear?’ he inquired, sitting back and affecting an expression of rapt expectation.
Angwen leaned forward towards him. ‘They'd never have let him in if there'd been any great evil in him, or if any such evil would have been drawn after him,’ she said, quietly and seriously.
Derwyn sighed noisily and nodded. ‘Marken said more or less the same thing,’ he conceded. ‘I suppose you're right.’ His face relaxed somewhat. ‘Perhaps I have been a little too ... agitated ... about this business so far.’ He paused, and his eyes became distant. ‘But, seeing the lad lying there, with his strange clothes and his black hair,’ he grimaced slightly. ‘He really did look like something out of an old tale. And now this business with Marken.’ He shook his head. ‘Gone to find a quiet place, for mercy's sake. Where does that leave us? I've heard of that kind of thing happening to Hearers but I scarcely gave it credence. I certainly never thought it'd happen to us, to Marken. This is his root lodge.'
This time it was Angwen who sighed. She rested her chin on her hand pensively. ‘Well, we'll have to see what he has to say when he comes back,’ she said after a moment.
'If he comes back,’ Derwyn said significantly. ‘That's the problem, isn't it?'
'He'll be back,’ Angwen said.
'You seem quite confident about that,’ Derwyn said, looking at her earnestly. ‘Most of the stories I've ever heard about Hearers wandering off to find a quiet place have involved them never coming back.'
Angwen did not reply. Instead she began slowly twisting and turning her hands, bending and straightening her long fingers, and apparently studying them in great detail. Derwyn watched her in silence. Angwen moved now as she had when they had first fallen in love, and through the years he had never tired of watching her subtle, elusive grace. He had never seen the like in any other woman. Still it touched the young man housed inside him. And too, he knew, that there was no pointless vanity in her present examination; she was not looking at her hands, she was ordering her thoughts. Angwen had many kinds of grace.
'Marken's well rooted,’ she said eventually. ‘But that's not what will bring him back. He'll come back because they want him to. They protected the boy in some way, they drew Marken and thus you to him in a quite unprecedented manner. And there are othe
r lodges round here that could have served the same end, aren't there?'
Derwyn pursed his lips. That thought had not occurred to him.
'But when the boy's safe, Marken suddenly senses confusion all around him. Their confusion, as much as his own. Confusion that he thinks might have been rumbling on perhaps even for years. And he's got an inquiring mind, Derwyn. His every fibre would have wanted to stay here and learn about that boy. I don't think he simply walked away. I think he was drawn away.'
'They want to tell him something,’ Derwyn said, on an impulse.
Angwen nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, simply. ‘I think so. Marken, the boy, us, we're all at the centre of this. They wouldn't have let the boy in on some whim, would they? Nor chosen Marken to search him out, nor had him brought here. And, from what both Marken and the boy said, I think they may well have turned away his pursuers.'
She paused and continued looking at her hands. When she spoke again she was almost whispering. ‘Think, Derwyn. We live in harmony with them, but it's they who are the stronger and the older, and we who are really the outsiders. They've little or no need of us. They respect us, perhaps, or they fulfil some ancient obligation, who can say? But they aren't as we are, and generally they leave us to our own destinies.'
Derwyn's brow furrowed a little.
'You know it's so,’ Angwen replied. ‘Many's a child wandered off to perish, and many's an injured hunter bled to death, where a whisper from them would have found them.'
Derwyn grimaced. Angwen's clarity of vision was sometimes difficult to deal with. ‘A cold respect,’ he could not help saying.
Angwen looked at him sadly. ‘But it is so,’ she said. ‘And how could it be otherwise? Either they interfere with our lives or they don't. And if they did, what would we be then? Clinging parasites, useless and draining? Noisy pets? Either way, as captive as if we were bound in cages. Yet this time they did interfere. More than we've ever known.’ She nodded her head conclusively. ‘They have some need of this boy. This boy who isn't even Valderen. And he in his turn needs us if he's to survive here.'
