A laugh made him recall his visitor. Just in time, he remembered to move slowly as he turned around. The woman had moved closer to his bed and was holding the lantern high in order to help him with his inspection of the wall. Her thin face was full of laughter. ‘Of course they’re tree roots,’ she said. ‘What else did you expect to see down here? Rooks’ nests?’ She laughed again.
For an instant Farnor felt indignant at this response, but his indignation crumbled before the confusion and bewilderment that suddenly rushed in upon him. He covered his eyes with his hands and slowly lay back on the bed.
‘Are you all right?’ the young woman asked, anxious now.
Farnor nodded. ‘I was just hoping that I was dream-ing,’ he replied.
‘No, you’re not dreaming,’ came the response, with flat simplicity. ‘Why should you be?’
Farnor scowled and, removing his hands from his eyes, turned towards his questioner. ‘Who are you?’ he asked, none too politely.
‘Edrien,’ came the answer, brusquely echoing his tone. ‘Can you get up? My father wants to see you.’
‘And who’s he?’ Farnor demanded.
Edrien’s eyebrows rose. ‘His name is Derwyn,’ she replied, with studied calmness. ‘He’s the Second of this lodge. And it was he who said you had to be looked after. If I were you, I’d be prepared to answer questions rather than ask them. Are you well enough to get up, or not?’
Farnor nodded, then grimaced as the general throb-bing of his body concentrated itself suddenly in his head. ‘Yes, I can get up,’ he said. ‘But only slowly, I think.’ Gingerly he eased himself upright and prepared to swing his legs out of the bed. Then he stopped abruptly and peered under the blankets. When he looked up, he was wide-eyed. ‘Where are my clothes?’ he asked, urgently.
Edrien flicked a glance towards a nearby chair where Farnor saw his clothes, neatly stacked.
‘Could you pass them, please?’ he asked with awk-ward politeness.
Edrien scowled. ‘I’m not your servant, boy,’ she said, heatedly. But she gathered up the clothes and tossed them to him.
‘Thank you,’ he said weakly. Then he looked at her expectantly.
‘What now?’ she demanded.
‘I want to get dressed,’ he replied, making a vague gesture to the effect that perhaps she might leave him, or at least turn around.
Edrien cast an impatient glance towards the ceiling, and turned round. ‘I don’t know who you imagine helped to get you into that bed last night,’ she said stiffly. ‘Or helped Bildar with his examination.’
Farnor made no reply, but he coloured violently as he hastily struggled into his clothes.
‘I’m ready now,’ he said eventually.
‘Splendid,’ Edrien replied caustically. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a satchel over your head when you speak to my father, in case he looks at you?’
‘Now, listen…’
‘This way,’ Edrien continued, cutting short his at-tempted rejoinder. It was fortunate that she led the way, as Farnor doubted that he could even have found the door, which lay amid the tangle of roots and was as irregular in shape as the rest of the room. Following Edrien through it, he found himself in a narrow corridor, the walls and ceiling of which were also lined with roots. He had little time to look around however, as Edrien was motioning him forward busily. After a short but rather steep upwards journey they reached another door. Edrien threw it open, and Farnor raised his arm to protect his eyes from the bright sunlight that flooded in.
Edrien doused the lantern and placed it on a shelf by the door. Then she took Farnor’s arm firmly and pushed him towards the door. ‘Come on,’ she said.
Eyes screwed tight, Farnor found himself in a wide, grassy clearing, surrounded by trees. Closing the door, Edrien marched off again, with another, ‘Come on.’
‘Where am I?’ Farnor asked, as he caught up with her.
‘I told you. My father’s lodge,’ came the unhelpful reply. Before he could inquire further however, they had reached the edge of the clearing. Edrien stopped by a huge oak. ‘Boys first,’ she said, holding out her hand. Farnor did not notice the taunt in her voice, but turned to see a ladder fastened to the trunk of the tree. As his eyes followed it upwards, it tapered giddily until it was eventually lost in the foliage.
He returned his gaze to the waiting Edrien, and pointed a questioning finger up the ladder. The impatience on Edrien’s face faded, to be replaced momentarily by concern. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ Farnor replied hastily, then, clearing his throat, he asked awkwardly, ‘Does your father live up a tree?’
The impatience returned. ‘Of course he does,’ Edrien replied, crossly. ‘Where else would he live, for pity’s sake?’ She stepped past him. ‘Here, follow me.’
Farnor watched in amazement as she clambered effortlessly up the long ladder, for the most part taking two rungs with each step. Hesitantly he started after her. Having, in the past, helped to build ricks and barns and repair wind-damaged roofs, Farnor was not unduly disturbed by either heights or ladders, but this was the first vertical ladder he had climbed and he soon began to feel alarmingly exposed. Despite being aware that his progress was becoming painfully slow, he made no effort to emulate Edrien’s light-footed ascent but concentrated instead on ensuring that he had a good hand grip and both feet on each rung before taking the next step.
You’re very slow,’ Edrien informed him unnecessar-ily when he eventually reached the top and, with some relief, carefully stepped on to a wide timber platform. ‘Anyone would think you’d never climbed a ladder before.’
‘I’m stiff,’ Farnor replied defensively.
Edrien grunted. ‘This way,’ she said.
The platform curled around the wide trunk of the tree, rose up through a small flight of steps, and then floated out into space to reach what Farnor presumed must be a neighbouring tree. As he stepped on to it, it moved a little. He desperately wanted to ask if it was safe but Edrien was almost at the other side. The thought came to him that she was a lot lighter than he was, but he set off after her in resolute silence, holding very tightly on to the ropes that apparently supported the structure.
Edrien turned and watched him walking across, her head inclined to one side a little. ‘You are stiff,’ she said when he arrived, her voice puzzled and almost sympa-thetic. ‘Never mind, not far now.’
Nor was it. Another platform carried them round to the far side of the tree and Farnor found himself looking open-mouthed at a door set in its trunk. But was it the trunk? He looked from side to side, and then upwards along the… wall?… that housed the door. Where it was visible, it was covered seamlessly in bark, yet surely it couldn’t be a tree trunk. It was far too wide. Then he noticed what appeared to be a window set in it. As if to confirm that he was indeed high in the woodland canopy, he peered over the handrail behind him, but he could not see the ground below; only dense summer foliage.
Then he looked around. There were other walls of bark. And there were more windows – and doors! Doors served by platforms such as he was standing on. And there were other platforms too, winding hither and thither between the leafy branches; some wide, some narrow, some slung on ropes, others carried on beams and intricate frames, some, alarmingly, with no apparent means of support whatsoever.
He had little inclination to stand and study this strange scene, however, as its dominant feature was becoming the number of faces that were appearing at the many windows and staring at him with a blatant curiosity that was both embarrassing and disconcerting. For a frightening instant he felt completely disorien-tated. His mind seemed suddenly to run out of control as if it were searching for something ordinary and familiar on to which it could latch and from which it could measure everything else. Images of his mother and father, and Marna and Gryss, and Rannick and the creature crashed in upon him, cacophonous and confusing. His stomach lurched violently and he felt himself swaying.