by Roger Taylor
'I think I'll do as you suggest, Bildar,’ he said, as soon as he could trust himself to speak without his voice trembling. ‘If someone can take me back to where I was found, I'll head south and see what happens.'
Bildar nodded an acknowledgement, but did not speak.
As Farnor opened the door, he noted again the sword hanging behind it. Edrien remained standing where she was, looking at Bildar intently. After a moment he motioned her on her way with a flick of his head.
'Thank you, Bildar,’ Farnor said, emptily, as he stepped through the doorway.
* * * *
As he followed Edrien along the platform, Farnor tried to make casual conversation, but she looked preoccupied and, apart from occasional warnings about various hazards on the way, she said nothing.
Finally they reached Derwyn's lodge, Farnor flushed and puffing heavily.
'Your bags are all here,’ Edrien said coldly, as they entered. ‘But I'll have to speak to my father before you go. You'll need someone to take you to where you were found.’ She pointed to a chair. ‘Just wait here. I'll go and find him.'
Farnor sat down, his outward stillness belying his mounting inner agitation. Resolutely, he refused to think about the voices that he had heard, about trees, about Movers, about anything to do with this place, except that he must leave, and leave quickly.
He had come to this strange place and fallen among these strange people by the purest chance and, while he was grateful for the rest and shelter he had received, he belonged back in the valley, where his enemies were—where his vengeance lay. The image of his slaughtered parents returned to him horribly—his father limp and broken, his mother bloodied and startled.
He drove his fingernails into the palms of his hands as, in a flickering instant, he found himself reliving all that had happened since that day, concluding with his panic-stricken flight from the valley. But that would not happen again. Whatever else might happen, he would not flee again. He would not betray his parents twice. Next time he would stand and take whatever he had to take until Rannick was dead at his feet.
The image of the dead Rannick displaced that of his dead parents. He nodded to himself. Yes. That image he would keep before him constantly, until it eventually became a reality. And nothing, nothing, would be allowed to interfere with his pursuit of that ambition.
As if to challenge this resolution, memories returned to him of sitting safe and warm amid an excited group by a crackling fire, listening to Yonas, his ringing tones bringing to life vivid tales of great warriors who had made similar vows. Warriors who had valiantly stood their ground against all odds, despite cruel, perhaps fatal wounds, and who had yielded to nothing until they had slain all their enemies.
You're living in the spurious glory of a child's tale, the memories sneered. And with this taunt came, quite unexpectedly, the cold realization that, stripped of Yonas's dramatic telling, the reality could be only pain and horror. Had he ever seen two dogs fight and the winner walk away unscathed? No. Had he ever seen any conflict in which both participants did not suffer? No.
And, more profoundly, had he ever learned or achieved anything worthwhile without toil and effort and, sometimes, much inner distress? No.
So then, it would probably be with Rannick—no—so it would be with Rannick. He wasn't living in some child's tale. His intention was the intention of a clear-eyed adult. He could see through the magical facade of Yonas's telling and he could see what was truly required. And he would do it.
As he sat waiting for Edrien to return, his aching body felt like a testament to this renewed resolve, and he twisted his clenched fist into a large and painful bruise on his leg.
And if Rannick is too strong? persisted a lingering doubt. He felt a darkness gathering in him as the pain from his leg spread through him.
I will do what I have to do, he vowed.
The darkness overwhelmed him.
I shall kill Rannick for what he has done, no matter what the cost.
And if that cost is your death...?
Silence.
It will be of no great importance. There is nothing left for me now, anyway.
In the stillness that followed this stark conclusion, he stood up and, limping a little, walked slowly over to the open window on the far side of the room. He stared out for some time at the brilliant, shimmering greenery. ‘Wave away, branches, leaves,’ he said. ‘Whatever you are. Whatever you think I am. I have duties elsewhere.'
Then he added menacingly, ‘And don't seek to defy me.'
* * *
Chapter 6
'Who are you talking to, Farnor?'
Farnor spun round with a start. The speaker was Derwyn. ‘No one,’ he answered, then, with a vague shrug, ‘Well, myself, I suppose.’ He looked at Derwyn's face, but he could read nothing there.
