Valderen [The Second Part of Farnor's Tale]

by Roger Taylor

  A searing pain swept through him.

  'This is too dangerous, Far-nor.’ The voice of the Forest, though distant, was determined. ‘You are not as we are. You must return.'

  'Are you all right? Are you all right?'

  Farnor's eyes focused with agonizing slowness on Marken's anxious face. ‘Yes, yes,’ he stammered, his voice alien in his own ears. ‘Did you Hear their calls?'

  Marken nodded. ‘Fire,’ he said. ‘And something worse. What's happening, Farnor?'

  Derwyn emerged out of the circle forming around them.

  'I must speak to you right away,’ Farnor said, but as he stepped forward he staggered. It seemed to him that his feet were rooted deep into the earth, and their sudden moving caused him to cry out in pain. But only the trees heard the cry. Farnor's fellow Movers, knowing him to be a faller, merely caught him. He shook them off roughly. ‘I'm all right. It's just cramp,’ he lied.

  'Come into my tent,’ Derwyn said, taking his arm firmly.

  With an effort, Farnor cleared himself of the residue of his strange transformation and forced his feet forward carefully. He was grateful for Derwyn's supporting hand however, for the first few paces.

  He offered no explanation of what had happened as he halted by Derwyn's tent. He simply blurted out, ‘Nilsson and his men have come into the woods and are cutting and burning the trees. We must ...'

  He stopped. The effect of his announcement on Derwyn and those around him had been staggering and immediate. First disbelief, then an unbelievable fury coloured all their faces, and suddenly there was uproar. For a moment he was afraid. It dawned on him that he had not the remotest measure of what the trees truly meant to these people. Derwyn, patently struggling to control his own emotions, stood in front of him and closed a powerful hand about his shoulder. ‘Cutting and burning, you say?’ he asked. ‘Our Forest?'

  'There's fire,’ Marken intruded by way of confirmation of what Farnor had said. ‘I can feel it. And something else.'

  Farnor nodded. ‘It's ... it's Nilsson and his men,’ he managed to say, increasingly concerned about what he might have inadvertently unleashed.

  There was barely a flicker of reason in Derwyn's ferocious gaze as he asked, ‘How can you know that?'

  Briefly Farnor sought for an explanation, but there were no words that could begin to encompass the experience. ‘I know,’ he said simply. Yanking himself free from Derwyn's hand, he stepped away. Though he had no idea what forces he had let loose with his rash announcement, he knew that it was more important than ever now that he give voice to his thoughts on what must be done next. ‘Whatever's happening ahead, we must deal with the creature first,’ he shouted determinedly into the din. ‘Its lair is within a day's ride, I'm sure. We must ...'

  'We must deal with these intruders,’ Derwyn said grimly. ‘The animal can wait.’ He began giving orders to the people standing about him.

  'No!’ Farnor cried, seizing his arm. ‘Listen to me! It's asleep now. It may be possible to find and kill it before it wakens. If it wakes, then ...’ He waved an arm over the now hectic camp. ‘... everyone's life here will be at risk from it.'

  Derwyn looked at him intently. It was a strange gaze, full of a terrible passion, but Farnor could see indulgence and patience vying there. There was a forced calmness in Derwyn's voice when he spoke. ‘I feel your concern, Farnor, and I respect it. But you don't understand what it is to be Valderen. We must rid the Forest of these intruders before we do anything else. On your own admission, you're no hunter. I've no doubt that this ... thing ... this creature ... is something very dangerous. Or that it gave you a severe fright when it chased you into the Forest.’ He tapped himself on the chest. ‘But we are hunters. We know about animals. Truly. There's none as bad and treacherous as man, and we'll deal with those first. Then we'll return for the creature, have no fear.'

  Farnor released him and looked around frantically as he felt events slipping away from him. Somewhere, ill-formed and unclear though the thoughts were, he knew that Derwyn and the others were using this unexpected development to take refuge from the strangeness of this whole eerie, alien hunt. There was, after all, nothing strange in protecting the Forest from the depredations of outsiders. It was the Valderen's ancient duty, and even though they had not been called on to exercise it for countless generations, it was none the less a fundamental measure for them of their worth as a people.

