by Roger Taylor
Uldaneth looked at him and then at the mountains. ‘I can't tell you anything that will be of value to you,’ she said reluctantly.
'I think you can,’ Farnor said, quietly but resolutely. ‘You're an outsider, like me, but you know both the Valderen and the trees well enough to be allowed to come and go freely. You've learned a lot about me, but I know nothing about you except that there's a damned sight more to you than meets the eye. Just tell me what you can, teacher, I'll judge its value. You're bound to tell me more than I know at the moment.'
Uldaneth's hand twitched a little, as if she was about to dismiss him, then she pursed her lips and smiled a brief, enigmatic smile.
Farnor sensed an advantage and pursued it. ‘You're here of your own choosing,’ he went on insistently. ‘I'm here because they left me no choice. They say they want to question me, whatever that means.’ Despite his endeavours to remain calm, he bared his teeth angrily. ‘Personally, I'd like to take an axe to them, to be frank about it, but I don't know what—who—I'm dealing with.'
Uldaneth gave a conceding nod. ‘The trees are the trees,’ she said. ‘All I truly know is what I've gleaned from various Hearers through the years.'
Farnor looked at her both doubtfully and expectantly. She turned and began to walk back towards the trees, motioning him to follow her. He took a final look at the mountains, then, tugging the horses away from their grazing, set off after her.
Within a few paces the trees had closed about him, but although the mountains could no longer be seen Farnor could now feel their dark, brooding presence colouring the stillness of the Forest.
Uldaneth was well into her stride again by the time he caught up with her. And she was answering his question. ‘They're very old, the trees,’ she was saying. ‘It's even said that deep in their memories is knowledge of the world that was before this world; before the great heat from which all we know came to be.'
She had an inflexion to her voice that reminded Farnor of Yonas the Teller, but he was in no mood for a fireside tale. ‘I'm not interested in myths and fairy tales,’ he said. ‘I till soil, sow seed, reap crops, tend animals.’ He held out his hands, claw-like. ‘I'm a simple farmer, a practical man. I've simple, practical matters to attend to far away from here and I want simple practical advice about these—things—that'll enable me to get away from here as quickly as possible and get on with them.’ With an effort he forced himself to be a little more polite. ‘I need to know what they want, how they think, how they talk to me the way they do, why in Murrel's name they're afraid of me, and what I can say to make them leave me alone.'
Uldaneth's eyes became cold. ‘Don't mention that name here, or in my hearing again,’ she said with chilling authority. ‘Not until you know Who you're talking about.'
It was only a tiny part of Farnor that bridled and sought to respond to this rebuke, so powerful was it. The bulk of him hastily forced a brief and self-conscious apology out of his suddenly dry mouth.
'As I was saying,’ Uldaneth continued icily and without acknowledgement. ‘They're old beyond our imagining. They're one and they're many, though the distinction's far from clear, not least to themselves, as you've already discovered. As many, they live here.’ She waved her hand at the surrounding trees. ‘In this world. Living, growing, dying, heir to the ills of this world like the rest of us, and for the most part in some harmony with it and its creatures.’ She gave Farnor a stern glance. ‘Certainly more in harmony than we are, for sure.’ She grunted to herself, then continued. ‘As one, they're immortal in a way. They live in the world—the worlds—that are both here and beyond—and between—that the strength they gain here enables them either to reach—or to create.'
Farnor's head started to reel as he clung to Uldaneth's words and tried to make sense of them. He wanted to repeat his appeal for practical simplicity, but she forestalled him. ‘Don't ask me any hows and whys,’ she said. ‘I'm only telling you what I've been told. Make of it what you will.'
He tried to protest, but again she gave him no opportunity.
'You might imagine that I know more, or that you need more,’ she went on. ‘But do you? You sow your seed and you reap the crop that you know must surely grow from it, because it's grown thus always. But, simple farmer, could you lie under the cold sod for a few months and grow into a single stalk of corn?’ Suddenly angry, she seized his hands in a powerful grip, causing him to drop the reins to the horses. Instinctively he tried to jerk free, but as he moved, he found that he was having difficulty in keeping his balance, and could not gain any purchase.
