Farnor ft-1

by Roger Taylor

  Gryss took Farnor’s chin in his hand, lifted his face up, then prised open his flickering eyelids and peered into his eyes.

  ‘What’s happened to him?’ Marna asked, anxiously. ‘It’s shock, by the look of it,’ Gryss said. ‘Fetch me some water.’

  When she returned, Farnor was recovering con-sciousness. He was talking desperately but incoherently and he was struggling to rise from the chair while Gryss was trying unsuccessfully to restrain him.

  Marna watched for a moment, then shouted angrily. ‘Farnor, sit down and be still, will you?’ Farnor started, but did as he was told. Gryss gave her a grateful nod.

  Marna however did not notice. She was pointing, and her face was full of alarm. ‘Look,’ she whispered, as if afraid to attract Farnor’s attention.

  Gryss followed her gaze. It took him to Farnor’s hands. He reached down and took hold of them. Farnor offered no resistance.

  Gryss frowned. ‘Blood,’ he said, flatly.

  Marna brought her hand to her mouth, and the alarm in her face became fear. She did not speak and for a few minutes the room was silent as Gryss busied himself with cleaning and examining Farnor while he was still compliant.

  ‘It doesn’t seem to be his – the blood,’ he said even-tually. ‘He seems sound enough apart from his arm and being wet and cold.’ The information did little to ease either his or Marna’s anxiety, however. Inevitably, she voiced hers.

  ‘Whose is it, then?’ she demanded. ‘And why’s he in such a state?’

  ‘How the devil do I know, Marna?’ Gryss said irrita-bly, then, with a flicker of self-reproach, he laid a hand on her arm in immediate apology.

  He pulled forward a chair and sat down in front of Farnor. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked gently.

  Farnor’s eyes livened a little at the sound of his voice. They drifted to Marna and then back to Gryss, and a pleasant, surprised, smile appeared on his face.

  ‘What’s happened, Farnor?’ Gryss asked again, his tone anxious now.

  He opened his mouth to speak and then realization spread across his face. He stood up with a terrible cry.

  ‘It’s all gone,’ he said hoarsely. ‘All gone! Black raf-ters and sodden ashes. All gone!’ He slumped back into the chair, and looked about agitatedly. ‘And the animals are all loose.’

  Gryss’s eyes widened. There must have been a fire at the farm. ‘What’s all gone, Farnor?’ he asked, trying to keep the alarm from his voice. ‘One of the barns? One of the sheds? Burned down?’ Despite himself he took hold of Farnor’s shoulders and shook him. ‘Where are your parents, Farnor? Did they send you for help?’

  Farnor screwed up his face in concentration. ‘They’re gone too,’ he said eventually. ‘Father’s broken. Mother’s asleep. She’ll catch cold,’ he said plaintively. ‘She’s soaking wet.’ He stared at his hand. ‘And her dress is all stained,’ he muttered. ‘She won’t want to be seen in that state.’

  Gryss had heard enough. Whatever had happened, it was serious, and little more was to be gleaned from Farnor. He turned to Marna. ‘Fast as you can. Get to Yakob’s, tell him to come straight away and to bring horses. Don’t waste any time answering his questions, just get him here. We have to go to Garren’s.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we raise the Cry if there’s a fire?’ Marna asked.

  Gryss shook his head, and flicked his thumb at Far-nor. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘This one’s been out in the rain for a long time. Several hours, I’d judge. Go now,’ he said, taking her arm and directing her to the door. ‘Get Yakob, quickly.’

  When she had gone, Gryss looked down at the now motionless Farnor. His every body sign showed deep and profound shock. What the devil had happened to bring the lad to this state?

  Concern yourself with matters of the moment, he reprimanded himself. Farnor had to be made dry and warm and given a sleeping draught before Marna returned if his chilled frame was to be protected from infection and further shock. The truth of what had brought him here would be found soon enough at Garren’s.

  Even as he busied himself about this task however, possibilities drifted through his mind. Happiest of these, though holding small comfort for all that, was the possibility that something had happened to Farnor that had made his mind succumb to the pressures he had been under of late. Perhaps when he and Yakob went to the Yarrance farm they would find nothing other than the brightly shining sunstone lighting the yard and Garren and Katrin anxiously waiting for the return of their son.

