Farnor started awake at the sudden light. As he made to sit up however, pains throughout his body forced him down on to the bed again immediately. He let out a noisy breath.
‘I’m sorry, did I startle you?’
Carefully Farnor turned his head in the direction of the voice. Gradually his eyes focused on a young woman. She was holding a small lantern which seemed to be the only source of light in the room.
If room it was, he thought, as his eyes adjusted further. For there were no familiar beams over his head, no windows, nor even, for that matter, flat walls and straight corners. With a cautious effort, he levered himself up on to his elbows and gazed around, his companion momentarily forgotten.
The chamber proved to be roughly circular and the walls rose up and curved inwards to become a crudely domed ceiling. What held Farnor’s attention, however, was not the unusual shape of the room but the fact that both walls and ceiling were decorated with dark, shadowy lines that twisted and curved and wound about one another in what seemed to be a completely random pattern. He recalled from the haze of the immediate past that at one point he had imagined himself to be in a cave. But this was no cave. At least, not one such as he had ever known. It was warm and dry and fresh smelling and, despite the peculiar walls and ceiling, it had almost a homely air about it. And the bed was wonderfully comfortable.
He stared at the walls intently, following the twisting lines up and over and down again until he found that he was looking at the wall immediately by his bed. The light grew brighter and the lines began to cast shadows. Tentatively he reached out and touched one of them. ‘They’re like roots,’ he said softly, in amazement. ‘Tree roots.’
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 dreaming,’ 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 throbbing 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 awkward 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 attempted 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 unnecessarily 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 sympathetic. ‘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 disorientated. 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.
‘Steady, boy!’ A hand seized him and shook him vigorously. He looked round to see Edrien, her face shocked. ‘What in the Forest’s name is the matter with you?’ she said. ‘Haven’t you had enough falling for one day?’
Farnor did not answer, nor did he make any effort to free himself from her unexpectedly powerful grip.
Edrien shook her head in bewilderment. ‘You look awful,’ she said, again almost sympathetic. ‘Do you want to go back to the root room and rest some more?’
The vision of the return journey, across the platform and down the ladder, took away most of what was left of Farnor’s speech. ‘No,’ he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head violently. ‘I’m fine, really. I Just felt a little dizzy.’
‘In you go then, if you’re sure.’ Edrien opened the door by which they were standing and ushered him through.
The inside of Derwyn’s lodge proved initially to be even more disorientating than the outside. Not because its shape followed the eccentric contours of the exterior, but rather because it did not. In many ways, Farnor felt that he could have been stepping into nothing more unusual than the entrance porch of an ordinary cottage. A large and exceptionally well-appointed cottage, he had to concede, but an ordinary cottage nonetheless.
He had no time to debate however, as Edrien’s guiding hand shepherded him along a short passageway and thrust him through an open doorway. Two men were sitting by an open window. They both stood up as Farnor entered. He noticed immediately that the one who stepped forward to greet him was obviously Edrien’s kin. There was a look about the eyes and the jawline that was quite distinctive. The similarity ended there, however, as the man’s face was lined and weather-beaten, and, though oddly light on his feet, he was heavily built, in marked contrast to Edrien’s slight frame. Farnor looked at him uncertainly, his mind too full of questions to formulate any one of them clearly.
The man smiled. ‘My name’s Derwyn, young man,’ he said pleasantly, pulling round a chair and gently easing Farnor into it. He indicated his companion. ‘And this is Bildar, our Mender. He’s been looking after you since we brought you back.’
Farnor half rose to greet the other man, but a quiet gesture returned him to his seat. ‘Are you feeling a little better now you’ve had a chance to rest?’ Bildar asked.
‘He’s very wobbly,’ Edrien said, before Farnor could reply. ‘He seems to have quite lost his tree legs.’
Farnor scowled at this intervention, but Derwyn’s smile broadened. ‘I’ve a suspicion that perhaps he’s never had tree legs, Edrien,’ he said. ‘Strange though that might sound.’ He sat down again and turned his attention back to Farnor. ‘But first things first. Are you hungry, young man? And do you have a name?’
Farnor hesitated, almost expecting Edrien to answer for him again. ‘I’m a little thirsty, sir,’ he said eventually. ‘And my name is Farnor, Farnor Yarrance.’
‘Farnor Farnor Yarrance,’ Derwyn echoed. ‘Two names the same, that’s unusual. Is that always the way with your people?’
Farnor looked flustered. ‘No sir,’ he said, hastily. ‘It’s just Farnor Yarrance. Farnor is my given name, Yarrance is my family name.’
Derwyn nodded slowly and thoughtfully, as if he were having a little difficulty taking in this information. ‘Ah, a sirename,’ he decided. ‘And do you have a stock and branch name, or a tree dubbing?’ he went on, expectantly.
Farnor gaped.
‘Apparently not,’ Derwyn concluded, after a brief but awkward silence. He glanced up at his daughter. ‘Ask your mother to join us, would you, Edrien? And bring us something to drink.’ He glanced at his companions.
