by Roger Taylor
And sometimes, the trees sang.
Though he met no other Valderen on the way, he noted now their presence in many things to which previously he had been oblivious. He came upon carvings unexpectedly. One in particular struck him forcibly: a great bird, twice his own height, wings widespread, had been carved from the crown of a dead tree in the middle of a clearing. Its glistening, varnished eye fixed itself on him so realistically as he dismounted and walked around it in wonder, that he was almost afraid to go near it for fear it would suddenly lunge down at him. And there were many others: strange man-like creatures with comical faces squatted in families on low branches; large insects peered at him from the undergrowth; faces were carved into trunks, and sometimes he came across shapes, polished and smooth and resembling nothing, yet beautiful both to look at and to touch. And too there were trees whose branches had been shaped and formed in ways that could not have been natural but which yet celebrated life and nature.
Frequently he touched individual trees and talked to them. It was a strange experience, quite different from his contact with their collective voice. They were at once prosaic and intriguing, full of local gossip about matters that he could not begin to understand—subtle images involving branches and roots, sunlight and warm darkness, and, with unmistakable and quite disconcerting delight, seeds!
And yet they were full of tales of distant places and distant times as well. ‘They made a magical carving of me in a great castle far away from here, once,’ was a common tale, though he could make little sense of that either except that it was obviously a source of some pride.
Then, quite unexpectedly, one bright morning, he was riding into Derwyn's lodge. Voices called out to him from above and people began to appear; some walking and running towards him, others bouncing perilously down ladders, touching scarcely one rung in ten. He reined his horse back to a walk as his worries crashed in upon him. ‘Is Derwyn here?’ he asked the first person he came to.
Before he received any answer, EmRan appeared by his side. ‘What have you come back for?’ he demanded. ‘You caused enough trouble the first time'
Farnor's mood curdled into violence at this greeting. He rounded on EmRan angrily. ‘Why did you prevent the Congress from helping Derwyn when he wanted to go south and find the route to my valley?'
EmRan started at this unexpected response, then bridled, but Farnor gave him no opportunity to speak. ‘I told him it was dangerous,’ he went on. ‘And that he should take the best men he could. And travel carefully and quietly.’ He leaned down towards EmRan and his pent-up concerns of the last few days hissed out. ‘It was no expedition for old men, women and girls, you meddling buffoon ...'
'Don't let Marken, Angwen and least of all Edrien hear you say that.'
Farnor spun round. Standing on the other side of his horse was Derwyn, his arms extended. Farnor almost tumbled out of his saddle in his relief. He took his erstwhile host's arms in the Valderen manner.
Derwyn smiled. ‘You still have a faller's grip, Farnor, but it's good to see you.'
'It's good to see you, Derwyn,’ Farnor replied. ‘I was so afraid for you when Uldaneth told me what EmRan had done.'
Derwyn chuckled. ‘EmRan did nothing I shouldn't have expected,’ he said. ‘It was my fault. I was so preoccupied with you and Marken and everything that I just didn't look what I was doing.’ He put his arm around Farnor's shoulder. ‘Besides, did you take us for fools, young man?’ he asked mockingly. ‘Did you think we'd go charging around blindly like fleeing deer? You told me clearly enough that it was dangerous.'
Farnor waved his arms vaguely. ‘No ... of course not,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘But ...'
Derwyn released him. ‘It's all right,’ he said. ‘I understand, and I thank you for your concern.'
A little later however, having exchanged the crowd gathering on the Forest floor for the smaller one which had gathered in Derwyn's lodge, Farnor told his hosts of the events that had driven him from the valley. And, predominantly at Marken's pressing, he told something of his encounter with the most ancient amid the great trees around the central mountains.
There was an almost reverent silence when he had finished. ‘Your story answers many questions, Farnor,’ Derwyn said. ‘I'm glad you felt able to tell us now.’ He nodded towards Marken. ‘We'd been told that you'd changed greatly. I hope you'll not be offended if I say it's a considerable improvement.'
Farnor smiled, a little sadly. ‘No,’ he replied simply. ‘I met some rare teachers on my journey.’ He leaned forward and, massaging his legs, added ruefully, ‘But none who could teach me to climb your ladders easily.'