'Could you grow a fingernail on your own, young man?’ she demanded, shaking his hands vigorously. ‘Grow a hair on your head? Water your eyes when the dust blows in them? Sweat when you're hot? Turn your breakfast into the stuff of brains and backsides? No! But you get by well enough without giving any of it a thought, don't you? And doubtless will do for many years yet.'
There was such an ominous crescendo growing through this diatribe that, for a moment, Farnor thought he was about to be cuffed around the ears like a child whose latest offence has unleashed punishment for the last dozen such which were thought forgotten or forgiven. Instead, however, Uldaneth threw his hands down and stalked off.
In some turmoil, Farnor gathered up the horses and hurried after her. As he came alongside, she turned to him again. He flinched. But her anger seemed to have spent itself. This time she patted his arm gently. ‘And some people can do even stranger, more miraculous-seeming things than any of those, Farnor,’ she said. Her gaze seemed to look into his deepest thoughts.
'Me,’ he said hesitantly.
She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suspect so.’ She looked down, as if for a moment it was she who could not hold his gaze. ‘No,’ she said, looking up again. ‘You deserve honesty. You need honesty, if you're going to make the right decisions. I don't suspect, I know.'
Fear suddenly curled around Farnor's stomach. ‘Who are you?’ he asked shakily.
'Just a teacher,’ she replied. ‘Truly. I look, I listen, I learn, and what I learn I pass on to others as well as I'm able.'
'But ...'
'No buts, Farnor.’ She cut across him. ‘Teacher I am. And from what I've seen and heard of late, I've learned enough to know that I should be elsewhere, imparting my knowledge to others. I can guide you most of the way to the valley where the trees are their most ancient, but there we part.'
'I'm frightened,’ Farnor heard himself blurting out.
Uldaneth seemed relieved. ‘I know,’ she said, taking his arm again, though gently this time. ‘It's a small measure of your growing wisdom that you can tell me of it. You'd be a fool indeed if you weren't frightened after all that's happened to you. But you're well founded in your life, and stronger than you know.'
Farnor looked at her, his eyes, full of doubt, searching her face. ‘You'll be burdened with no more than you can bear,’ she said, turning away. ‘Come on, let's be on our way.'
They walked in silence for a long time. The early morning air was damp and clear, and rich with the promise of a fine summer's day. And it was alive with bird song, chiming through golden light.
The two walkers, however, seemed to be oblivious to this great celebration. Uldaneth was bowed and preoccupied, while Farnor was nervous and fretful. Occasionally he would become calm, serene almost, as the ringing, mote-filled sunlight and the soft turf springing under his feet conspired to disperse the dark vapours that wreathed through his mind. Vapours that rose from the fear and rage which was bubbling inside him like some foul broth.
At such times however, he dashed the tranquillity angrily from his mind, though now he felt a sense of vandalism in the act. But it was unimportant. What mattered was to reach the end of this journey, learn about this power he was supposed to possess, and then return south as quickly as he could. The image of the dead Rannick rose repeatedly before him, solid and alluring. He clung to it more tenaciously than ever.
The terrain that Farnor ha
d been travelling over for several days had been much more uneven than that around the more southerly part of the Forest, and he realized now that he had been walking through the foothills that fringed the central mountains. The present surroundings began to emphasize this observation as, increasingly, large rocky outcrops began to disrupt the tree-filled landscape. They opened the leafy canopy to reveal great swathes of blue sky overhead and, at times, the sharp edges of the ever-nearing mountain peaks. The ground also became relentlessly steep. Not that this seemed to distress Uldaneth in any way, for she maintained the same steady pace whether she was walking uphill or downhill.
Then they were on top of a broad grassy knoll, once again above much of the surrounding Forest. A solitary peak loomed above them, its hulking shoulders hiding its neighbours and giving the impression that it stood almost alone amid the Forest. Uldaneth pointed. ‘That way,’ she said.
Farnor looked at her blankly.
'That way,’ she said again, very gently. ‘It'll lead you to the valley of the most ancient.'
'You're not coming any further with me?’ he asked, knowing the answer.
Uldaneth shook her head. ‘I go eastward,’ she said simply. ‘I've urgent tidings to carry now. I can't delay further.'
