Angwen smiled appreciatively and her face became pensive. ‘I remember an old woman who used to teach here once…’ She paused, as if trying to recollect something. ‘Uldaneth, she was called. And she used to tell splendid tales.’ She chuckled to herself. ‘She could be so fierce. Even the men used to scuttle when she told them to do something. She’d poke them with her stick and order them about.’ She thrust an imaginary stick forward and laughed. ‘But everyone loved her.’
Farnor waited.
Angwen looked at him strangely. ‘And she was an outsider too. And her hair was black as well!’ She ran her hand absently over her own hair and her eyes became distant. ‘Fancy forgetting about Uldaneth,’ she said softly.
Farnor was loath to disturb the silence which hung about Angwen after this revelation, but his curiosity was too strong. ‘Where did she come from?’ he asked.
Angwen shrugged and smiled again. ‘I don’t think anyone knew,’ she said. ‘And I don’t think anyone felt inclined to ask. She just seemed to belong here natu-rally.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I can’t even remember when she left now.’ There was another long, thoughtful pause. ‘How strange. I haven’t thought about her in years,’ she concluded. A little sadly, Farnor thought.
Then she shook off her pensive mood and reverted to the question that Farnor’s earlier comment had implied. ‘The Valderen were a fighting people once,’ she said. ‘And it’s still reflected in many of our traditions.’
‘The swords by the doors!’ Farnor exclaimed.
Angwen nodded. ‘The Threshold Swords,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s one thing. From a long time ago.’ She became thoughtful again. ‘The strength of a people depends on the willingness – and the ability – of each to defend both himself and his neighbour against those who would unjustly impose upon them.’ She was talking half to herself. ‘Yes,’ she reflected, softly. ‘That spirit is still with us even though we’ve known no conflict in generations.’
Despite himself, Farnor found his curiosity engaged again. ‘Who did you fight against before?’ he asked.
Angwen started slightly, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. ‘Bildar’s a better person to answer that than me,’ she said. ‘It’s a long, complicated tale.’
Farnor risked a gentle taunt. ‘Are you afraid that if you tell me I’ll understand you better and thus be less afraid?’
Angwen’s head went back and she laughed delight-edly. ‘I think you have me there, Farnor,’ she said, as she recovered. Then she looked at him strangely again. Farnor saw a mother’s eyes looking at him. ‘Forest forbid that you should ever feel afraid here, of all places, Farnor,’ she said softly.
He turned away from her.
‘I’ll risk telling you a little,’ Angwen said, mockingly, after a moment. ‘Perhaps indeed it’ll help you under-stand us.’
She leaned back in her chair. ‘Back in the times you were asking about, our ancestor came here to hide from a foe so awful that He seemed set to destroy every thing that lived. For generations we helped to hold the bounds of His conquest, until eventually He was destroyed.’ She paused, momentarily, her face troubled, but the doubt in it passed, like a small cloud from in front of the sun, and she continued. ‘During those times, war was waged in many ways, Farnor. On terrible battlefields, on the oceans, even in the air above us. And in the hearts and the minds of whole peoples as He sought to lead them astray, disguising His evil with sweet words.’
Farnor found himself spellbound as Angwen’s voice began to rise and fall to some subtle rhythm, just as Yonas’s would when his tale gathered momentum.
‘And as people searched for means to oppose Him, old skills, old knowledge was rediscovered. For some of us here, in the Forest, came the ability to know the… minds… of the trees, to Hear them, as we say now. And with that, came the knowledge that the very trees amongst which we sheltered had a will, a sentience, of their own. A will that had silently supported us in our struggle and that had worked to deceive the enemy when His armies had tried to drive us out.’
Farnor began to frown a little.
‘Listen, and then you will understand a little better, and be a little less afraid,’ Angwen said, her face counselling patience. ‘That’s how it began. And we’ve lived in harmony with one another ever since.’ She raised a cautionary finger. ‘It’s not that we fully understand one another, even now. Not by any means. In fact I doubt that such a thing is possible, we’re so different. But we understand enough to respect one another’s right to be and, through our Hearers, to talk, as best we can, when we must impinge on one another.’
Farnor’s frown was deepening. ‘But people keep saying they let me in, for some special reason of their own, and they might well not let me out,’ he said, half angry, half afraid. ‘And…’ He was about to mention the overwhelming will that had possessed him before he fainted in the stables, but some inner voice prompted him not to. ‘Bildar said that theirs is the power here. That they can reach into minds – make people do what they want. That we – people – are merely tolerated.’
Angwen searched for words that would ease Far-nor’s distress. ‘What Bildar said is both true and not true,’ she said, after a moment. She looked at him earnestly. ‘But I told you, they’re not like we are, Farnor. Almost everything about them is beyond our true understanding. They may have needs, ambitions, desires, affections, but I doubt we’d understand them, even if they could tell us about them easily. And I doubt they understand ours. Their power to control us is undeniable, but power is only power when it’s used, and they don’t use it, except to keep outsiders away. And that’s why your coming here has caused such a stir.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I’m afraid that in our lack of under-standing of what’s happened, we’ve become frightened.’
Angwen’s sincerity and concern was beyond any doubting and Farnor looked at her unhappily. ‘And you’ve no Hearer to advise you now, because of me,’ he said.
‘I told you before, don’t concern yourself about it,’ Angwen said. ‘That will resolve itself.’
Farnor looked at her helplessly. ‘And what am I to do, in the meantime?’ he asked.
Angwen met his gaze. ‘Whatever you want,’ she said simply. ‘Now you’ve made me think about it. Do as your heart moves you. But as much as you can, stay… calm… and still… within yourself. And, above all, listen to the quieter voices within you. Whatever it is they want from you, if anything, I’m sure you’ll learn in due course.’ She became practical. ‘And I’m sure they mean you no harm. The Forest is vast and there are many dark and dire places in it to which you could have been led to die, had that been their will. And don’t forget, they’ve roused us to come to your aid twice now. Nothing like that has happened before, ever.’ Still watching him, she nodded, as if confirming to herself that her conclusion was correct. ‘Do as your heart moves you,’ she said again. ‘If tomorrow, you still want to leave, then leave. All will be well.’
Farnor nodded slowly. Angwen’s logic chimed with his determination. He would leave tomorrow.
Set back on his original intention, however, the gentle magic of Angwen’s telling faded, and darkness bubbled up inside him again. He would return to seek out Rannick – and, if necessary, the creature – and destroy them both. That was his duty. That was all he truly had now. And if the trees didn’t like it, then they could tell him directly, and take whatever consequences ensued.
Come into my mind at your cost, he felt something say, deep within him.
He sat with Angwen in silence for some time, then she looked about her suddenly. ‘I hadn’t realized how dark it was getting,’ she said.
She stood up and touched what Farnor had taken to be a round woven basket hanging from the patterned ceiling; an ornament, he had presumed. Immediately a tiny light glowed at the centre of the basket, and then abruptly flared up to light the whole room. Standing up and screwing his eyes against the brightness, Farnor looked at it intently. The basket proved to be of delicately carved wood and it contained a glass globe. He turned away, blinking.