Valderen [The Second Part of Farnor's Tale]

by Roger Taylor

  Aaren turned to Gryss again. ‘If he reaches that stage, then nothing—nothing in this land—can stop him. And by the time we could marshal resources against him, his power, his following, and his conquests would be a hundred times what they are now.'

  Gryss shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I can't begin to take all this in.’ He wanted to ask why all this should be happening to him, to the valley. Why Rannick? Why now? Why...? But he had asked the questions many times and he knew that, for all her knowledge, this woman would have no answers for him. ‘Just tell me what you want us to do,’ he said, clinging to the simplicity of practicalities.

  'What we have to do, Gryss, is kill him as quickly as possible,’ Aaren said starkly. ‘We can't risk waiting until he decides to come out on his own. There's no saying when that might be.’ She hesitated, then, ‘We're going to try and get into the castle tonight. While most of the men are away. And ...'

  'Do you have to kill him?’ Gryss interrupted. His voice was as full of judgement as it was question. In spite of all that had happened, he had known Rannick all his life and he found Aaren's quiet purposefulness deeply disturbing.

  Momentarily however, Aaren's emotions broke through on to her face. Gryss started back at the mixture of anger, fear and desperation he read there. ‘Yes,’ she said, through clenched teeth, as she struggled to control herself. ‘The power corrupts and will tolerate no restraint. It's him or us.’ She waved a hand across the rain-swept valley. ‘All of us. All of you. And beyond. Be under no illusions about that.'

  'But ...'

  'No buts, Gryss,’ Aaren said, angrily wiping a tear from her eye. ‘Knowing what we know, we've no choice. While he can still be stopped by such as us, we have to try. If we fail—then ...’ She stopped and let out a nervous breath. ‘The future you have now will probably be unchanged.’ She looked at Marna. ‘But we'll leave you with messages to carry to the king ... in case ...'

  Gryss closed his eyes. Arguments tumbled through his head. And questions; still so many questions. And Aaren's doubts were contagious. But there was one certainty, above all: he must not betray the valley and its people again. The memory came to him of the cruelly slaughtered bodies of Garren and Katrin Yarrance. There lay the future as sure as it was the past. And Farnor, wherever he might be now. And all the pain that had come to his friends, his charges. And could he accept the responsibility of this being repeated over and over?

  He remembered Farnor fingering the simple iron ring that swung from its chain by his door. A memento of his youth, of times and places far away. A memento finely and skilfully carved with lines of warriors, waiting.

  For what, did not matter. They were a people prepared.

  He opened his eyes and looked at Aaren. She was one such, surely. Armed with knowledge to see what had to be done, and perhaps the skill to do it. And there was Marna too; Marna Harlenkind; made by circumstance into a grim-faced fugitive, with knives in her belt.

  And they were both waiting. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.

  * * * *

  'Is none of this familiar to you?’ Derwyn asked, trying to keep the incredulity from his voice.

  Farnor shook his head. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘All the Forest north of the castle was unfamiliar, and when I came through here, it was at some speed and for most of the way with my eyes closed.’ This answer, uttered with exaggerated self-deprecation, caused a little more laughter than it should have done, reflecting the growing nervousness of the Valderen as they moved steadily into what they kept referring to as the fringe.

  'The trees are ... smaller ... more compact ... less happy,’ Derwyn had explained uncertainly, when Farnor had asked what they meant.

  'They look fine to me,’ Farnor replied, a little defensively. ‘But I don't suppose I've got your eye for such things. I've always thought that all trees were fascinating.'

  Derwyn beamed. ‘Your eye's fine, Farnor. And so are your trees,’ he said, without patronizing. ‘They're just different.’ He looked at Farnor archly. ‘And you've probably got Valderen blood in your veins somewhere. Perhaps there used to be a lot more movement between the valley and the Forest once upon a time.’ And he had laughed.

  But it had been a different sound to that which greeted the admission that Farnor just made. Indeed, everything about the group seemed to be different now. Farnor had the impression that they were riding into a deepening darkness. In part, this was actually true: the weather was overcast and gloomy, and the enclosing mountains made their shading presence felt even when they could not be seen through the canopy. Sunset would come earlier and dawn later. But also, he sensed an inner darkness beginning to pervade the group; a darkness that brought the riders closer together and made them even more silent than usual.