'You sounded quite grim,’ Derwyn said.
Farnor shrugged again, but did not reply.
'Edrien told me about your problems at Bildar's,’ Derwyn went on. ‘I'm sorry about EmRan. He's always apt to act before he thinks, but that was inexcusable. I'll speak to him about it.'
Farnor made to dismiss the incident—he was anxious to sever all ties with this place—but Derwyn continued. ‘And I'm sorry for not telling you about them,’ he said, nodding towards the treescape beyond the window. He smiled awkwardly. ‘It never even occurred to me that you wouldn't know about them. I suppose we must seem very strange to you.’ Yet, to Farnor, the very ordinariness of the remark gave the lie to it. Almost in spite of himself, he smiled.
Derwyn leaned on the windowsill beside him. ‘Most important of all, however, is that Edrien tells me that you're anxious to leave,’ he said.
Farnor straightened up. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘There are things that I've got to do and I'd like to set off as soon as possible.'
Derwyn nodded.
'But not until I've repaid you for your kindness and hospitality,’ Farnor added hastily. ‘I'm afraid I've very little in the way of things that might be of value to you, but if there's anything you'd like me to do—any work—I can sharpen a good edge if you need any doing.’ Out of the corner of his eye he saw Edrien and Angwen come into the room. He glanced at them briefly. Edrien was stony faced, but Angwen smiled at him warmly as she introduced herself. Farnor shuffled his feet awkwardly.
'Sit down, Farnor,’ Derwyn said, motioning him back towards the chair that he had just left. ‘Don't concern yourself about any kind of repayment, you owe us nothing. But I'll be honest. I hoped that you'd stay a little longer with us. Few of us—few of the Koyden-dae, certainly—have had the chance to meet someone from outside and it seems a shame to let such an opportunity slip away, without a word. Unless it's some truly pressing matter that draws you back, can't I persuade you to stay for a little while? Just so that we can talk. Learn a little about one another. I know Bildar's said that you're not seriously hurt, but I'm sure a little more rest wouldn't go amiss after what you've been through. And your horse would certainly benefit from it. It was in an even worse state than you when we found you.'
Farnor looked round the room anxiously. Edrien was sitting with her arm resting on the windowsill, staring out into the greenery. Farnor noticed a squirrel on a nearby branch gazing into the room curiously. Angwen too, sitting nearby, was gently scrutinizing him.
The reference to his horse had pinioned his immediate hopes however. After its unrestrained headlong chase through the forest it would almost certainly be in need of considerable rest.
Indeed, he reflected, it was a matter for some wonder that it had not fallen and injured them both badly. And he could scarcely ask to borrow one of Derwyn's for his homeward journey. He had, after all, no intention of returning.
But despite Derwyn's plea, he wanted to be away from here. Some instinct told him that each day he spent here would make it harder for him to leave; would soften his grim resolve. ‘I really do have matters that I must attend to,’ he said apologetically. ‘I'll have a look at my horse. Perha
ps I'll be able to walk it most of the way.'
Derwyn nodded again, but did not speak.
Farnor's eyes drifted around the room once more. He was unwilling to meet Derwyn's gaze directly. Edrien was still staring out of the window and Angwen was still looking at him, as if she were expecting him to continue. ‘Perhaps your Hearer will come back when I've gone,’ Farnor offered, for want of something to say.
'Perhaps,’ Derwyn agreed, adding casually, ‘But who's to say? Who knows what he's Heard? Or what they want of him? Who knows anything about Hearers, really?'
There was another difficult silence.
'And perhaps EmRan won't be so much trouble, if I leave,’ Farnor said.
Derwyn chuckled, as did Angwen. ‘EmRan will always be trouble,’ he replied. ‘It's in his nature. But don't you fret yourself about that. I don't think there's any problem there that can't be handled, one way or another.'
Despite his anxiety to be away, Farnor pursued the matter. ‘But losing your Hearer's a bad thing for you, isn't it?'
Derwyn's face became more serious. ‘If we've lost him, it's not good, to be sure,’ he replied. ‘But he only went yesterday and I for one am not going to start fretting about him yet.'
