For the rest of the day Farnor wandered about the lodge with Edrien as his guide. At Edrien’s prompting they ate at Bildar’s, where the old Mender insisted on giving Farnor, ‘A quick look-over. Just to set my own mind at ease.’
‘Thanks a lot, for that,’ Farnor said to Edrien acidly as they left. ‘Was that your father’s idea, or your stomach’s?’
Edrien smirked.
Then, at Farnor’s request, they climbed up to Marken’s giddy eyrie. When they arrived, Marken was leaning on the handrail, staring out over the vast treescape below. Roney was perched on his shoulder. ‘Thinking about giving him flying lessons?’ Edrien asked irreverently.
Marken gave her a narrow look, then lifted Roney from his shoulder and held him out to her. ‘Take him for a walk for a few minutes,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to Farnor.’
Marken smiled as Edrien walked off. ‘I think Ang-wen must have been frightened by a gall wasp when she was carrying that one,’ he said reflectively. ‘She’s got a natural charm that’s really quite… elusive.’ Then he chuckled. ‘Mind you, she’s changed lately. Watches her tongue a lot more. I think your arrival made her think about a great many things she’d taken for granted before.’
Before Farnor could offer any comment on this he found himself being scrutinized intently. Taken aback, he ventured, ‘I suppose you want to know what it was really like, meeting the most ancient?’
‘Oh yes,’ Marken replied passionately, but without lessening his scrutiny. ‘But not now. We can talk on the hunt.’
Farnor had a momentary vision of Marken among the Valderen hunters, being scattered like fallen leaves by the creature just as Nilsson’s men had been.
‘What’s the matter?’ Marken asked.
Farnor looked away from him. ‘Nothing. Nothing much,’ he said, then, ‘I’m frightened. Frightened for you, and everyone who’s going on this hunt.’ He tightened his grip on the handrail and shook his head violently, before turning his gaze back to Marken. ‘I shouldn’t be, should I?’ He echoed Derwyn’s phrase. ‘After all, you’re not children. You’re experienced hunters and I’m not, and nor were Nilsson’s men. I must trust. I must trust.’
Marken took his arm.
‘It’s not easy, is it?’ Farnor said, looking out over the trees again.
‘No,’ Marken replied simply. ‘Trusting the ability of people you’re fond of to face danger is profoundly difficult, but we all have to do it sooner or later.’ He nodded pensively to himself as if he had reached a decision. ‘I’m truly glad to see that Edrien’s not the only one who’s changed.’ Farnor turned back to him. ‘Your eyes are still haunted and full of fear, but where there was anger – perhaps even madness – now there’s determination – resolution.’ He looked as if he wanted to say much more, but he simply patted Farnor’s arm paternally.
The next day, after a pleasant but slightly self-conscious breakfast with Derwyn and his family, Farnor was led down to a Forest floor awash with people and horses. And rain. A fine steady rain.
As Derwyn led him from group to group of waiting hunters, he did his best to cope with the confusion of introductions. There were not only given names, but lodge names and family names, elaborate lineages, convoluted relationships and, not infrequently, trades became involved in some way: climbers, slingers, rootmen, splicers, and many others, equally unfamiliar. In the end he was utterly bewildered and confined himself to nodding and smiling and holding his arms tight against his sides to minimize the effect of the many crushing greetings he was receiving.
After each meeting, however, he noted that the hunters faded into the surrounding trees, and when eventually all the introductions were complete and he was riding towards the place where he had first been discovered, he was surprised to find himself accompa-nied only by Derwyn, Marken, Melarn, Edrien and Angwen. ‘Where is everyone?’ he asked.
‘They’re here,’ Derwyn said, waving an arm airily.
Farnor peered earnestly into the dripping trees. Here and there he caught sight of an occasional rider, but he could see nothing of the great crowd that had gathered in Derwyn’s lodge. ‘They’re very well hidden,’ he remarked.
Derwyn merely smiled, smug again, and the party continued in silence.
Farnor examined his companions as they rode on. Melarn’s bright yellow hair held his attention. He had never seen hair that colour, ever, even though many of the valley people were fair-haired. He cast his mind back to the gathering of the hunters. With their bobbing heads, red, yellow, brown, and every rich and subtle combination of these colours, they had reminded him of wind-ruffled autumn leaves. It brought home to him vividly for the first time how strange he must seem to them with his black mop. He was smiling at his whimsy when Marken brought his horse alongside.
‘Now you can tell me what it was like, Farnor,’ he said. ‘Hearing the most ancient. I’ve heard that the trees there are truly huge and that the silence is almost tangible.’
Farnor looked at him. The Hearer’s brown eyes were full of youthful excitement and curiosity. ‘Give me your hand,’ Farnor said, extending his own. Marken’s hand shot out and seized it enthusiastically. ‘Show him,’ Farnor said silently to the trees, closing his eyes, ‘Reach out. Learn and teach.’
There was a brief hesitation and then abruptly the fear pervading the surrounding trees washed over him. He felt Marken’s grip tighten in alarm and he tightened his own in a reassuring response. ‘Show him,’ he insisted. And as if he were some great centre to which all must be drawn, the deep silence of the most ancient entered him, setting aside the fear. Deliberately Farnor filled his mind with his memory of the soaring splen-dour of the great trees and the awe which he had felt in their presence. Marken made no sound as they rode on.
After a timeless interval, Farnor felt the Hearer’s hand slipping away from him, and gradually he became aware of the Forest about them. He looked at Marken. The old man’s eyes were shining with tears. Farnor remained silent.
Throughout the rest of that day, Farnor and the Valderen hunters moved unseen and silent through the trees, drawing inexorably further away from the heart of the Forest, and nearer to their unknown and fearful destination.
Gryss started violently as he heard the door of his cottage open and close quickly. It had been his sad practice of late to lock his door at night, but it was far from being a habit yet. ‘There was an uncertain rumbling from the dog and some rustling in the hallway while, with no small trepidation, he levered himself up out of his chair. Before he could reach the door, however, it opened.
‘Marna!’ he exclaimed, as she stepped hastily inside and closed the door behind her. ‘Where have you been? What’s been happening? Why…’
Marna signalled silence as she motioned him vigor-ously back towards his chair. Gryss retreated under this assault, but he was not so lightly silenced. ‘Your father’s frantic with worry, Marna,’ he said in a low, urgent whisper, for some reason feeling the need to keep his voice down. ‘What…’ His chair nudged him behind the knees and he sat down abruptly.
Marna dropped to her knees in front of him and seized his hands. ‘There are people here, Gryss. People from over the hill. Come to kill Rannick,’ she an-nounced.
Gryss gaped at her, but before he could speak she was recounting the story of her decision to flee the valley and her meeting with the four strangers, though she made no mention of the man she had killed. When she had finished, Gryss closed his eyes and put his hands to his head. For an awful moment, Marna thought that her impetuous entry had been too severe a shock for the old man.
But his eyes were sharp and attentive when he opened them. ‘Tell me all that again, but more slowly,’ he said, lifting her up from her knees and pointing her to a chair opposite.
For a little while the room was filled with the soft murmur of her half-whispered tale and Gryss’s intermit-tent questions. The two of them leaned towards one another, their faces almost touching, like a tentative arch. When she had finished her second telling, Gryss closed his eyes again and leaned back in his chair. ‘This will take me a moment or two, Marna,’ he said.