The atmosphere in the room lightened. ‘But what did you find on your journey?’ he asked.
'Well, we'd very little trouble finding the trail you'd made,’ Derwyn replied, to some laughter. ‘And we were able to follow it until we came to the entrance to your valley.'
'And?’ Farnor prompted.
'And nothing,’ Derwyn replied, with an unhappy frown.
'Marken said that all he could Hear was alarm and confusion, and that it was getting worse. And I wasn't happy about the place, anyway. There was a bad feeling about it. Really bad.’ He hesitated. ‘And we heard something—your creature, probably—howling one night. Only the once. But it was horrible. It seemed to cut right through me.’ He shivered and finished his tale rapidly. ‘So we just marked the trail and left.'
'Can you take me there?’ Farnor asked.
Derwyn looked at him carefully. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But do you really want to go? Are you still intent upon vengeance for your parents?'
Farnor lowered his eyes. The room darkened as a cloud drifted in front of the sun. ‘A little,’ he said eventually, looking up again. ‘But not like before. I've better ways to honour my parents now. I want to live. But if I'm going to have a life, then I have to go back. I have to do something to free the valley of Rannick and Nilsson and the creature.’ He paused and looked round at the other watching faces: Angwen, Edrien, Marken, Bildar, and a yellow-haired young man he had seen at the Synehal but whose name he did not know. ‘I don't want to. To be honest, I'm very frightened. But it seems ... that I have ...’ He looked at his hands, ‘the same ... gift ...’ He almost spat the word, ‘as Rannick, and that I'm perhaps the only person who can stop him.’ He looked up at Derwyn. ‘And if I don't, if someone doesn't, then he'll go on to hurt more and more people.'
Derwyn reached out and took Farnor's arm. ‘You'll have all the help we can give you,’ he said quietly.
Farnor smiled ruefully. ‘I'd like to ask you for a few score armed men,’ he said. ‘But it'll be help enough if you'll show me the way.'
Derwyn leaned back in his chair and looked a little smug.
'You'll have plenty of hunters at your back, Farnor,’ he said. ‘There's well over a score of them just come down from Marrin's lodge alone. They were travelling close behind you all the way.'
Farnor looked at him in disbelief. ‘Close behind? No. I heard no riders,’ he said.
'I should think not,’ Derwyn exclaimed.
Farnor frowned. ‘I don't understand,’ he said. ‘If they were coming here, why didn't they ride with me?'
Derwyn looked away from him a little uncomfortably. ‘We hear what we hear from our Hearers. And we listen carefully. But we're responsible for our own actions and we're a cautious people. We like to find things out for ourselves, as well.’ His eyes were full of concern. ‘And there was such darkness in you when you left, Farnor. Such anger, such hatred. After what I—we all—felt in your valley, I had the same fear as they did about you, despite what they'd told Marken about their judgement. I couldn't know whether you were a victim of some evil—or its vanguard. So I asked Marrin's people to give you every courtesy and help, but otherwise to keep away from you until we'd spoken.'
Farnor felt a spasm of anger forming, but it faltered and he gave it no voice. ‘And now?’ he asked.
'Now we've spoken, and the doubts are gone
,’ Derwyn replied.
'All of them?’ Farnor twitched inwardly as he tried to snatch back the question.
Derwyn laughed softly and shook his head. ‘To be without all doubt is not to be human, Farnor,’ he said. ‘But I'm as free of them as I can expect to be.’ He glanced at Angwen and patted his stomach. ‘And apart from what my stomach tells me, the difference in you when you rode back into the lodge was visible to everyone.'
'Not to EmRan,’ Farnor retorted.
'EmRan's EmRan,’ Derwyn said. ‘He invariably stands in his own light. And he did himself no favours by denying me the lodge hunt. A lot of people were very angry with him when they found we'd gone as family.’ He chuckled to himself then waved a dismissive hand. ‘But that's by the by. It's just ...'
Farnor however, was not listening. The reference to the hunt had thrust an ominous thought into his mind. His eyes widened in alarm. ‘Why were Marrin's hunters coming here?’ he asked. He gripped the arms of his chair and his voice became urgent. ‘It's not been here, has it? Into the Forest, hunting?'