'But if he doesn't return?’ Farnor insisted.
'If the lodge is struck by lightning, if this, if that,’ Derwyn answered, with an expansive shrug. ‘We'll carry on somehow. It won't be the first time a lodge has lost its Hearer unexpectedly. I'll concede I never expected to lose ours, but they'll provide.'
Farnor let the last remark pass. ‘I still feel I'm responsible in some way,’ he said. ‘And that everything will get back to normal when I've gone.'
Derwyn looked at him curiously, as if searching for something unusual about him. ‘You probably are the cause of Marken leaving, Farnor,’ he said. ‘But that's not to say it's your fault. Or that you could've done anything other than you did.'
'I don't understand,’ Farnor replied.
'Nor I,’ Derwyn said bluntly. ‘That's another reason why I'd like to persuade you to stay for a day or so.’ He leaned forward, his face concerned. ‘Something very strange is happening, Farnor,’ he went on. ‘Something that involves us all. I'll not press you about staying, or talking about anything you don't wish to talk about, but we know that you have deep and terrible troubles. Troubles which, I suspect, came suddenly, without warning. And we in our turn find ourselves suddenly called out to go in search of you, an outsider, when you were injured. I can scarcely believe that, even now. Then our Hearer suddenly decides he must find a quiet place.’ He shook his head. ‘I appreciate our ways are not your ways, but you must understand that these are matters of great strangeness and import to us and that your affairs and ours are linked in some way.'
'I don't know what to say, or what I can do,’ Farnor said unhappily. ‘I know nothing of trees and Hearers.’ He let out a noisy sigh. ‘Didn't Marken say anything about why he had to leave?'
Derwyn pursed his lips. ‘Nothing helpful,’ he said. He frowned a little. ‘He said that something portentous was going to happen—or had happened. He couldn't even tell which. And that he had felt a sense of expectation amongst them for some time. Something to do with—someone unusual—someone from beyond. But all very vague.'
Farnor turned away from him.
Derwyn finished his tale. ‘I asked him how long he had sensed these strange feelings and he said that he didn't know, but it was suddenly as if he had known of them for many years, and for some reason hadn't noticed them.'
Farnor shook his head. ‘I can't help you with any of this,’ he said, looking restlessly about the room again. Abruptly he blurted out, ‘My village was attacked by ... bandits ... and I ran away, in a panic. That's all that happened. I'm certainly nothing special. I don't know anything about Hearers and Movers and talking trees. I'm just a farmer's son—a farmer. I must get back to my land. And my people.'
At the word Movers, Angwen raised her head slightly and caught her husband's eye significantly. Derwyn opened his mouth to say something then appeared to change his mind. ‘Don't upset yourself, Farnor,’ he said. ‘I didn't mean to pry into your grief. It seems that we've all got questions that can't be answered.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘Edrien, take him down to the stables, would you, and show him where his horse is.’ He smiled at Farnor. ‘Let's confine ourselves to practical matters, farmer's son. When you've examined your horse, let me know what you want to do. If you still want to leave, we'll take you to where we found you and go south with you as far as we can.'
When Farnor and Edrien had left, Derwyn turned to his wife.
'He Hears,’ she said. She held out her hand and snapped her fingers. The squirrel, which had been silently watching the proceedings, scuttled a little way along the branch and then with two swift jumps, landed on the window sill. Angwen picked it up and held it in front of her face. Its nose twitched and Angwen wrinkled hers in imitation. ‘He Hears, doesn't he, little one?’ she said. ‘That's why you wouldn't come in, isn't it? You could tell. A strange, black-haired Hearer is someone to be long watched before you come too close, isn't he?’ The squirrel ran up her arm and sat on her shoulder. Angwen offered it a piece of fruit from a bowl on the table. The squirrel examined it shrewdly, then, turning it over a few times with its front paws, began nibbling it. Angwen lifted the animal down and put it back on the window sill.
Derwyn looked unsure. ‘You're certain?’ he asked.
'You're the one with the instinct, hunter,’ Angwen said mockingly. ‘I'm supposed to be the logical one, but even I can feel that he's tormented, driven. There's a great deal that he's not told us about. Perhaps he can't face it himself yet.'