  But he tried to give this no more credence than the other, more sinister and ill-formed notions that were plaguing him.

  He had scarcely finished installing Farnor into his own bed when the cottage door opened and Yakob strode in with Marna, red-faced and out of breath, at his heels.

  The two men looked at one another for a moment. Yakob seemed tired and worried, but he did not look like someone who had hastily dressed.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep, either, eh?’ Gryss said.

  Yakob nodded. ‘Too many dark thoughts,’ he re-plied. ‘What’s happened now?’

  ‘You’ve brought the horses?’ Gryss asked. Yakob made no attempt to press his question.

  ‘We’ll talk on the way, then,’ Gryss concluded. He drew the sheets up tight against Farnor’s chin, and dimmed the lantern by the bed.

  ‘Marna, you keep an eye on him,’ he said.

  There was a momentary hint of rebellion in Marna’s eyes, but she allowed it no rein. Someone would have to stay with both Farnor and Jeorg lying here in enforced sleep.

  The night was cold and damp as the two men rode towards Garren’s farm. The rain had stopped and the sky was clearing. A bright moon began to emerge from behind hulking clouds, transforming them for a while into a towering, silver-edged mountain range.

  The moonlight lit the road and enabled Gryss and Yakob to make as much speed as their age and unskilled horsemanship would allow. Gryss recounted Farnor’s vague tale, but bluntly refused to answer any of Yakob’s questions. ‘We’ll find out the truth soon enough,’ was all he was prepared to say. Indeed, it was all he was prepared even to think at the moment.

  He sniffed as they entered the lane that led up to the farm, then he grimaced.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Yakob asked.

  ‘Smoke,’ Gryss said.

  The lane, shaded by trees, was quite dark and they were obliged to travel at a slow walk. As he peered ahead, however, Gryss thought he saw brightness in the distance. His heart rose. It was probably Garren’s sunstone lighting up the yard in anticipation of Farnor returning home.

  But as he reached the gate he realized it was merely the moonlight shining on the remains of the white front wall and contrasting with the darkness of the lane.

  ‘No,’ Yakob whispered in horror as they gazed at the gaping destruction that had once been the Yarrance farmhouse. ‘No, no!’

  Gryss closed his eyes tightly, as if they would not focus properly.

  The smell of charred and sodden timber filled the air, and small tendrils of smoke floated out through the shattered frontage. The moonlight gave them the appearance of some ghastly plant.

  Gryss, his stomach turned to lead and his head un-naturally clear, climbed down from his horse and fumbled with the gate latch.

  The gate opened silently and easily as he pushed it, mute and poignant testimony to Garren Yarrance’s thorough and conscientious life.

  ‘This happened hours ago,’ Yakob said, still speak-ing softly, almost as if he were in a holy place. ‘Why didn’t Farnor come sooner?’

  Gryss raised his hand. ‘We must find out what’s happened to Garren and Katrin,’ he said, his voice unsteady.

  Farnor’s words came back to him. ‘All gone… Fa-ther’s broken… Mother’s asleep… her dress is all stained…’

  He started as something nudged his leg. He looked down. It was a pig. It eyed him beadily and then turned away.

  ‘All the stalls are open,’ Yakob said.

  ‘Yes.’ The palms of Gryss�
��s hands were sweating with fearful anticipation, and his mouth was dry. He beckoned to Yakob to dismount. ‘Stay by me,’ he said.

  They walked towards the farmhouse. It looked dead and haunted in the moonlight. The sight was at once so familiar and so alien that it disorientated Gryss horribly. He knew that, like Farnor, he too was now suffering from shock.

  Yakob caught his arm and pointed, but Gryss had already seen the shadowy mound by the front door of the house. As they drew near, the shadow moved and an ominous growl reached them. Both men froze, then Gryss reached into his pocket and took out a small sunstone lantern. It flared into life, banishing the moonlight and turning the world into a small, night-bounded sphere.

  The dog, crouching by the bodies of Garren and Katrin, blinked at the light then stood up, its hackles bristling and its upper lip drawn back to reveal its cruel teeth.