Derwyn shook his head reassuringly. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘But we're Valderen, Farnor. We protect and provide for the Forest, as it protects and provides for us. Now we know for certain that some menace lies to the south, we must seek it out. Hunters have come from all over to join us.’ He laughed. ‘Even EmRan's not spoken out against it.'
Farnor, however, was gazing about him anxiously. There was a self-satisfied—excited, even—quality in Derwyn's manner that disturbed him in some way. ‘But you can't just hunt the creature,’ he said. ‘It's like nothing you've ever imagined.’ Memories flooded over him and his words began to tumble out. ‘Why do you think the trees themselves are frightened? You mustn't go after it as if it were just another—fierce animal.’ He tapped his head. ‘In all its evil traits, it's human. It thinks. If you enter its territory—my land—then it will hunt you. It attacked and routed a column of Nilsson's men. Hard fighting men, all armed. It ...'
Unsettled by Farnor's passion, Derwyn held up his hand to stop the flow. ‘We're in the same position as you are,’ he said forcefully. ‘We can't do otherwise. We must protect the Forest or we're nothing.’ He became defensive. ‘Besides, we're not children. We've experience in hunting every kind of ...'
'You heard its voice. You heard it howl,’ Farnor said significantly, cutting him short.
Derwyn pursed his lips and frowned. An uneasy tension filled the room. ‘Yes, you're right,’ he replied eventually. ‘I did hear it howl. And I've no desire to meet whatever made that noise. But my feelings don't come into it. I told you. We can't do otherwise. No matter what that creature is, we must use what skills we have to track it down, just as you must track down this Rannick.'
Farnor looked round at the watching faces again. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said unhappily, after a moment. ‘I didn't mean to offend you. But I know what this thing's like. It's no natural creature. It sends terror before it.’ His voice fell. ‘It feeds on terror. Don't let anyone go anywhere alone ... or even in small groups. And never unarmed.’ He snatched a phrase from one of Yonas's tales. ‘Stack your night fires high and ring your camps with guards for a great army is seeking you.’ The seriousness of his tone removed any incongruity from his words.
'We'll do as you say,’ Derwyn replied simply. ‘And we'll ride with you until we have to part, if you'll allow us.'
Farnor met his gaze. ‘You'll go your own way, no matter what I say,’ he replied. ‘But I'd be lying if I said I'd be anything other than glad of your company.'
* * * *
For the rest of the day Farnor wandered about the lodge with Edrien as his guide. At Edrien's prompting they ate at Bildar's, where the old Mender insisted on giving Farnor, ‘A quick look-over. Just to set my own mind at ease.'
'Thanks a lot, for that,’ Farnor said to Edrien acidly as they left. ‘Was that your father's idea, or your stomach's?'
Edrien smirked.
Then, at Farnor's request, they climbed up to Marken's giddy eyrie. When they arrived, Marken was leaning on the handrail, staring out over the vast treescape below. Roney was perched on his shoulder. ‘Thinking about giving him flying lessons?’ Edrien asked irreverently.
Marken gave her a narrow look, then lifted Roney from his shoulder and held him out to her. ‘Take him for a walk for a few minutes,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to Farnor.'
Edrien placed the bird gently on her shoulder. ‘Take him for a walk!’ she muttered to herself, affecting a withering sneer. ‘Fat old sod.’ Roney eyed her beadily. ‘You're in the pot, come solstice, you know,’ Edrien added, but Roney turned away disdainfully and flapped his wings, ruffling her hair.
Marken smiled as Edrien walked off. ‘I think Angwen must have been frightened by a gall wasp when she was carrying that one,’ he said reflectively. ‘She's got a natural charm that's really quite ... elusive.’ Then he chuckled. ‘Mind you, she's changed lately. Watches her tongue a lot more. I think your arrival made her think about a great many things she'd taken for granted before.'
Before Farnor could offer any comment on this he found himself being scrutinized intently. Taken aback, he ventured, ‘I suppose you want to know what it was really like, meeting the most ancient?'
'Oh yes,’ Marken replied passionately, but without lessening his scrutiny. ‘But not now. We can talk on the hunt.'