Derwyn nodded. ‘He couldn't have heard anyone talking about Movers, could he?’ he said. Angwen did not reply.
'What shall we do?’ he went on.
There was a tiny flurry as the squirrel scratched itself vigorously. Then it leapt out into space and, with a series of bounding jumps was soon far away from them.
'As you said, let him go,’ Angwen replied simply, watching the retreating squirrel.
'But ...'
'Let him go,’ she repeated. ‘The alternative is to hold him here in some way. And the mood he's in that'll probably mean locking him up somewhere. He's got problems enough without that.'
'I wish I knew what they wanted,’ Derwyn said fretfully. ‘I wish Marken was here.'
'So do I,’ Angwen said. ‘But he isn't, so all we have is our own judgement.'
'We can't lock him up, for pity's sake,’ Derwyn mused. ‘I suppose we'll have to let him go.'
'Don't sound so reluctant about it,’ Angwen said, half laughing. ‘After all, they let him in, and if he wanders off then they'll decide where he goes. Perhaps for some reason they're just using us to give him shelter while he recovers. Perhaps they need him to leave to be able to use him.'
Derwyn shook his head. ‘There's more to it than that, I'm sure. Only yesterday you were reminding me that they don't normally interfere with our affairs. How much less likely are they to interfere with the affairs of an outsider?'
'Unless, as Marken said, he's special,’ Angwen replied, significantly. ‘And he is a Hearer, I'm sure.'
Derwyn sat down and rested his head on his hand. ‘Someone special,’ he muttered. ‘Forest protect me. The ordinary's difficult enough to deal with.’ He gave a theatrical sigh. ‘I wonder if I can persuade EmRan to take over as Second.'
Angwen laughed, then wound an arm around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. Derwyn rested his head on her arm. ‘I'll see what the lad wants to do,’ he decided. ‘Then when that's been cleared up I suppose we'll have to have a lodge Congress about it.’ He unwound his wife from about him. ‘Though I don't think that's going to do much more than add more unanswerable questions. And EmRan's going to be a real pain.'
Angwen patted his head, patronizingly. ‘There, there. You'll live, I'm sure,’ she said, insincerely.
* * * *
On the Forest floor, far below, Edrien and Farnor were nearing the stables. Farnor was walking quite slowly.
'What's the matter?’ Edrien asked.
'Just my legs,’ Farnor admitted reluctantly. ‘I've never done so much climbing in all my life.’ He bent forward and rubbed his throbbing thighs and calves.
Edrien watched him patiently, though, like all Valderen, a climber since she was a child, she was at a loss even to begin to understand his discomfort. Echoing her mother's conclusion, she blurted out abruptly, ‘It's very strange. You're a faller if ever there was one, Farnor. I don't think you've got two drops of Valderen blood in your veins. But I think you're a Hearer. I think you Hear the trees and that they've brought you here because of that.'
Farnor remained stooping, head lowered, apparently concentrating on his weary legs. ‘Is it far to the stables?’ he asked, affecting not to have heard her remark.
'No,’ Edrien replied, simply. ‘Why don't you answer my question?'
'You didn't ask one.'
The reply came so quickly that Edrien momentarily reverted to her childhood and stamped her foot angrily. ‘Are you a Hearer?’ she demanded.
'I'm not Valderen. You said so yourself,’ Farnor replied, wilfully evasive. He looked around. ‘Where are the stables? I want to see how my horse is.'
With an effort, Edrien tried a softer approach. ‘Farnor, having the gift of Hearing is a great honour—a very special privilege. One that enables a man or a woman to help and guide the people of their lodge ...’ Her voice faded as she met Farnor's unreadable gaze. She made to say something else, then changed her mind and turned away sharply.
The trees under which they were standing were widely spaced and very tall. High above, Farnor could see walkways and platforms winding in and out of the canopy, and, here and there, there were dense shadows in the foliage that he presumed were lodges. For a moment he had a vision of having to lower his horse from some towering eyrie. Edrien's voice dispelled it. ‘Come on, we're nearly there,’ she said flatly, setting off again.