  ‘No, no, no.’ Yakob’s voice trembled as his gaze looked past the dog and at the bodies.

  Gryss could hardly speak; his tongue felt dry and distended in his mouth. Part of him wanted to dash forward and lay into this stupid dog with feet and fists, but his quieter nature ached for it in its futile vigil over its erstwhile master and mistress.

  Handing the lantern to Yakob, he crouched down and began to make soothing noises to the dog, calling its name and holding out his hand gently. Ironically, though the dog’s diligence was keeping him from tending his friends, he was glad to have his mind occupied with a simple task. It dispelled the sense of unreality that had descended on him, just as the lantern had dispelled the ghostly moonlight.

  It took him a little time, but the dog eventually stopped its growling and moved cautiously towards him, dropping on to its belly as it reached him. He put out his hand and stroked it. ‘Good boy,’ he said. ‘We’ll see to them now. Your job’s finished.’

  Then, keeping his hand comfortingly on the dog’s shoulder, he moved over to the two bodies. Yakob followed him.

  ‘Are they…?’ he asked needlessly, finishing the question with a vague and helpless gesture.

  ‘Yes,’ Gryss said. ‘And some time ago, I’d say.’ He looked up at Yakob. ‘Farnor was deeply shocked when he came to me. I think he’d been wandering round lost for hours.’

  Yakob crouched down by him. ‘What in pity’s name has happened here?’ he said, his voice lower than ever. ‘Why are they… here? Outside the house? Why are they dead? What…?’

  ‘Hold the lantern still while I look,’ Gryss said.

  He began to examine the two bodies.

  One of the grimmer thoughts that had occurred to him as he had tended Farnor was that indeed the lad’s mind had failed under the pressure of recent happen-ings and that he had committed some terrible atrocity. His whole being rebelled against the idea, but it had its own dark logic and could not lightly be set aside.

  His mind was not eased by the rent he found in Katrin’s dress and by the broad wound under the arch of her ribs. As he examined the wound, his eye caught sight of the stout kitchen knife embedded in the door frame.

  Almost reluctantly, he moved to Garren. Gently he kneaded the crooked limbs, then he placed his hand around Garren’s head to raise it.

  The softness there made him draw a sharp breath and he had to force himself to examine it further.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Yakob said.

  Gryss shook his head in a mute appeal for further patience, and continued his sorry work.

  When he stood up his face was puzzled, though there was also a hint of relief in it. Whatever had happened here, Farnor could not have done it. Yakob looked at him expectantly.

  ‘Katrin was stabbed,’ Gryss said bluntly. ‘Probably with that thing there.’ He gestured to the knife. ‘As for Garren, he’s a mass of broken bones. I’ve not seen anything like it since we found Menion.’

  Yakob grimaced. That incident had been many years ago. Menion had been a young man, who, finding that a long-held and until then secret love was not returned, wandered off into the mountains. Yakob and Gryss had been members of the party that was sent out to search for him two days later. They found him twisted and broken at the foot of a towering cliff. Whether he came there by accident or by intent none could ever deter-mine, but for those on the party the sight of his shattered body remained with them always.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Yakob said, his voice unsteady. ‘Menion took a terrible fall. How could that have happened to Garren?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Gryss said unhappily. ‘If anything, he’s in a worse state than Menion…’

  But Yakob was not listening. He was swaying and rubbing his face with his hands. Quickly, Gryss took his arm and led him away from the two bodies. They had scarcely gone three paces when Yakob doubled over and vomited. Then his knees went and, unable to support his collapsing weight, Gryss eased him down to the ground until he was on all fours.

  Yakob lowered his head and his back started to shake with silent sobs.

  Gryss extinguished the lantern and turned away from him. There was nothing he could do for the moment except wait.

  Eventually Yakob got to his feet. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, shamefacedly, as he took the offered hand for support. ‘Such a display. It’s the smell of the smoke, and…’

  ‘It’s stark, unbelievable horror, and it’s too much happening too fast,’ Gryss said. ‘I can hardly bring myself to think that this is all real and not some frightful dream I’m having.’ He looked at his friend, struggling to regain his usual dignified composure. ‘There’s a butt full of fresh water over there,’ he said. ‘Give your face a wash. It won’t make any of this go away, but it’ll make you feel better.’ Then, without waiting for Yakob, he walked over to the butt and took his own advice.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Yakob said, after he too had finished a rudimentary ablution.