  Farnor's every instinct told him that he could not overcome the momentum of this ancient will, but he could do no other than try. ‘If your old tales are anything like ours, with battles full of glory and excitement, then this will be nothing like them,’ he shouted, again seizing Derwyn's arm as he was turning away. ‘Nilsson's men aren't casual intruders. They're brutal fighting men, and they're doing whatever they're doing to fulfil some purpose of Rannick's. If you go against them like this, rashly, they'll hack you down without a thought.’ He pointed up towards the mountains. ‘And if that thing smells blood, it'll awaken. You could end up with Nilsson's men and Rannick to your front, and that creature at your back.'

  Derwyn faltered before Farnor's grim purposefulness, but the deeply ingrained history of his people carried him forward. ‘We'll drive these people out, Farnor, return to hunt the creature, and then help you to deal with this Rannick,’ he said, though the reassurance in his voice was denied by the impatience with which he pulled himself free from Farnor's grip.

  'In the name of sanity, tell them!’ Farnor roared silently at the trees.

  'The Valderen are the Valderen,’ came the reply. ‘As you are you. Your pain is that of a Mover. It is beyond us.'

  Farnor swore at them viciously and turned to Marken. ‘Tell him, for pity's sake,’ he said, waving towards Derwyn's retreating back as he walked through the camp issuing instructions.

  'I can't,’ the Hearer replied, his face pained. ‘I'm torn myself. I understand what you say. I feel the truth of it. But I'm Valderen. I ...’ His voice faded and he made a helpless gesture.

  Farnor looked around desperately. He saw Angwen and Edrien standing nearby, watching. Edrien's face was distressed, but Angwen's had become like a mask and was beyond any reading by him. He went over to them.

  'Do Valderen women fight?’ he asked Angwen brutally, his eyes glaring into hers.

  'We hunt,’ she replied, very quietly, touching the bow that Edrien was carrying.

  'Fight?’ Farnor insisted, baring his teeth and raising a clenched fist in front of her face. ‘Kill people?'

  Angwen shook her head.

  'You've a few hours to school yourselves to the idea then,’ Farnor went on, his voice harsh. ‘You and the other women, pack this camp, arm yourselves, and wait. If things go badly for your husbands ... and they probably will ... be prepared to kill as many of the pursuers as you can. Show no mercy; it's not the time, and they don't deserve it. But above all, make sure that some of you get back to your lodges and spread the word of what's happened here, because this will be only a beginning. Do you understand me?'

  Angwen nodded slightly, but her face was still unreadable. Edrien laid a shaking hand on her mother's arm. ‘And what will you do, Farnor?’ Angwen asked, her voice almost icily calm.

  Farnor put his hand to his head, then dropped it limply. He looked from side to side, as if for some way of escape. His thoughts were in turmoil. How could things have gone so horribly wrong so suddenly? ‘I don't know,’ he said eventually.

  'You seem to know what my father should be doing, though, don't you?’ Edrien burst out furiously. Angwen raised a gentle hand to silence her.

  Farnor glowered at her, a vicious response forming in his mind. Then he felt Angwen's eyes on him, and Edrien became a daughter—someone little different from himself in that soon she might well be cruelly, pointlessly, orphaned. He turned on his heel and strode off without replying.

  * * *

  Chapter 24

  As soon as Gryss had left them, Marna turned to Aaren. ‘Take me with you,’ she sa
id.

  'No,’ Aaren replied unequivocally and without hesitation. ‘It's too dangerous.'

  'Here is dangerous,’ Marna retorted. ‘Everywhere in the valley's dangerous now, especially for me. I can't go with Gryss and the others, can I? And there's nothing useful I can do here.'

  Aaren's reply was impatient. ‘Just stay here. Stay hidden until it's all over.'

  'The hell I will,’ Marna blazed. ‘This is my valley, woman, and most of what you know about it is because of me!'

  'No! You're not trained. You couldn't ...'

  'I killed that man.’ Shame filled her at the boast, but she held Aaren's gaze.

