by Roger Taylor
‘I understand,’ Farnor said. ‘So it is with us also. But your fear clouds our vision. Though they do not know it, it touches the hearts of the Valderen and darkens them, weakens them. You must be our ally or you aid our common foe.’ He spoke sternly. ‘Prepare yourself for fire, or accept the pain of leaving and go from your homes here, now.’
There was a long silence. Marken glanced nervously at Farnor, uncertain about the consequences of his making this unexpected demand so resolutely.
‘We accept your rebuke, Far-nor,’ came the answer eventually. ‘We can do no less than you do. We are with you. We shall prepare ourselves for fire.’
That evening, as they camped, Farnor spoke to a gathering of the hunters and told of his discourse with the trees. He was listened to with great attentiveness and there was much head nodding. ‘There is a different feeling in the air, something that’s not just the moun-tains and these fringe trees,’ was the consensus.
Farnor was pleased with what he had achieved as he lay down in his tent that night, though he found being the focus of the Valderen’s attention whenever he spoke, disturbing.
When he woke the following morning he felt re-freshed and alert, although at the edges of his mind were vague, troubling images. They slipped away from him as he tried to recall them, vanishing into the clamour of the awakening camp.
Throughout the day, the group moved on as noise-lessly as before, but in better heart. Yet the watchful silence that now pervaded the trees was unsettled. ‘What’s the matter?’ Farnor asked eventually.
‘The power grows,’ came the reply, with undertones that once again verged on panic.
And then, like an elusive but unpleasant smell in the air, Farnor sensed the presence of the creature. He reined his horse to a halt and looked about him carefully. He felt part of him reaching out to touch the creature, but somehow he restrained it.
The creature was sleeping, or in some other way dormant. He must not touch it. It must remain thus.
Derwyn looked at him questioningly, but did not speak.
Farnor edged his horse over to him. ‘I think we may have to go our separate ways soon,’ he whispered. ‘Move quietly from here, and take great care. We’re in its territory, for sure, though it’s not hunting at the moment.’ He took Derwyn’s arm and gripped it powerfully. ‘I can’t tell you too strongly. Don’t underes-timate this thing,’ he said. ‘It’s no wild boar or bear. It’s human malevolence made into tooth and claw, and far more savage than anything you’ve ever known. It’s a thing of nightmare. It’ll kill you and those with you with greater ease and far greater relish than a fox kills chickens in a coop if it’s given the slightest chance.’ Then, for some reason he did not understand, he said, ‘Expect to be afraid, but don’t fear your fear.’
Though the message was not new to him, Farnor’s intensity disturbed Derwyn as much as his forthright manner surprised him. He made a gesture and the hunters began to string their bows and untip their lances.
And then they were moving again.
Despite Farnor’s warning, however, nothing unto-ward happened during the remainder of that day, nor during the following night, although a little while after he had first noticed it he began to sense the presence of the creature constantly. Again, he felt himself restrain-ing an urge to reach out to it. That night, without comment, Derwyn placed an extensive guard about the camp.
‘You must warn us if it wakes,’ Farnor instructed the trees. An unspoken acceptance filled his mind.
Knowing that the trees would watch unsleeping for any stirring by the creature reassured him greatly as he lay alone in his small tent. But despite this, and though fatigued from the day’s riding, he was unable to sleep. As he drew inexorably nearer to his own land and the source of his troubles, so the need to make clear and definite plans became more pressing. Yet, still he could not; at least no more than he had been able to do hitherto. All he could do was hide in the forest, watch the castle and wait for the time when Rannick would emerge alone again to ride north and…
Then, for the first time, he realized that the goals which he and the Valderen were pursuing were inextricably linked. That such an obvious fact had not occurred to him before chilled him and brought him upright, breathing shallowly. What else had he missed? Not for the first time in the quiet of the night, he asked himself what he was doing here. He felt again the eyes of the listening Valderen watching him, trusting him, relying on him. Men and women older than he. It was frightening.
As he lay back again, he searched instinctively for an excuse for this negligence. Throughout his journey to the central mountains and back, his hesitant advice to Derwyn had been locked tight into his mind. Guard your southern border. Protect yourself. In his thoughts had been images of defence; images of an attack being repelled by a static, impenetrable barrier of some kind; people, traps… whatever. Indeed, it seemed to him, such ideas pervaded the whole thinking of the Valderen themselves, with their talk of the fringes of the Forest and outsiders.
Yet these people were hunters. It could not be in their nature to tolerate persistent danger from an animal. A threat of the moment might be averted by flight, or noise, or fire, and was acceptable; but a further threat – an expression of wilful intent – was surely a death sentence for the offending animal.
And, of course, it was death that they intended for the creature. Perhaps it was the fact that it had scarcely been voiced in so many words that had kept the consequences from presenting themselves clearly before him until now; had kept him thinking, in so far as he had thought about it at all, that he and they were merely riding together: they to seek out the creature with a view to keeping it from the Forest, and he to seek out Rannick.
But of course, Rannick and the creature were effec-tively one. To attack either would be to bring the other down in furious response. He swore angrily at himself for his foolishness in not appreciating this earlier. ‘Obvious, obvious, obvious,’ he muttered to himself. Then abruptly, and somewhat to his surprise, he became calm and resolute, and oddly relieved, as if something had just fallen into place.
It was, after all, only a matter of tactics. The affair was no longer one of his personal revenge. As he had told the trees, they all shared a common enemy and it did not matter who defeated which, just so long as the enemy was defeated. His eyes closed.
He must discuss this with Derwyn in the morning. The obvious… he clenched his fists at the word, then used it again… the obvious thing to do would be for the Valderen to seek out and, if possible, destroy the creature, and then await the arrival of Rannick. He yawned. He must discuss this with Derwyn… in the morning… no, immediately. Even as he made this decision, however, he fell asleep.
Nevertheless, this same train of thought was still with him when he woke the next morning, and he was still dressing himself as he walked sleepily across to Derwyn’s tent with the intention of discussing it. He stopped suddenly as a jolting tremor of panic ran through him.
Fire!
The fear in it jerked him so violently into wakeful-ness that he almost stumbled even though he knew immediately that the response was not his own.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked silently.
‘Movers. Fire. Felling,’ came the immediate re-sponse. It was a mixture of one and many voices and it was full of fear and pain. And was that screaming in the distance?
‘Marken!’ Farnor roared across the gentle hubbub of the waking camp.
‘Save yourselves,’ he said to the voices with a calm-ness and authority that surprised him. ‘But show me. Take me there.’
‘But…’
‘DO IT!’
And on the instant, he was transformed.
There was darkness. Or rather, there was no sight. Nor was there hearing, nor touch. But what had been these things was now a myriad other senses, each telling him of the many worlds about him. He was at once vast and but an infinite part of that vastness. And where that infinite part lay, the pain lay also. The terrible pain.
And the deeds of the Movers. And their will. That unmistak-able will: callous, indifferent, killing…
And there were many threads within it. A great many threads. Some dull and lifeless, others sharp…
Nilsson!
The part of the Forest that was Farnor recognized that thread woven among the will of the Movers. It was Nilsson who had entered to wreak havoc amongst the… homes.
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 confirma-tion 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 deter-minedly 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 under-stand 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 moun-tains. ‘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 purposeful-ness, 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 reassur-ance 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 bru-tally, 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 un-readable. 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 said.
‘No,’ Aaren replied unequivocally and without hesi-tation. ‘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.’