Farnor puffed out his cheeks. The Hearer, wiser than him by far, was looking to him for help. It was a strange sensation, both frightening and exciting. ‘Stay by me. And listen,’ he said on impulse.
Reluctantly, he opened his mind to the trees. A fear-ful confusion cascaded over and through him and for a moment he swayed in his saddle. Then, suddenly angry, he shouted at them furiously. ‘Shut up!’
The noise faltered.
He shouted again, his anger growing. ‘Shut up, damn you. You cloud all our minds with your clamour. If you want our help you must ride with us, not against us.’
The noise faded, and Farnor felt as though he were in the presence of a group of children caught in some misdeed; both guilt and relief filled the silence. In the distance he could Hear the noise continuing, and he realized that his command had somehow made a pool of calm amid a torrent of confusion.
Having obtained this calm, however, he was uncer-tain what to do with it. He could sense the single presence of the Forest, but it was fragmented into a myriad individual voices. Abruptly he had an image of himself as a child, looking at a piece of metal lying on the anvil in the village forge. What had been a magically glowing yellow had faded through orange and red into a dull grey brown even as he watched it, and he had wanted to know why. He remembered how he had reached out to touch it and how his fingers had snatched themselves away almost before he felt the dreadful pain.
He remembered, too, Gofhern the blacksmith lifting him bodily away from the anvil and plunging his hand into a bucket of cold water in one swinging, head-spinning arc. ‘Your fingers have more sense than your head, young Farnor,’ he had chuckled, though only after he had determined that the injury was not too serious.
And was it thus here? Were the individual trees responding to some pain that he could not feel, and confusing his perception of the will of the whole? ‘What do you do when there’s a fire?’ he asked without thinking why.
The listening silence shifted awkwardly. He had the feeling that he had asked an embarrassing question.
‘Well?’ he insisted.
‘If I have the time, then we move,’ came a slightly injured reply, eventually.
‘Explain,’ Farnor persisted.
Then he felt the presence of the most ancient; dis-tant, but quite distinct. It coloured the answering voice. ‘I withdraw that which is private to each… home… and it remains amongst us, sharing… homes… until the seedlings come again and a new… home… can be made.’ The images that filled Farnor’s mind with each mention of the word, home, were deep, personal and intimate, with a poignancy far beyond even the feelings that he had for his own home. ‘But the pain is great, Far-nor, and the leaving of a… home… is no light thing. There is always pain in the loss of what we are attached to. Even to speak thus distresses us.’
Farnor became more gentle. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But we must learn to understand such things. What happens when your… homes… die, or are felled by the Valderen to make their lodges and to fulfil their other needs ‘
He could feel puzzlement and debate at this ques-tion, then an amused realization. ‘I do not… die, Far-nor. This we told you.’ Again Farnor felt a brief touch of the dizzying, time-spanning perspective that he had felt on occasions before. ‘But our… homes… change, and fall back to whence they came, to become eventually… homes… again, renewed. These we leave at our leisure. It is the way of things. As for the Valderen, they perceive our needs, albeit dimly, and they respect them. They ask, and time is granted for the leaving. And their needs are slight within the endless falling and renewing that occurs within our vastness. We can withstand a little pain for the sake of our friends from time to time.’ There was almost a chuckle. ‘Besides I do not dwell too deeply in those… homes… that lie near to the Valderen.’
Farnor rode on in silence for a while, thinking about the words and the nuances behind and beyond them. ‘But this fear around me is not the fear of fire?’ he asked tentatively, after a while.
‘Fire is both ancient and frequent, Far-nor. It is not welcomed, but it is known and understood and thus not truly feared. It, too, is in the way of things and a part of my nature. But the power that threatens here, though known and ancient, is nevertheless not understood. And it is unfettered and greater by far than when you first came. We fear to stay, and we fear to leave.’ The voice was full of regret, shame even.
‘I understand,’ Farnor said. ‘So it is with us also. But your fear clouds our vision. Though they do not know it, it touches the hearts of the Valderen and darkens them, weakens them. You must be our ally or you aid our common foe.’ He spoke sternly. ‘Prepare yourself for fire, or accept the pain of leaving and go from your homes here, now.’
There was a long silence. Marken glanced nervously at Farnor, uncertain about the consequences of his making this unexpected demand so resolutely.
‘We accept your rebuke, Far-nor,’ came the answer eventually. ‘We can do no less than you do. We are with you. We shall prepare ourselves for fire.’
That evening, as they camped, Farnor spoke to a gathering of the hunters and told of his discourse with the trees. He was listened to with great attentiveness and there was much head nodding. ‘There is a different feeling in the air, something that’s not just the moun-tains and these fringe trees,’ was the consensus.
Farnor was pleased with what he had achieved as he lay down in his tent that night, though he found being the focus of the Valderen’s attention whenever he spoke, disturbing.
When he woke the following morning he felt re-freshed and alert, although at the edges of his mind were vague, troubling images. They slipped away from him as he tried to recall them, vanishing into the clamour of the awakening camp.
Throughout the day, the group moved on as noise-lessly as before, but in better heart. Yet the watchful silence that now pervaded the trees was unsettled. ‘What’s the matter?’ Farnor asked eventually.
‘The power grows,’ came the reply, with undertones that once again verged on panic.
And then, like an elusive but unpleasant smell in the air, Farnor sensed the presence of the creature. He reined his horse to a halt and looked about him carefully. He felt part of him reaching out to touch the creature, but somehow he restrained it.
The creature was sleeping, or in some other way dormant. He must not touch it. It must remain thus.
Derwyn looked at him questioningly, but did not speak.
Farnor edged his horse over to him. ‘I think we may have to go our separate ways soon,’ he whispered. ‘Move quietly from here, and take great care. We’re in its territory, for sure, though it’s not hunting at the moment.’ He took Derwyn’s arm and gripped it powerfully. ‘I can’t tell you too strongly. Don’t underes-timate this thing,’ he said. ‘It’s no wild boar or bear. It’s human malevolence made into tooth and claw, and far more savage than anything you’ve ever known. It’s a thing of nightmare. It’ll kill you and those with you with greater ease and far greater relish than a fox kills chickens in a coop if it’s given the slightest chance.’ Then, for some reason he did not understand, he said, ‘Expect to be afraid, but don’t fear your fear.’
Though the message was not new to him, Farnor’s intensity disturbed Derwyn as much as his forthright manner surprised him. He made a gesture and the hunters began to string their bows and untip their lances.
And then they were moving again.