Valderen [The Second Part of Farnor's Tale]

by Roger Taylor

  The figure peered around him to examine the place at which he was pointing. ‘What?’ she asked.

  'Throw me right over there like that,’ Farnor amplified.

  'Oh, that,’ she said dismissively. ‘I didn't. You did.’ She chuckled softly. ‘I put you down as gently as I could.'

  'But ...'

  'Sit down—Far-nor, is it? What strange names you people have.'

  Farnor had recovered his wits and breath sufficiently now to be a little indignant at this cavalier dismissal of his heritage. ‘You have a name yourself, do you?’ he asked caustically. The figure turned to him slowly, and the branch twitched slightly. Farnor flinched in anticipation.

  'Mind your manners, young man,’ came the authoritative reply, as she returned her attention to the fire. ‘Round here they call me Uldaneth Ashstock,’ she went on, her tone slightly conciliatory. Farnor frowned. The name was unexpectedly familiar, but where he had heard it eluded him. Then she was chuckling again. It was a warm, female sound, markedly at odds with the impact its owner had just delivered to Farnor and the way she was idly examining his knife in the firelight. ‘Ashstock,’ she repeated to herself, and the chuckle became a soft laugh as though in response to some inner amusement. Then she laid the branch across her knees and tested the blade of the knife with a tentative thumb. ‘A good edge,’ she concluded. There was genuine appreciation in her voice. ‘In fact, a very good edge. Haven't seen the like of that in many a day. Where'd you learn to do that, young man?'

  Farnor abandoned his search for the name, and shrugged. ‘I don't know, I just do it now,’ he said. ‘I suppose my father showed me once but I always seem to have been able to do it.'

  'Good,’ Uldaneth said. ‘That's very heartening. Don't forget to show other people how to do it, as well, though. Otherwise you'll lose the greater value of the skill, won't you?'

  Farnor did not know what to say by way of reply, but before he could consider the problem, the knife had been gently tossed towards him, handle first. He caught it with a nervous scramble. When he recovered, he found that the hooded head was turned towards him again. Questions flooded into his mind. Awkwardly he thrust the knife back into his belt, ‘Who...?'

  'Why do you carry a kitchen knife, Farnor?’ Uldaneth asked before he could continue.

  The question seemed to surge out of nowhere and it felt to Farnor like yet another winding blow. Darkness and anger rose up within him, and simultaneously the many aches plaguing him suddenly began to throb. ‘If you know my name, you know the answer to that as well,’ he replied unpleasantly.

  Once again, he felt an almost imperious authority radiate from the shapeless black figure.

  'Just answer me simply, we'll get on a lot better that way,’ Uldaneth said.

  Farnor gazed into the fire for a moment, his face taut and his jaw working. He could not move away from his pain and anger. ‘Mind your own damn business, then. Is that simple enough?’ he snarled, viciously. ‘What I carry is what I carry, and I'll answer to no one for it, least of all to some strange old woman who sneaks up out of the darkness like a thief.’ He braced himself determinedly for impact.

  Uldaneth, however, turned back to the fire, prodded it a couple of times then laid the branch down and sat silent, staring into the flames. Farnor waited, still angry.

  After a while, Uldaneth reached up and slowly drew back her hood. For a moment, Farnor thought he caught a glimpse of the proud, handsome face of a young woman but he dismissed it immediately as a trick of the firelight as Uldaneth turned towards him. As with Marken, Farnor found that he could not gauge the age of his new companion. She was certainly an old woman, but her face was that of a powerful and vigorous personality, and though its largest feature was a long nose it was her eyes that dominated; they seemed to look into the very depths of him.

  'I apologized for that,’ she said. ‘And you're right. It is none of my business. I'm just naturally curious.'

  The complete absence of any antagonism or even reproach in her voice and manner unbalanced Farnor almost as much as the throws that had tumbled him across the Forest floor, and his anger drained out of him instantly, leaving him feeling empty and not a little guilty. ‘I'm sorry,’ he mumbled, instinctively apologizing. Uldaneth nodded and returned to her contemplation of the fire again. Farnor looked at her intently. Then, as much for want of something to say as curiosity, he said, ‘You've got black hair, haven't you? I thought none of the Valderen had black hair.'