  'You got lucky. Be told. Stay here. You're no use to us.'

  The shame became a livid rage as Marna took in this remark and its scornful utterance. Furiously she swung her hand up to strike Aaren's face. A contemptuous flick deflected it effortlessly and she suddenly felt Aaren's hand closing about her throat. The pressure was not great, but almost immediately she felt everything around her begin to swim and darken. Somehow she lifted her hands to take Aaren's wrist, though there was no strength in them. ‘My valley, my people, you bitch,’ she heard herself saying in the distance.

  Then the darkness was gone and two strong arms were wrapped around her, supporting her. ‘I'm sorry, Marna,’ Aaren said, her voice hoarse and unsteady. ‘You're right, and I'm wrong. It is your valley and it's not up to me to stop you fighting for it. We'll find something useful for you to do. You can come.'

  Her embrace fell away. Marna straightened up and looked at her erstwhile antagonist. Her anger vanished at what she saw. ‘You're a long way from home, and frightened, aren't you?’ she said with a sudden, heartbreaking insight.

  Aaren's lips tightened briefly, then her features composed themselves and she raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘And you, young woman, are too much like I used to be.’ She became purposeful. ‘But understand, as we told you before, if you come with us you keep quiet and do exactly what you're told, immediately and without question.’ She looked at Marna uncertainly. ‘I hope I'm not going to regret this. Let's hope your luck holds.'

  The next few hours saw the two women making a stealthy journey through the woods and across the rainswept landscape until they were in the woods to the north of the castle. There they were met by Engir, Levrik and Yehna.

  Engir threw a quick glance at Marna and spoke sharply to Aaren in their own language.

  'I've come to help,’ Marna said, before Aaren could reply. Engir started in surprise. ‘I don't need to know your language to understand that remark,’ Marna went on. ‘And I've had this argument once. I mightn't be trained but I'm not stupid. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it, because I'm not leaving.'

  There was an awkward pause, then Levrik said to her, ‘You can mind the horses. We might need them quickly when we come out and it'll be pitch dark then. It could save a lot of time, not to mention our necks.'

  Marna was both surprised and pleased by this intervention from the most silent of the group, but despite this feeling of gratitude there was still a quality about the man that disturbed her.

  His suggestion was accepted however, and some time was spent introducing Marna to the horses and giving her detailed instructions for their tending, followed by further instructions on how to respond to the different signals that she might hear once the attack had begun. For the remainder of the day the four continued their own preparations: checking and rechecking their weapons and equipment, and repeatedly going over their plan and its various contingencies. Then there was a strange, tense interlude when all was completed and there was nothing to do but wait until the night came and they could venture forth.

  It stopped raining, and the air filled with rich, damp forest perfumes and the sound of the soft irregular dripping of the rain still held in the leaves above. As she watched her new companions, Marna wondered at their quietness and stillness, though she sensed that only Levrik was truly relaxed, truly here. Some part, at least, of each of the others was elsewhere. She herself felt as though she were holding her breath continuously.

  Unable to cope with the waiting, she wandered over to Aaren and spoke to her softly, asking about the attack they planned, even though she had heard it described a dozen or more times. Aaren seemed quite willing, even anxious, to speak about it yet again. She concluded almost in a whisper, ‘You know what you've got to do, but if things don't appear to be working out as we intend, don't be afraid to use your own judgement.’ She paused and looked straight at Marna. ‘I trust it. And so does Levrik.'

  Marna had no reply. She glanced over at the motionless figure of her other sponsor into this mysterious group. ‘He frightens me,’ she heard herself whispering. Then she was clamping her hand over her mouth as her mind raced to find an apology.

  Aaren looked at her. ‘So he should,’ she said, a strange flatness in her tone. ‘As should I. As should all of us.’ The light caught her eyes, making them glint as she peered through the leafy shade, and Marna's hands began to shake. Aaren reached out and took them. ‘Above all, Levrik should frighten you. But in what we do, believe me, Levrik guarding your back is worth a score of the rest of us.'

  Unnerved by the turn of the conversation and anxious to end it, Marna staggered into another blunder. ‘How did you lose the end of your finger?’ she asked.

