Uldaneth gave a conceding nod. ‘The trees are the trees,’ she said. ‘All I truly know is what I’ve gleaned from various Hearers through the years.’
Farnor looked at her both doubtfully and expec-tantly. She turned and began to walk back towards the trees, motioning him to follow her. He took a final look at the mountains, then, tugging the horses away from their grazing, set off after her.
Within a few paces the trees had closed about him, but although the mountains could no longer be seen Farnor could now feel their dark, brooding presence colouring the stillness of the Forest.
Uldaneth was well into her stride again by the time he caught up with her. And she was answering his question. ‘They’re very old, the trees,’ she was saying. ‘It’s even said that deep in their memories is knowledge of the world that was before this world; before the great heat from which all we know came to be.’
She had an inflexion to her voice that reminded Farnor of Yonas the Teller, but he was in no mood for a fireside tale. ‘I’m not interested in myths and fairy tales,’ he said. ‘I till soil, sow seed, reap crops, tend animals.’ He held out his hands, claw-like. ‘I’m a simple farmer, a practical man. I’ve simple, practical matters to attend to far away from here and I want simple practical advice about these – things – that’ll enable me to get away from here as quickly as possible and get on with them.’ With an effort he forced himself to be a little more polite. ‘I need to know what they want, how they think, how they talk to me the way they do, why in Murrel’s name they’re afraid of me, and what I can say to make them leave me alone.’
Uldaneth’s eyes became cold. ‘Don’t mention that name here, or in my hearing again,’ she said with chilling authority. ‘Not until you know Who you’re talking about.’
It was only a tiny part of Farnor that bridled and sought to respond to this rebuke, so powerful was it. The bulk of him hastily forced a brief and self-conscious apology out of his suddenly dry mouth.
‘As I was saying,’ Uldaneth continued icily and without acknowledgement. ‘They’re old beyond our imagining. They’re one and they’re many, though the distinction’s far from clear, not least to themselves, as you’ve already discovered. As many, they live here.’ She waved her hand at the surrounding trees. ‘In this world. Living, growing, dying, heir to the ills of this world like the rest of us, and for the most part in some harmony with it and its creatures.’ She gave Farnor a stern glance. ‘Certainly more in harmony than we are, for sure.’ She grunted to herself, then continued. ‘As one, they’re immortal in a way. They live in the world – the worlds – that are both here and beyond – and between – that the strength they gain here enables them either to reach – or to create.’
Farnor’s head started to reel as he clung to Uldaneth’s words and tried to make sense of them. He wanted to repeat his appeal for practical simplicity, but she forestalled him. ‘Don’t ask me any hows and whys,’ she said. ‘I’m only telling you what I’ve been told. Make of it what you will.’
He tried to protest, but again she gave him no op-portunity.
‘You might imagine that I know more, or that you need more,’ she went on. ‘But do you? You sow your seed and you reap the crop that you know must surely grow from it, because it’s grown thus always. But, simple farmer, could you lie under the cold sod for a few months and grow into a single stalk of corn?’ Suddenly angry, she seized his hands in a powerful grip, causing him to drop the reins to the horses. Instinctively he tried to jerk free, but as he moved, he found that he was having difficulty in keeping his balance, and could not gain any purchase.
‘Could you grow a fingernail on your own, young man?’ she demanded, shaking his hands vigorously. ‘Grow a hair on your head? Water your eyes when the dust blows in them? Sweat when you’re hot? Turn your breakfast into the stuff of brains and backsides? No! But you get by well enough without giving any of it a thought, don’t you? And doubtless will do for many years yet.’
There was such an ominous crescendo growing through this diatribe that, for a moment, Farnor thought he was about to be cuffed around the ears like a child whose latest offence has unleashed punishment for the last dozen such which were thought forgotten or forgiven. Instead, however, Uldaneth threw his hands down and stalked off.
In some turmoil, Farnor gathered up the horses and hurried after her. As he came alongside, she turned to him again. He flinched. But her anger seemed to have spent itself. This time she patted his arm gently. ‘And some people can do even stranger, more miraculous-seeming things than any of those, Farnor,’ she said. Her gaze seemed to look into his deepest thoughts.
‘Me,’ he said hesitantly.
She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suspect so.’ She looked down, as if for a moment it was she who could not hold his gaze. ‘No,’ she said, looking up again. ‘You deserve honesty. You need honesty, if you’re going to make the right decisions. I don’t suspect, I know.’
Fear suddenly curled around Farnor’s stomach. ‘Who are you?’ he asked shakily.
‘Just a teacher,’ she replied. ‘Truly. I look, I listen, I learn, and what I learn I pass on to others as well as I’m able.’
‘But…’
‘No buts, Farnor.’ She cut across him. ‘Teacher I am. And from what I’ve seen and heard of late, I’ve learned enough to know that I should be elsewhere, imparting my knowledge to others. I can guide you most of the way to the valley where the trees are their most ancient, but there we part.’
‘I’m frightened,’ Farnor heard himself blurting out.
Uldaneth seemed relieved. ‘I know,’ she said, taking his arm again, though gently this time. ‘It’s a small measure of your growing wisdom that you can tell me of it. You’d be a fool indeed if you weren’t frightened after all that’s happened to you. But you’re well founded in your life, and stronger than you know.’
Farnor looked at her, his eyes, full of doubt, search-ing her face. ‘You’ll be burdened with no more than you can bear,’ she said, turning away. ‘Come on, let’s be on our way.’
They walked in silence for a long time. The early morning air was damp and clear, and rich with the promise of a fine summer’s day. And it was alive with bird song, chiming through golden light.
The two walkers, however, seemed to be oblivious to this great celebration. Uldaneth was bowed and preoccupied, while Farnor was nervous and fretful. Occasionally he would become calm, serene almost, as the ringing, mote-filled sunlight and the soft turf springing under his feet conspired to disperse the dark vapours that wreathed through his mind. Vapours that rose from the fear and rage which was bubbling inside him like some foul broth.
At such times however, he dashed the tranquillity angrily from his mind, though now he felt a sense of vandalism in the act. But it was unimportant. What mattered was to reach the end of this journey, learn about this power he was supposed to possess, and then return south as quickly as he could. The image of the dead Rannick rose repeatedly before him, solid and alluring. He clung to it more tenaciously than ever.
The terrain that Farnor had been travelling over for several days had been much more uneven than that around the more southerly part of the Forest, and he realized now that he had been walking through the foothills that fringed the central mountains. The present surroundings began to emphasize this observation as, increasingly, large rocky outcrops began to disrupt the tree-filled landscape. They opened the leafy canopy to reveal great swathes of blue sky overhead and, at times, the sharp edges of the ever-nearing mountain peaks. The ground also became relentlessly steep. Not that this seemed to distress Uldaneth in any way, for she maintained the same steady pace whether she was walking uphill or downhill.
Then they were on top of a broad grassy knoll, once again above much of the surrounding Forest. A solitary peak loomed above them, its hulking shoulders hiding its neighbours and giving the impression that it stood almost alone amid the Forest. Uldaneth pointed. ‘That way,’ she said.