  'I'm not Valderen,’ Uldaneth replied. ‘I'm what they'd call an outsider these days, like you.’ Farnor thought that he caught a flicker of a sad, lonely smile as she spoke, but it vanished into the firelit shadows playing over her face and the impetus of Farnor's curiosity swept it from his mind.

  'But I thought that they usually kept outsiders out,’ he said, lowering his voice and flicking a thumb towards the surrounding trees.

  'Oh, they don't bother about me,’ Uldaneth replied. ‘I'm just an old teacher wandering from lodge to lodge. They're used to me. I've been doing it for ... a very long time.'

  A teacher! Much of her manner now made sense to Farnor. And he remembered where he had heard her name. ‘Angwen,’ he said, half to himself.

  Uldaneth raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  'Angwen told me about someone called Uldaneth,’ Farnor went on. ‘An old woman. An outsider. A teacher.’ He paused. ‘But she said that that was a long time ago.'

  Uldaneth laughed. ‘At your age, two weeks is a long time, Farnor. When you're mine, things tend to speed up a little.’ Her laughter faded away and she shook her head pensively. ‘It seems only yesterday I was teaching at Derwyn's lodge. Not that it was his lodge then, of course.’ She let out a not unhappy sigh and fell silent. Farnor felt like an intruder.

  Then she straightened up and slapped her knees noisily. ‘But a lot's happened in the world since then, young man,’ she said briskly. ‘Far more than any of the Valderen know.'

  Farnor was uncertain of the relevance of this observation. ‘But what are you doing wandering about on your own at night?’ he asked, some concern in his voice as a feeling of companionship began to grow within him for this fellow outsider.

  'I'm always on my own,’ she replied. ‘More to the point, what are you doing here?’ Immediately, she gave an irritated click with her tongue and raised her hand to cut off the question. ‘I'm sorry,’ she said. ‘None of my business that, is it?'

  Once again, however, it was Farnor who felt apologetic. An earlier question returned to him. ‘How do you know my name?’ he asked.

  'Derwyn told me,’ Uldaneth replied.

  Farnor wanted to ask how it was that she had come again to Derwyn's lodge after such a long time, but instead he asked, ‘What else did he tell you?'

  'Everything,’ came the immediate answer. ‘And so did Marken, Bildar, Angwen, Edrien, even that loudmouth EmRan.’ Her forehead wrinkled. ‘I should've taken my stick to that little beggar when I was here last. I might have known he'd turn out the way he has.'

  Farnor ignored this digression. He was not sure that he enjoyed having his doings related to all and sundry, and it showed on his face.

  Uldaneth smiled wryly. ‘Don't be offended,’ she said. ‘I don't think you realize what a stir you've caused. And the Valderen are considerable gossips.’ She became more serious. ‘Besides, Derwyn wanted me to tell the other lodges about you. He'd sent message squirrels, of course, but as I was going your way he thought I might be able to explain a little better and perhaps help if you ran into any problems on the way.'

  Farnor was only partly mollified by this. ‘Derwyn told you why I was here?’ he asked.

  Uldaneth nodded. ‘He told me what you'd told him about your parents,’ she said. ‘And that you're a Hearer of some considerable ability.’ She smiled. ‘Marken's still so up in the air with excitement, he scarcely needs a ladder to climb to his lodge.’ Despite the humour in her voice, Farnor felt her sharp eyes watching his every response. ‘But Derwyn's more co
ncerned about what really brought you here—the thing that pursued you and alarmed the trees so much.'

  'Is he...?’ Farnor hesitated. ‘Is he going to go south and look for anything?’ he asked finally.

  Uldaneth nodded. ‘Only on a private hunt, though,’ she replied. ‘EmRan got to the Shrub Congressim first, and they wouldn't support him with a full hunt.'

  Farnor's eyes widened in dismay and he drove his fist into the palm of his hand. ‘He mustn't go on his own,’ he said, leaning forward and taking hold of Uldaneth's arm as if shaking her might unsay the news she had just given him. ‘It's too dangerous. He's going to need a lot of good men. I did tell him.'

  'Not clearly enough, apparently,’ Uldaneth replied sternly.

