There was some applause and much nodding of heads for this, as EmRan sat back. Then all eyes turned towards Derwyn. He too, nodded as he looked at the familiar faces. The Synehal was empty, as it invariably was, EmRan was going on about something, as he invariably was, and even in himself, he felt the great momentum of his ordinary life seeking to reassert itself; to make him set aside this brief aberration and ‘get back to normal’.
But the effects of his contact with Farnor could not be so lightly shaken off. It was like a log-weighted arrow in the side of a great stag. It would drag and drag, constantly wearing him down, until he collapsed with exhaustion, easy prey for the tracking hunters. He scowled. Bad analogy, he thought. His contact with Farnor was not without its grim concerns, but it had had more the feeling of release than capture.
He cast a glance at Marken. He could see that the Hearer was looking concerned after EmRan’s speech. ‘Before he left, I asked Farnor what he wanted,’ he began quietly. ‘Nothing, he said. He’d made up his mind what he had to do, and he was going to see it through. A good trait in a young man, I thought. Forest knows, we grumble often enough that our children rarely finish what they set out to do. It was the last of several things that he did that confirmed the opinion I’d already formed about him. Whatever else he was, he was no criminal. He was a lost and much troubled young man, plain and simple.’
EmRan conspicuously stifled a yawn.
‘Then he said the most that he’s ever said about what had driven him here,’ Derwyn continued, ignoring the jibe. ‘He said we should follow his tracks and try to find the valley that he’d come from, and then we should guard ourselves against what’s in there. Odd phrase, that. We’d need our best hunters, and we’d need Marken. And above all, we should be very careful.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘He didn’t have to tell me anything. He’d decided to leave and he knew that I wouldn’t interfere with him or question his decision. And he knew he’d probably never come back. But he wanted to warn us. For some reason he won’t, perhaps can’t, tell us what brought him here, but he knows that it’s some kind of a threat to us.’ He looked at each of the others in turn. ‘EmRan likes to make fun of my concerns, talking about tree goblins and children’s tales. But perhaps, like Farnor, EmRan’s reluctant to talk even about what might be happening here. All this, “let’s get back to normal, do the things we’ve always done”.’ He allowed himself a little acidity. ‘Stick our heads in the hollow tree,’ he said, baring his teeth. ‘Perhaps those are the real children’s games.’
EmRan scowled.
Derwyn flicked his thumb towards Marken. ‘You heard Marken tell you what he’d Heard,’ he went on. ‘An evil pursued Farnor here, they said. Spawn of the Great Evil, they called it. It means nothing to us, but those of you who were watching might have noticed that Marken went pale even as he spoke the words. Whatever he Heard, it had resonances about it that while he can’t find the words to describe them, he can fear them here.’ He struck his stomach forcefully, and his voice became stern.
‘Now, unless we all decide that Marken’s advice is no longer worth listening to, I suggest we pay heed to what he said, and to what Farnor said to me, and start preparing ourselves for the fact that our “normal” lives are perhaps not going to be quite the same in the future. And for the fact that change is on us whether we like it or not.’
EmRan slapped his knees noisily. ‘No one’s doubt-ing what Marken’s told us,’ he said. ‘Or that he had some profound experience as a result of helping this Farnor. All I’m saying is, whatever the truth of events, it’s nothing to do with us. Nothing at all. We’ve got enough to do just tending our own. We can’t go wandering about the southern fringe interfering with the affairs of outsiders, looking for whatever it was that chased him here and perhaps bringing it down on our own heads.’ He lifted a cautionary finger. ‘They’ll not thank us for that, if they’ve had such problems turning it away themselves.’ He sat back again, smugly secure in the rightness of this last point.
Derwyn made no effort to assail this fortress, opting instead to move around it.
‘I too, would like nothing more than to “get back to normal”,’ he said. ‘But my every instinct tells me that change is coming.’ Again he raised his hand to forestall an interruption from EmRan. ‘Every so often, once every generation or so, a wind comes that shakes the Forest to its roots. A wind that brings down trees that have stood for tens of generations. A wind so strong that it splits open the walls of our lodges, sometimes even brings them down. I smell something like that brooding in the distance, as does Marken, though perhaps for different reasons. EmRan says that they’ll be less than pleased if we interfere with whatever it was they turned away from Farnor with such difficulty, but I’d put it the other way. I’d say that if they had such difficulty then we should look to help them, not just stand idly by. For two reasons. Firstly because it’s simply the action of a good neighbour to help our friends – our hosts, I might add – if they’re in trouble. We’re all of us old enough to know there’s no moral case for being a bystander in such circumstances. Secondly, because if this thing returns, and this time they’re unable to stop it, does EmRan think that we alone will be able to stand against it?’
An uncomfortable silence greeted this conclusion. Derwyn watched, and spoke just as he saw EmRan about to break it. He, too, now became affable. ‘And as for disturbing anything, bringing it down upon us, simply by going to search the southern fringe – what are we? Drummers and players? Going in like climbfest dancers? We’re hunters, for Forest’s sake. We need no lessons in silence and stealth and caution. And with Marken helping us we’ll soon know if we’re going somewhere our presence isn’t welcome.’
No one, not even EmRan, seemed inclined to pursue the matter further, so Derwyn placed his idea formally before the group: that a lodge hunting party be sent south, along such tracks as Farnor had left, to see if they could either find the valley from which he claimed to have fled, or find whatever it was that had driven him into the Forest. Somewhat to his surprise, the group agreed to vote on it immediately.
‘EmRan had that log half sawn before you started,’ Marken said sympathetically as he and Derwyn walked through the pouring rain after the meeting.
Derwyn snarled and then swore.
Marken looked at him askance. ‘It’s not the first time he’s beaten you in a shrub Congress,’ he said. ‘You know how he is. He has to do something now and then, to show how capable he is. Don’t take it to heart. It’s nothing serious. He’d never be able to sway the full Congress in advance.’
‘Nine to three, Marken,’ Derwyn said, in angry exas-peration. ‘Me, you and Melarn. And those other old stumps just trotted along behind him like message squirrels.’
Marken unsuccessfully tried to smother a laugh.
Derwyn bowed his head and shook it. ‘No, Marken,’ he said. ‘I’m not in the mood.’
Marken took his arm, his face becoming more seri-ous. ‘It is only a shrub Congress, Derwyn. It’s not that important.’
Derwyn stopped and hitched the hood of his cloak back a little. He glanced upwards into the falling rain. ‘Marken, you’re still up there, somewhere. Still buoyed up by what happened to you when you were with Farnor.’ He looked at his friend. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. I celebrate your… excitement… or whatever it is; truly. But something’s touched me, too. I look around here and see everything that I’ve known all my life, and I know it’s going to change, and change for the worse if we don’t do anything.’
Marken watched him unhappily. ‘I respect your concerns, Derwyn,’ he said. ‘But nothing’s really happened that can lead you to such a conclusion. It’s…’