For a moment Farnor felt desolated. He wanted to take the old woman's hand and implore her to stay with him, to help him deal with these strange ... beings ... that had brought him here for who could say what purpose. But, even as the thoughts came to him, his inner anger rose up and tried ruthlessly to scatter them. ‘Go if you must then, you stupid old woman. But what can possibly be as urgent as my needs?’ it wanted him to shout, but instead he said, ‘I'm sorry. It's been good to have another ... outsider ... to talk to.’ He looked down. ‘And to help me. I wish you could stay with me. Tell me who you are, where you come from—all sorts of things. I think there's a lot of questions I should've asked you, but ...’ His voice tailed off.
'Who I am and where I come from are tales for another time, another place,’ Uldaneth replied kindly. ‘And long tales at that. As for the rest of your questions, there's others will answer them for you when you're ready, have no fear. And you'll answer more than a few on your own.’ She smiled. ‘But don't forget, although seeking answers is the only way to go, the answer to each question is apt to bring two more questions in its wake. There are times when you need to sit on top of a mountain and just gaze around.'
Farnor jerked his hands nervously, uncertain what to say next. ‘Selfish bitch. Leaving me here on my own,’ part of him still cried, though he actually said, ‘Do you want any supplies? Or ... or, one of the horses, perhaps?'
Uldaneth's mouth tightened uncertainly for a moment, then relaxed. She patted the pack pony. ‘I've had many an offer of a fine horse in my time, Farnor, but this is perhaps the kindest.’ She patted the pony again. ‘Thank you, but no. I make better progress on my old two feet than many men do on a horse. And besides, much of my journey isn't through good riding country and I've no burdens that a horse can help me carry.’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘And your need is more pressing than mine.'
Farnor looked over his shoulder towards the gloomy trees that Uldaneth had indicated. ‘How shall I find them?’ he asked.
'They'll guide you from here, I'm sure,’ Uldaneth replied. ‘Believe me, they wouldn't have invited you here to have you flounder about lost.'
'I wasn't invited,’ Farnor's angry inner self muttered.
'What shall I do when I ... meet ... them?’ he asked hesitantly.
'The right thing,’ Uldaneth replied immediately and with great confidence. ‘Just tell the truth as you see it. Whatever it is.’ She paused. ‘And, above all, be yourself.'
Briefly her arms came up as if she were going to embrace him, but then she jerked them back awkwardly and turned the gesture into one motioning him away. ‘Go on now,’ she said briskly. ‘Don't dawdle any longer. Goodbyes don't become easier with time and, in my experience, the quicker they're made, the better.'
Farnor fluttered helplessly for a moment. He'd never known such a parting. Then he turned to the pack pony and began struggling with its load. ‘Well, will you take this, then, as a small gift?’ he said. ‘It's the branch I tried to hit you with. It's a good piece of wood. Strong, straight-grained. I've cut it to length and shaped the ends a little. It'll make an excellent stick for rough ground.'
Uldaneth smiled broadly as she accepted the branch. ‘Yes, this I will take,’ she said. Then she squinted along it knowingly, attempted unsuccessfully to flex it, nodded approvingly, and finally swung it round to land with a menacing smack in the palm of her hand. ‘A good stick is always handy. And they seem to expect one of me where I'm going. Thank you, Farnor. It couldn't have been a finer gift if it had been encrusted in gems.’ Her hand flicked out again, in the direction he was to take. ‘Now, on your way, and don't delay me any further.’ Her voice was hoarse and strained.
Farnor found himself bowing to her awkwardly, then he took the reins of his horse and set off. He turned round after a little way. Uldaneth was still standing there, motioning him on. Her manner was vigorous and confident, but had Farnor been close enough he would have seen a deep anxiety, even fear, in those bright, penetrating tear-filled eyes. ‘Light be with you, Farnor Yarrance,’ he heard her call.
It was a farewell he had never heard before, but somehow the words reached into him and buoyed him up. ‘And with you, Uldaneth Ashstock,’ he shouted back, without knowing why.
Then she turned and stalked off, leaning on her newly acquired stick. Farnor continued on until he was at the edge of the trees. There, he stopped and turned again. Uldaneth was also by the edge of the trees at the far side of the knoll, and she too had turned.