  Farnor dropped his head on to his hands, abruptly reliving again those moments when he had been at one with the creature. When he had seen—felt—the terror of its victims. And now Derwyn was seeking it out, perhaps on his own. ‘Has he gone yet?’ he asked, desperately shaking away the memory.

  Uldaneth shrugged. ‘I think he was intending to go after a first climb for one of Edrien's cousins. He's probably gone by now.'

  'He won't have gone alone, will he?’ Farnor asked.

  Uldaneth shook her head. ‘No. He was going to take Marken, and young Melarn. And I imagine Edrien will go with him; perhaps even Angwen.'

  Farnor's anxiety turned to horror. ‘Can't you stop them?’ he gasped. ‘It'll kill them all if they find it. It's attacked groups of armed men, for pity's sake, it'll ...’ He gave a cry of anguish and frustration and made to stand up.

  Uldaneth laid a hand on his shoulder. Though her touch was not heavy, he could not move under its pressure. ‘What's done is done, Farnor,’ she said. ‘Neither of us can do anything from here. But they're none of them foolish or reckless people. And at least they've got some measure of what it is they're dealing with. We'll ...'

  'They haven't the slightest measure!’ Farnor burst in furiously. Then, scarcely realizing what he was doing, he poured out the whole saga of his strange encounters with the creature, ending with his panic-stricken flight into the Forest.

  The telling was garbled and frantic, but, oddly, Uldaneth asked no questions; she simply watched and listened intently. Good,’ she said softly, as the tale petered out and Farnor subsided into a morose silence.

  'Good?’ Farnor echoed savagely. ‘Good? How can you say that? They might all be slaughtered They should've stayed in their lodges and left me ... everything ... alone.'

  'When people who see an ill thing stay in their lodges, they can look to lose them in time,’ Uldaneth said with chilling calmness.

  'Save your homilies for your pupils, old woman,’ Farnor snapped angrily. He struck his chest. ‘My parents neglected no ill thing. All their lives they worked to make the good better. But they lost everything, for all that—everything. Cut down like troublesome weeds.'

  Uldaneth's eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I know about losing parents, Farnor,’ she said. ‘Strange as it may seem to you, I've not that long lost my own father under less than happy circumstances. And I've few words of comfort for you. Sometimes—perhaps always—an ill deed begets ill consequences that travel on and on, far beyond the original cause in both time and distance, until all sense of meaning has gone from them other than the hurt they do.'

  'And the good deeds?’ Farnor's voice was bleak and cynical.

  'The same,’ Uldaneth replied, with crushing assuredness. ‘The same.'

  Farnor could not argue. Uldaneth looked at him as if she was waiting for something. But he remained motionless, his head buried in his hands.

  For all his stillness however, Farnor's thoughts were twisting and turning, like caged creatures scrabbling frantically for escape. Images of Derwyn and the others, perhaps now to be slaughtered through his neglect, joined those of his parents, massacred on some mindless whim. This stupid old woman might ramble on about causes and effects travelling on and on, but he knew the single cause of all these happenings; all these brutal pointless deaths. It was Rannick. And only Rannick. And when he had killed Rannick, then...

  Then...

  But that was of no concern. All that mattered now was to kill the man. Put an end to the horrors he had begun. The image of Rannick's dead body rose to fill his entire being. It would sustain him, carry him forward. And nothing must be allowed to stand in the way of his achieving this; not surly, watching Valderen, rivers, mountains, trees, ancient or sapling...

  As this reaffirmation gathered strength, he felt himself reaching out, reaching back towards the south, to the valley where he belonged: his home; and Rannick. Vaguely he felt a nervous fluttering about him. A myriad tiny cries of, ‘No!’ clung around him, binding him, straining to hold him here.

  He would not be opposed thus! His will turned angrily towards the voices—began to move...

  'No!’ Uldaneth's voice and her hand on his shoulder drew him back to himself with a force that left him breathless, as if he had suddenly jerked himself violently awake from that uneasy gloaming between waking and sleeping. ‘You nearly fell into the fire,’ she said gently, still holding his shoulder. ‘Perhaps you should go to your tent. You look very tired.’ She looked into his eyes intently. ‘And you've a long way to go yet.'