‘Just water for me — and for Farnor, I think,’ Bildar answered. Derwyn nodded, and Edrien left the room, a hint of indignation in her posture.
Derwyn and Bildar smiled at one another knowingly.
Farnor glanced about the room. There was nothing about it to indicate that it was built in a tree, high above the ground. Except for the occasional mysterious bulge here and there, the walls were quite straight and plain. Strangely, to Farnor’s eyes, the ceiling was not lined with beams but was flat. It was also decorated with a complicated pattern of leaves and branches. In places, Farnor thought that he could see birds and tiny animals worked into the ornate pattern.
He recollected himself with a start. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, flustered. ‘I’ve never seen a room with a painted ceiling before.’
Derwyn nodded. ‘Where’ve you come from, Farnor?’ he asked abruptly.
Farnor lifted a hand as if to point, then after gazing round futilely for a moment, lowered it again. ‘From the village,’ he said, vaguely. ‘But I don’t know where it is from here. I’m afraid I don’t know where I am.’
‘How did you come here, then?’ Derwyn went on.
‘I... I... rode north,’ Farnor replied, stammering unexpectedly. As he spoke, he felt waves of alarm passing through him. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms about himself.
‘Are you all right?’ he heard Bildar asking.
He nodded. Then he shook his head. ‘No. Yes. I don’t know,’ he said uncertainly.
Bildar was by his side, a cool hand feeling his forehead. Gradually the surge of panic receded into the depths from whence it had come. ‘Yes, I’m all right now — I think,’ Farnor said, after a moment. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what...’ His voice tailed off.
‘You’ve had some kind of a nasty shock, I’d say,’ Bildar said, sitting down beside him. ‘But whatever’s...’
Some pent-up wildness within Farnor was released. ‘Shock!’ he heard himself crying out, his voice cracking with an almost childish incredulity. ‘My parents murdered, my home burned, me beaten like a dog — and then pursued by...’ He wrapped his arms about himself again and began to shiver violently as some other, darker compulsion welled up inside and silenced him. Gritting his teeth, and driving his fingers painfully into his arms, he forced himself to stop trembling.
Derwyn and Bildar, both standing by his side now, were looking at him in horror. Derwyn’s arm was extended to warn Edrien, who was standing with another woman in the doorway, not to enter.
‘He has no fever. Nor any contagion that I can find,’ Bildar said, in answer to the unspoken question on Derwyn’s face. He touched his own temple discreetly. ‘But he seems to be appallingly troubled. We must be patient with him. I think perhaps we can do nothing but tend him until he can find the strength to speak of what’s happened.’
‘Don’t talk about me as though I weren’t here,’ Farnor said angrily.
A flash of reciprocal anger lit Derwyn’s face, but Bildar laid a restraining hand on his arm. ‘I apologize,’ he said to Farnor, before Derwyn could speak. ‘It was ill-mannered and thoughtless of me. A Mender’s way, I’m afraid. But you’ll understand, I’m sure, that you’ve come to us as mysteriously as if you’d dropped out of the sky. Almost like something out of an ancient tale. Your appearance and your speech tell us that you’re not Valderen, or even of the Forest, and suddenly you talk of the most fearful happenings. We’re concerned for your pain, as we would be for one of our own, and we’re concerned for what your pain might mean for us, if evil things have driven you from your home and land, Farnor Yarrance.’
Farnor put his head in his hands but did not reply.
Derwyn frowned thoughtfully, then crouched down in front of Farnor. ‘Tell us what you can, when you can, Farnor,’ he said. ‘You may stay in our lodge until your body’s truly rested, and your spirit’s more at peace.’
Farnor looked up sharply, his face riven with conflicting emotions, greatest amongst which was anger. Gradually however, he seemed to gain control of himself again. ‘Thank you, Derwyn,’ he said, his voice subdued. ‘I seem to be full of dreadful thoughts and feelings that I’ve never known before. I’m sorry. I can’t stay, I have nothing...’
Derwyn rested a hand on his arm. ‘For such time as you need to recover yourself, you’ll be our guest, Farnor,’ he said. Then he straightened up and affected a heartiness which, in truth, he did not feel. ‘I’ve no doubt that as you get better we’ll find some chores to keep you occupied.’
Farnor nodded dully.
Derwyn indicated his daughter. ‘I’ll not ask you any more questions now, Farnor. I should’ve let you rest more, you’re obviously still too distressed. I’ll leave you in Edrien’s charge.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘You’re not used to lodges — homes — like ours, are you?’ he asked.
Farnor shook his head.
‘Incredible,’ Derwyn said softly to himself, then, ‘Well, ask Edrien if there’s anything you want to know, but don’t wander off without her. And do as she tells you. That way, you should come to no harm.’