  It came from the trees, he was sure. ‘Everyone Hears a little,’ he remembered someone saying, and they would not have to Hear much to be affected by the fear and uncertainty that was quivering through the trees all around them. He himself was having to exert a continuous effort to keep the din from his mind. As if sensing his concerns, Marken came alongside him. ‘It's dreadful, isn't it?’ he whispered. ‘I've never Heard anything like it. It's bad enough during a fire, but at least then they seem to understand in some way, seem to be able to cope. Here, it's like a mindless panic. What can we do?'

  Farnor puffed out his cheeks. The Hearer, wiser than him by far, was looking to him for help. It was a strange sensation, both frightening and exciting. ‘Stay by me. And listen,’ he said on impulse.

  Reluctantly, he opened his mind to the trees. A fearful confusion cascaded over and through him and for a moment he swayed in his saddle. Then, suddenly angry, he shouted at them furiously. ‘Shut up!'

  The noise faltered.

  He shouted again, his anger growing. ‘Shut up, damn you. You cloud all our minds with your clamour. If you want our help you must ride with us, not against us.'

  The noise faded, and Farnor felt as though he were in the presence of a group of children caught in some misdeed; both guilt and relief filled the silence. In the distance he could Hear the noise continuing, and he realized that his command had somehow made a pool of calm amid a torrent of confusion.

  Having obtained this calm, however, he was uncertain what to do with it. He could sense the single presence of the Forest, but it was fragmented into a myriad individual voices. Abruptly he had an image of himself as a child, looking at a piece of metal lying on the anvil in the village forge. What had been a magically glowing yellow had faded through orange and red into a dull grey brown even as he watched it, and he had wanted to know why. He remembered how he had reached out to touch it and how his fingers had snatched themselves away almost before he felt the dreadful pain.

  He remembered, too, Gofhern the blacksmith lifting him bodily away from the anvil and plunging his hand into a bucket of cold water in one swinging, head-spinning arc. ‘Your fingers have more sense than your head, young Farnor,’ he had chuckled, though only after he had determined that the injury was not too serious.

  And was it thus here? Were the individual trees responding to some pain that he could not feel, and confusing his perception of the will of the whole? ‘What do you do when there's a fire?’ he asked without thinking why.

  The listening silence shifted awkwardly. He had the feeling that he had asked an embarrassing question.

  'Well?’ he insisted.

  'If I have the time, then we move,’ came a slightly injured reply, eventually.

  'Explain,’ Farnor persisted.

  Then he felt the presence of the most ancient; distant, but quite distinct. It coloured the answering voice. ‘I withdraw that which is private to each ... home ... and it remains amongst us, sharing ... homes ... until the seedlings come again and a new ... home ... can be made.’ The images that filled Farnor's mind with each mention of the word, home, were deep, personal and intimate, with a poignancy far beyond even the feelings that he had for his own home. ‘But the pain is great, Far-nor, and
the leaving of a ... home ... is no light thing. There is always pain in the loss of what we are attached to. Even to speak thus distresses us.'

  Farnor became more gentle. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said. ‘But we must learn to understand such things. What happens when your ... homes ... die, or are felled by the Valderen to make their lodges and to fulfil their other needs'

  He could feel puzzlement and debate at this question, then an amused realization. ‘I do not ... die, Far-nor. This we told you.’ Again Farnor felt a brief touch of the dizzying, time-spanning perspective that he had felt on occasions before. ‘But our ... homes ... change, and fall back to whence they came, to become eventually ... homes ... again, renewed. These we leave at our leisure. It is the way of things. As for the Valderen, they perceive our needs, albeit dimly, and they respect them. They ask, and time is granted for the leaving. And their needs are slight within the endless falling and renewing that occurs within our vastness. We can withstand a little pain for the sake of our friends from time to time.’ There was almost a chuckle. ‘Besides I do not dwell too deeply in those ... homes ... that lie near to the Valderen.'

  Farnor rode on in silence for a while, thinking about the words and the nuances behind and beyond them. ‘But this fear around me is not the fear of fire?’ he asked tentatively, after a while.

  'Fire is both ancient and frequent, Far-nor. It is not welcomed, but it is known and understood and thus not truly feared. It, too, is in the way of things and a part of my nature. But the power that threatens here, though known and ancient, is nevertheless not understood. And it is unfettered and greater by far than when you first came. We fear to stay, and we fear to leave.’ The voice was full of regret, shame even.

  '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 mountains 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 refreshed 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 noiselessly 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 underestimate 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 untoward 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 restraining 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 effectively 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.

&nb
sp; 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 wakefulness 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 response. 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 calmness 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 unmistakable 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.