  The question threw Gryss into confusion as a rush of thoughts burst in upon him. What to do about what? About Farnor? Jeorg? About what had happened here? About Nilsson? About telling the villagers? About gathering in these wandering animals and tending Garren’s – Farnor’s now, he supposed – crops?

  ‘We must put Garren and Katrin somewhere safe,’ he said, snatching at the nearest thought to still this rambling. He gazed around the yard. ‘We’ll have to put them in one of the stalls here. Cover them up, lock the door. We can’t do anything else until it’s daylight.’

  It was an unpleasant task. Katrin was heart-breakingly light and frail and neither man could look at her as they carried her. Garren was much heavier and distressingly bent in the strangest ways due to his massive internal injuries. It lent their struggle with him an element of grotesque farce. Throughout, however, Katrin’s words, ‘stabbing and killing’, kept ringing through Gryss’s head to the rhythm of his shuffling feet.

  They left the bodies resting on boards carried on trestles and covered with a rough cloth. Gryss pulled the two halves of the stall door shut and bolted them both, then he plunged his hands into the water butt again and rubbed them together desperately. Moonlight glittered brilliantly on the dancing droplets.

  The two men did not speak as they walked back to their horses. Yakob mounted his, but before he too mounted Gryss turned and looked fretfully about the moonlit yard.

  ‘What happened here?’ he said, half to himself. ‘There are gaps in the walls as if something’s crashed through them, and everything’s scattered all over the place.’ He looked up. ‘And there are slates missing from some of the roofs. Garren was meticulous about such things. It’s almost as if there’s been a great storm here.’

  As he spoke, the memory of the wind that had arisen in the castle courtyard returned to him, and with it Jeorg’s words, ‘Rannick’s leading them’, and his account of how Rannick had tortured him.

  A coldness descended on him, stifling his whirling thoughts with an icy grip.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Yakob asked, sensing the change in him.

  ‘We’re in the hands of a madman,’ Gryss said.
<
br />   ‘Nilsson?’

  ‘No. Rannick,’ Gryss replied.

  ‘Rannick!’ Yakob exclaimed. ‘What’s he got to do with anything? He’s probably gone over the hill weeks ago, and good riddance.’ Then he looked at Gryss, concerned, fearing, as Gryss had feared for Farnor, that this sudden shock had unhinged him. ‘You mean Nilsson, don’t you?’ he said. ‘This could only have been done by him and his men.’ His voice shook. ‘They must’ve beaten poor Garren like they beat Jeorg, only this time it went too far and…’

  Gryss had been shaking his head throughout. ‘Gar-ren wasn’t beaten. No beating could do that kind of damage without it showing more. I think this is Rannick’s handiwork. I’m beginning to recognize it. He’s leading those men now.’

  Yakob leaned forward to reiterate his protest at this foolishness, but Gryss turned to him and said, ‘Jeorg told me about him, Yakob. It was what he whispered to me before you left. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know what to make of it. I wanted to think. Then, later, he was so agitated that he woke up despite my sleeping draught and spoke about him again.’

  ‘You mean it, don’t you?’ Yakob said, his manner uneasy. ‘Are you sure he wasn’t delirious?’

  Gryss nodded. ‘There are other things that’ve been happening of late that I haven’t told you about, Yakob, nor anyone else except Farnor and Marna…’

  ‘Marna! You’ve been talking about village matters with a slip of a girl and keeping them from the Council?’ Yakob was outraged.

  ‘Marna’s no more a slip of a girl now than you are,’ Gryss said with a quiet resolution that was more compelling than any amount of noisy indignation. ‘She’s an intelligent and capable young woman, just as Farnor is an intelligent and capable young man. And what’s happening in this valley is going to have a greater effect on them than it will on you and me. They’re the ones who’ll have to do something about matters, and they’re the ones who’ll have to live with the consequences, good or bad. All we old sparks are going to be able to do is talk.’