  Her voice was very soothing, and as she spoke she gently moved her hand on his shoulder. The jagged, vivid edges of the awareness to which he had just returned began to fade, and drowsiness began to seep over him. He struggled for a moment to keep his anger alive, but it slipped away from him. ‘You're probably right,’ he said weakly, his head starting to droop. Then, somehow, he was on his feet, being guided back to his tent, and gentle hands were pulling a blanket up around his neck. A remnant of his true character rose to the surface through the mounting weariness. ‘But where are you going to sleep?’ he mumbled. ‘And the fire? The trees don't like the fire ...'

  'Don't worry about me,’ Uldaneth said. ‘Or them. I'll tend the fire. They know that.’ As she walked away from the sleeping figure she spoke softly to herself. ‘And what would I do with sleep?'

  Curious images floated through Farnor's dreams; if dreams they were. Images that were vague and undefined, but full of calmness: a softly stirring treescape, or was it a motionless lake, echoing faithfully the sunlit mountains and sky above; or the campfire gently glowing...

  The calmness went deeper and deeper, yet always beneath it, as if deliberately hiding, lay something else. Something that festered and brooded, dark and ominous. Something that waited...

  'Strange ...'

  A murmuring drifted out of the nothingness. A tale was being told. A tale of a great and ancient evil arisen again, and defeated again.

  Realization. Then denial. A voice, or voices, jumbled and distant. ‘But it is here ...'

  Silence. Despair? Resignation?

  'It would seem so ...'

  'And the sapling? The Mover?’ Doubt.

  'His power is great ... But wild.'

  Certainty. And fear.

  'Can you help?'

  'It may be but an echo. Pebbles after the avalanche.'

  'But you have been drawn here, too.'

  Reluctance.

  'He cannot have returned again so soon, surely. But ...'

  Doubt.

  'I belong elsewhere. Most urgently. You know this.'

  Acceptance.

  'But the sapling?'

  Silence.

  'He is sound ...'

  'You doubt.'

  'We are all flawed. I sense his choices, but he alone can choose.'

  'But...?'

  'He alone. This, too, you know.'

  A red and golden light danced and fluttered in front of Farnor's eyes, until it gradually became the campfire. A huddled figure was silhouetted, night dark, in front of it. ‘Uldaneth’ he said softly.

  The darkness shifted slightly. ‘Go back to sleep, Farnor. Have no fear, I'll tend the fire.’ The voice, full of resonances that assured and supported, weighed down his eyes
, and returned him to the darkness.

  And the voices.

  'Then I must judge him?'

  Dark humour. ‘Judge not lest ye be judged.'

  Bewilderment. ‘But...?'

  'He will choose. That is beyond doubt. And who can say which falling leaf will tilt him hither or thither? And what are we in the path of that which his forebears have led him along?'

  'But...?'

  'Teach, old ones. As I do. Teach and trust. Bring light into the darkness of his ignorance. We should be wise enough to know the limits of our wisdom.'

  Resignation.

  Silence. Long and deep.

  * * * *

  The following morning Farnor felt as though a smile were suffusing him as he woke. On the instant he was wide awake, and profoundly rested. Out of recently acquired habit however, he moved very cautiously, but though his many aches and pains were still there, they were much easier.

  He turned towards the open mouth of his tent. A watery dawn light filled the small clearing and there were grey wisps of mist lingering here and there. The sound of horns, distant and faint, floated to him. Uldaneth was sitting as she had been the previous night in front of the dully smoking fire. She was quite motionless. Farnor sat up, suddenly alarmed, nearly bringing the tent down about him. ‘Are you all right?’ he called out anxiously, scrambling hurriedly out of the tent.

  Before he reached her, however, he saw that his concern was unfounded. The fire was barely smoking because it was glowing hot, and Uldaneth was pushing some slices of hissing meat about a metal dish, her long nose wrinkling in distaste.

  Farnor smiled. ‘Shall I do that?’ he asked, bending down beside her. ‘You seem to be having some trouble.'

  Uldaneth gave him a narrow-eyed look and then relinquished the task to him. A few minutes—and two burnt fingers—later, Farnor was eating his unexpected breakfast, having wedged the slices of meat between two unevenly hacked slices of the bread that still remained from the supplies that Derwyn had given him. ‘It's a bit stale now, but it's edible,’ he said, speaking with his mouth full. ‘Are you sure you don't want any?’ He held out his bulky sandwich.