‘Bildar will feed us,’ Edrien said, setting off again. She grinned expectantly. ‘He’s an excellent cook.’
As they walked, Farnor became aware for the first time of people on the other walkways. Some of them called out to Edrien, who shouted back or just waved in acknowledgement. Farnor felt extremely self-conscious, all too aware of the contrast between his lumbering, awkward gait and Edrien’s light and easy movements. It did little to help him that almost everyone they encountered stared at him quite openly and with considerable curiosity. Once or twice he saw individuals swinging under the handrails of the platforms to pursue whatever errand it was they were on by climbing rapidly from branch to branch. Occasionally he saw Edrien move as if to do the same, only to recollect herself at the last moment. ‘Doesn’t anyone ever fall?’ he asked tentatively.
‘Oh yes,’ Edrien replied, simply. ‘But not often. It’s not nice.’
Farnor nodded in pained understanding, uncertain how to continue this particular line of conversation.
He was spared any further difficulty, however, by a group of people coming along the platform towards them. For the most part they were young men and women of around his own age, and their chatter and laughter rose up to complement the sunshine streaming through the leafy surroundings. Farnor was unpleas-antly surprised by a twist of sneering anger that suddenly sprang to life within him at the sight and sound of them. He found himself reminded of the darkness that had come to his own homeland unbidden and undeserved and, without realizing it, he held his breath, as if to suffocate this unwelcome response.
There was a brief, confusing flurry as the group reached them and, amid noisy and simultaneous greetings, Farnor found himself introduced very quickly to several people. Vaguely he tried to cling to one or two of the names, but further references to families and relations passed him by completely. He was a little unsettled by the fact that each of the newcomers peered at him intently, especially at his hair. This was not as unsettling however, as the form of greeting which they adopted, which was not as he was used to, to shake hands, but to grip both his arms firmly just above the elbow. After three or four such welcomings Edrien saw his discomfiture and intervened. ‘Gently,’ she said, prizing someone away from him. ‘He’s had…’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘… a nasty fall recently,’ she decided. ‘He’s badly bruised. And we have to get down to Bildar’s now.’
There were some noisy apologies and much under-standing nodding, but the group seemed content to stand and stare until Edrien vigorously shooed them on their way.
As the group retreated noisily, Farnor remained where he was, holding on to the handrail as the swaying of the platform, which had been another concern during the encounter, subsided.
His head was trying to tell him that having with-stood so many people standing in one place, the platform, and whatever supported it, must undeniably be extremely strong, but his heart and his stomach were not listening. Somewhat to his distress, he still felt a lingering anger at the happiness of the people he had just met.
‘Are you all right?’ he heard Edrien asking, yet again.
He relinquished his hold on the handrail and hugged his arms. ‘Yes,’ he said. Then, rather than discuss his inner confusion, he added, ‘But does everyone have such powerful hands?’
Edrien’s forehead furrowed and she looked down at her own hands. They were long and delicate. ‘I’ve never thought about it,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘Come on.’
A few minutes and two more ladders later, they reached a door which Edrien announced as being the entrance to Bildar’s lodge. She was beginning to enjoy the authority of her role as guide to this strange young man. Looking over the handrail, Farnor saw that they were about the height of the Yarrance farmhouse above the forest floor. For some reason, the mere sight of the ground made him feel much safer, even though he knew that a fall from such a height was just as likely to seriously injure or kill him as a fall from much higher.
Edrien knocked vigorously on the door and pushed it open without waiting for permission. She ushered Farnor in.
Any reservations he might have had about visiting the healer disappeared as he stepped inside and was greeted by the savoury smell of cooking. Somewhat to his embarrassment, his stomach rumbled noisily. Edrien laughed and Farnor looked a little guilty. ‘I didn’t realize I was quite so hungry,’ he said uncomfortably.
Bildar emerged from a steamy doorway and ges-tured the two arrivals forward. He gripped Farnor’s arms very gently. ‘You must be extremely hungry by now,’ he said, without any preamble. ‘That’s if I’m any judge of the average young man’s stomach. And you, Edrien, I know, will eat anything, any time.’
‘We were once a starving people,’ Edrien said im-mediately.
‘Not within our known history,’ Bildar replied.
‘But…’ Edrien began.
‘… we must preserve the trait against harsher times in the future.’ Bildar concluded the exchange as if by rote.
‘Something like that,’ Edrien conceded.
Bildar cuffed her gently. ‘That tongue of yours was always too glib, young Edrien,’ he said, motioning both of them towards a table. ‘I don’t suppose it’s ever occurred to you that you might be just plain greedy, has it?’ he went on, as they sat down.
Edrien shook her head wisely. ‘Not for a moment,’ she said, pursing her lips earnestly.
Bildar grunted.
Farnor watched this apparently regular ritual in silence. Again, he felt unfamiliar whirls of anger rising in response to the love and friendship permeating it. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. He shuffled on his chair unhappily.
Then, almost as if he had read Farnor’s mind, Bildar said, ‘Last night, you told us that your parents had been murdered, Farnor.’
Farnor looked up at him, uncertain what was about to happen following this unexpected bluntness. Bildar’s dark brown eyes held him fast.
‘There’s nothing I’ve ever found that can ease the pain you must be suffering, except time. But I’ve known others thus hurt, and you can speak to me about anything, at any time, as the mood takes you. Do you understand what I mean?’
Edrien looked pained and disconcerted by the abrupt mention of this dark topic which she had been assiduously trying to avoid since she collected Farnor, and she glanced nervously from Bildar to Farnor several times as the old man was speaking.
Farnor returned Bildar’s gaze. There was neither offensive intrusion nor simpering pity in it and, under the impact of Bildar’s directness, he felt the small knots of anger within him dissolving into confusion and regret and many other lesser feelings that he could not name. ‘Thank you,’ he said inadequately, after a moment.
Bildar held his gaze for a little longer, then, rubbing his hands together slowly, he said, ‘I’ll get your food.’
As Bildar fussed out of the room, Farnor caught Edrien’s eye. She gave an embarrassed smile and looked awkwardly away from him without speaking. Bildar’s gentle but stark reference to Farnor’s tragedy seemed to have left her exposed and vulnerable in some way. She was uncertain how to behave.
Equally uncertain himself, Farnor gazed around the room. It was obviously much lived in, and was full of splendid disorder. Shelves, stacked untidily with all manner of books, lined much of the walls, and where spaces were available they were filled with boxes, jars, ragged heaps of papers, various ornaments and many small wooden carvings. Farnor noticed several carved wooden inkstands, and it occurred to him that they were very similar to the one that Gryss owned and used so meticulously. He did not dwell on this strange coinci-dence, however, for his attention was drawn by the cutlery with which he was absently toying. Even they were made out of wood. Spoons, forks, knives. He picked up one of the knives and examined the delicate patterns carved into both blade and handle. Then he tested its fine, toothed edge gently against his thumb. It was surprisingly sharp. How did they make such articles? he wondered. And how could they sharpen them?