He raised his hand in a final salute, and smiled as he saw the stick raised in reply.
Then both turned and disappeared into the darkness of the Forest.
* * *
Chapter 15
As she entered the room, Marna heard the door closing behind her with the same soft sigh that had accompanied its opening. Momentarily she felt a breeze lightly touch her cheek.
She stepped away from the door and looked around the room. It was circular, and she found that she had emerged from what was a broad pillar at its centre. The long-shadowed light pervading the room was eerie and disconcerting though she realized quite quickly that this was simply because it was sunset. There were arched windows all around the room, and those facing east were displaying a purpling night sky, while those facing west let in the blood red remains of the dying sun from a sky streaked now with thin black lines of cloud. As she looked round, however, she could see no sign of Rannick.
'It's very high up here.'
His voice made her start. She turned sharply towards it, to see Rannick emerging from the other side of the central pillar.
'It's an odd feeling, being high up in a building after having lived all your life in a cottage, isn't it?’ he said, moving over to one of the windows. ‘And quite different from being high up the side of a mountain.'
Marna clutched at the everyday normality in his voice. ‘Yes,’ she replied as casually as she could manage. ‘It does feel strange.’ Then, for want of something to say, ‘And it's always hard to know when to light a lantern at this time of the day.'
Rannick, silhouetted now against the red sky, nodded, but did not speak.
Marna looked around the room again, still searching for something that might help her reach through to the reason for this unwelcome summons. Like the passages through which Nilsson had led her below, the room was an odd mixture of carpeted floor, and grim, grey stone walls, though in places there were pictures hanging. She squinted at some of them intently. And tapestries?
Yet neither pictures nor tapestries were such as might be found anywhere in the village, nor was any of the furniture. It must all have been looted from places over the hill. Once again she felt the alien character of everything about her. It cried out that it did not belong
here. Not because it was unattractive, or ill made—indeed she could see that many of the pieces were extremely fine, and there was an unexpected order, even dignity, about the way the room had been furnished—but because it belonged to others. Each item brought with it to this high tower room the aura of the place from which it had been torn. It resonated with the cries of those to whom it truly belonged.
Marna forced herself to stop shaking. She had more pressing problems than concerning herself with the fate of the unknown people who had unknowingly furnished this place. Again she clung to the prosaic. ‘How in the world did you get some of these things up that narrow stair?’ she asked, running her hand along the delicately carved edge of a large, finely polished table.
Rannick laughed, a sound that was a ghastly mixture of inhuman glee and an all too human relief at being able to speak to end the fraught silence. ‘Nilsson's men have many talents,’ he said. ‘They were just ordinary men pursuing their ordinary skills before they chose the way that brought them here.’ Again the laugh, but this time it was almost totally inhuman. ‘And what they can't provide ...’ He raised his hand in an airy gesture. ‘... We find elsewhere.’ He turned and looked out at the fading red sky. ‘There are many, many things over the hill, Marna,’ he said. ‘You've truly no idea.'
'I know there are villages and towns,’ Marna responded, a little defensively, in spite of herself. ‘And even cities. Like the capital. Where the king lives.'
Rannick nodded slightly. ‘Yes,’ he said, though seemingly to himself. ‘The king. And his capital. And his great army.’ There was scorn in his voice. ‘But even beyond that,’ he went on. ‘There are lands and peoples. Spread across the whole world.'
'Oh,’ Marna replied dully.
Rannick turned back towards her. ‘Lands and peoples that will be mine, Marna,’ he said softly but with great intensity, his hand coming forward and closing, claw-like, to make a bony, knuckled fist.
His face was in complete shadow, while her own, Marna knew, would be clearly visible even in the fading light. Desperately, she fought to keep her inner alarm from reaching her eyes. She let some of her fear force her face into a puzzled frown. ‘I don't understand,’ she said, walking to the window adjacent to the one where Rannick was standing. She could see part of the battlements below, but very little of the courtyard. And beyond, she could see far down the valley, familiar shapes and landmarks fading into the shadows of the western mountains. It was, as Rannick had said, an odd feeling looking down from this high yet confined vantage.