  There was a slight pause, and then Aaren's noiseless laugh reached her. A maternal hand patted her face. ‘A friend bit it off,’ came the reply, and the soft laughter renewed itself.

  'A friend!’ Marna exclaimed softly.

  'There are times when you get to know who your real friends are, Marna,’ Aaren said, still laughing. ‘But that's enough. I'll tell you some other time. When this day's behind us as well.'

  Marna held her peace, far from certain what folly she might commit next. For some time she heard Aaren chuckling to herself, but even in the failing light she could see that the woman was nervously squeezing the end of her damaged finger.

  Then, unseen behind the grey clouds, the sun dipped behind the mountains and darkness began to seep into the valley. There was a terse command from Engir, and with a last-minute check that Marna knew her signals and what she was to do, the four were gone, soft and silent as shadows.

  Marna stood for some time in the deepening gloom, then, carefully checking that the horses were securely tethered, she cautiously followed a thin guideline down to what was to be her post at the edge of the trees. In the near distance, she could make out the castle. As on the previous night, torches in the courtyard were illuminating the walls of the various towers, and from Rannick's eyrie the sickly and unnatural light pulsed erratically.

  She shivered, though whether it was the light from Rannick's window, the evening dampness, or the cold fear that was tugging at her stomach, she could not have said. Now she must watch and wait and, above all, as Aaren had emphasized at the last, ‘Be aware.'

  * * * *

  Farnor dropped down on to a grassy bank and wiped his forehead. He had been walking uphill steadily for some time and, despite the rain that had started, he was sweating and his shirt was sticking unpleasantly to his back.

  Somewhere below, he knew that Derwyn and the Valderen would be advancing through the woods towards Nilsson and his men. He rested his head in his hands and tried to shake off his vexation at what he still saw to be the folly of this action. His anger, he knew, would serve no useful end, and, he suspected, might well cloud his judgement; indeed, it might well already have done so. In so far as I've got any judgement, he sneered to himself as he recalled his part in what had happened.

  Seeing the futility of his appeals to Derwyn, he had stood for some time watching the Valderen frenziedly preparing to leave, then he had packed his own few things, taken his two horses, and quietly slipped away. He must stay with the realization that had come to him in the night. The creature, Rannick and Nilsson were enemies to both the Valderen and the people of the valley, and they must be seen as such. If Derwyn, for whatev
er reason, could not accept the threat that the creature posed, then to quarrel with him beyond a certain point was merely to serve the enemy's ends. He, Farnor, must act so as to make good what he saw to be his ally's mistake. He must kill the creature on his own.

  And so far, all had been with him. The presence of the creature hung in the damp air like a miasma, but it was still dormant, as if it were sleeping or, more sinisterly, absent in some other way.

  Farnor let his feet guide him. As well as the presence of the creature, he could feel the trees around him, resolutely watchful. In the distance he could sense the pain that Nilsson's assault was causing them and he knew that they were deliberately keeping it from him. Occasionally however, a thin, piercing shriek would tear through to him, making him stop in his tracks and stiffen in distress as it faded into the interminable distance. He remained silent, though. Their true pain was beyond his understanding, and nothing he could say would lessen it. All that he could do, he was doing, and this they knew and accepted.

  He looked up at the darkening sky and frowned. Soon it would be pitch black and he would be wandering about the woods with only a small sunstone lantern to guide him. Not only would he not be able to see very far, he would also be very conspicuous. He swore silently to himself, then stood up and set off again. He must make what progress he could, while he could, though that in its turn begged the question as to what progress was, for he had no specific idea where he was going.

  Occasionally, as he had started to do on his journey back from the most ancient, he would touch a tree to see if, as individuals, they could offer him any guidance. But their responses were weak and varied, and he sensed that much of whatever spirit lay in these ... homes ... had already withdrawn, and that his touch tended to lure them back and was thus painful. After a while he stopped.

  Eventually he came to the edge of the trees to find himself on the arm of a great cwm which swept away from him into the gloom, dark and ominous. In what was left of the light, he could just make out a rocky slope rising up from the tree line.