Farnor had a momentary vision of Marken among the Valderen hunters, being scattered like fallen leaves by the creature just as Nilsson's men had been.
'What's the matter?’ Marken asked.
Farnor looked away from him. ‘Nothing. Nothing much,’ he said, then, ‘I'm frightened. Frightened for you, and everyone who's going on this hunt.’ He tightened his grip on the handrail and shook his head violently, before turning his gaze back to Marken. ‘I shouldn't be, should I?’ He echoed Derwyn's phrase. ‘After all, you're not children. You're experienced hunters and I'm not, and nor were Nilsson's men. I must trust. I must trust.'
Marken took his arm.
'It's not easy, is it?’ Farnor said, looking out over the trees again.
'No,’ Marken replied simply. ‘Trusting the ability of people you're fond of to face danger is profoundly difficult, but we all have to do it sooner or later.’ He nodded pensively to himself as if he had reached a decision. ‘I'm truly glad to see that Edrien's not the only one who's changed.’ Farnor turned back to him. ‘Your eyes are still haunted and full of fear, but where there was anger—perhaps even madness—now there's determination—resolution.’ He looked as if he wanted to say much more, but he simply patted Farnor's arm paternally.
* * * *
The next day, after a pleasant but slightly self-conscious breakfast with Derwyn and his family, Farnor was led down to a Forest floor awash with people and horses. And rain. A fine steady rain.
As Derwyn led him from group to group of waiting hunters, he did his best to cope with the confusion of introductions. There were not only given names, but lodge names and family names, elaborate lineages, convoluted relationships and, not infrequently, trades became involved in some way: climbers, slingers, rootmen, splicers, and many others, equally unfamiliar. In the end he was utterly bewildered and confined himself to nodding and smiling and holding his arms tight against his sides to minimize the effect of the many crushing greetings he was receiving.
After each meeting, however, he noted that the hunters faded into the surrounding trees, and when eventually all the introductions were complete and he was riding towards the place where he had first been discovered, he was surprised to find himself accompanied only by Derwyn, Marken, Melarn, Edrien and Angwen. ‘Where is everyone?’ he asked.
'They're here,’ Derwyn said, waving an arm airily.
Farnor peered earnestly into the dripping trees. Here and there he caught sight of an occasional rider, but he could see nothing of the great crowd that had gathered in Derwyn's lodge. ‘They're very well hidden,’ he remarked.
Derwyn merely smiled, smug
again, and the party continued in silence.
Farnor examined his companions as they rode on. Melarn's bright yellow hair held his attention. He had never seen hair that colour, ever, even though many of the valley people were fair-haired. He cast his mind back to the gathering of the hunters. With their bobbing heads, red, yellow, brown, and every rich and subtle combination of these colours, they had reminded him of wind-ruffled autumn leaves. It brought home to him vividly for the first time how strange he must seem to them with his black mop. He was smiling at his whimsy when Marken brought his horse alongside.
'Now you can tell me what it was like, Farnor,’ he said. ‘Hearing the most ancient. I've heard that the trees there are truly huge and that the silence is almost tangible.'
Farnor looked at him. The Hearer's brown eyes were full of youthful excitement and curiosity. ‘Give me your hand,’ Farnor said, extending his own. Marken's hand shot out and seized it enthusiastically. ‘Show him,’ Farnor said silently to the trees, closing his eyes, ‘Reach out. Learn and teach.'
There was a brief hesitation and then abruptly the fear pervading the surrounding trees washed over him. He felt Marken's grip tighten in alarm and he tightened his own in a reassuring response. ‘Show him,’ he insisted. And as if he were some great centre to which all must be drawn, the deep silence of the most ancient entered him, setting aside the fear. Deliberately Farnor filled his mind with his memory of the soaring splendour of the great trees and the awe which he had felt in their presence. Marken made no sound as they rode on.
After a timeless interval, Farnor felt the Hearer's hand slipping away from him, and gradually he became aware of the Forest about them. He looked at Marken. The old man's eyes were shining with tears. Farnor remained silent.
Throughout the rest of that day, Farnor and the Valderen hunters moved unseen and silent through the trees, drawing inexorably further away from the heart of the Forest, and nearer to their unknown and fearful destination.