He beckoned Edrien into the room and, taking her to one side, spoke to her softly. ‘Watch him carefully, listen to him, and learn what you can about him — without actually questioning him, that is. He’s probably more likely to confide in you than in old hollow trunks like me and Bildar.’ He glanced back at Farnor, who was sitting motionless with his head bowed. ‘For all he looks a bit odd, he seems to be a well-set-up lad. I’d say he’s been a hard worker in his time, judging by his hands. But even I can tell he’s broken inside in some way. I fancy he’ll need a lot of help and a lot of patient tending, so keep a rein on that acid tongue of yours, my girl. Do you understand?’
Edrien nodded. ‘I think so, Father,’ she replied, tartly. Then she went over to Farnor. ‘Is it true you’ve never seen a lodge in a tree before?’ she asked bluntly.
Farnor looked at her suspiciously, but saw that the question was sincere. ‘Yes,’ he replied.
Genuine amazement filled Edrien’s face. ‘I’ll help you with the ladders and the ways, then,’ she said. ‘I never realized...’
Derwyn laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Go with Edrien now,’ he said to Farnor. ‘It’s growing dark. She’ll find somewhere for you to sleep tonight, and tomorrow she’ll find you a room of your own and show you around. Then perhaps we can have another talk.’
No sooner had Farnor and Edrien left, than Derwyn’s concern showed on his face, and he started to pace up and down. The woman who had accompanied Edrien came into the room. Her movements were soft and fluid and seemingly quite without effort. She sat in the chair that he had been using. ‘You can stop that before you start,’ she announced, with a purposefulness markedly at odds with her gentle demeanour. ‘There won’t be a leaf left on the tree if you carry on pounding up and down like that.’
Jaw set, but making no reply, Derwyn sat down by the window and leaned on the sill, his head on his hand. The setting sun threw the Shadows of the branches outside on to his face, deepening its already well-defined furrows. ‘What do you make of it all, Angwen?’ he asked. ‘Have we taken a cuckoo into our nest?’
The woman laughed softly. ‘It’d be a rare bird that could throw Edrien out of anywhere,’ she replied. ‘That black hair makes him look strange, but from what I’ve just seen and from what little she’s told me, he seems a fragile kind of a soul.’
Derwyn nodded. ‘My impression, too,’ he said. ‘But...’ He stood up and walked over to his wife. ‘... somehow he’s cost us our Hearer and, impressions or no, I want to find out a great deal more about him, and as quickly as possible.’ He sat down opposite his wife and turned to Bildar. ‘How long?’ he asked simply.
Bildar shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he replied. ‘What he’s said should give you some clue to the state he’s in. What was it? His parents murdered! His home burned. Burned, Derwyn.’ He gave a slight shudder. ‘And then something about being beaten and pursued, just as we’d worked out for ourselves. He’s been through some fearful ordeal, and I doubt he’s Edrien’s age. All I can suggest is that we wait, and in the meantime keep an eye on him. I’ll have another look at him tomorrow, but as far as I can tell there’s nothing wrong with him physically that time won’t put right. I think we’ll have to be very careful about how we question him, though.’
Derwyn looked unhappy. ‘You may well be right,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘But, apart from the disturbance that Marken was talking about, it worries me that something might be happening beyond, that could affect us. Suppose whoever was pursuing him returns to the search. And the people who murdered his parents and burned his home. What if they come looking for him?’
Bildar made no reply.
Derwyn went on, his expression becoming increasingly troubled. ‘Or suppose he’s a criminal of some kind, fleeing from lawful pursuit?’
‘That’s not what you feel, is it though?’ his wife asked, her eyes fixed on his face.
‘No,’ Derwyn replied. ‘All I feel is that an injured sparrow has fallen into our care, but...’
Angwen smiled and her manner became mocking. ‘First a cuckoo, now a sparrow,’ she said. ‘What next, Derwyn? An eagle messenger from one of the cloud lands? A white swan from the snow mountains? Or perhaps the raven from the Great Castle of Light?’
‘Stop that,’ Derwyn demanded, impotently, with a jabbing finger. ‘This is serious.’ But his scowl had become a reluctant smile.
‘Of course, my dear,’ Angwen replied, agreeing completely and conceding nothing, as was her usual way. ‘But of the many things he might be, I can’t see him being a criminal, can you?’
‘He might be,’ Derwyn insisted. ‘How can we tell? Just because he’s hurt and fragile looking?’ His eyes widened. ‘He’s got a temper, and he’s shown it already.’
‘And you haven’t, I suppose?’ Angwen retorted.
‘That’s different,’ Derwyn replied defensively.
Angwen raised her eyebrows, mocking again.
‘You’re not helping, Gwen,’ Derwyn spluttered in exasperation.
‘Yes, I am,’ his wife replied simply. ‘You’ve been fretting about this boy ever since you found him, instead of thinking. You’re trying to do too much, too quickly, and you’re not stopping to look at the obvious.’
Derwyn’s eyes widened in feigned surprise. ‘And what obvious is that, my dear?’ he inquired, sitting back and affecting an expression of rapt expectation.
Angwen leaned forward towards him. ‘They’d never have let him in if there’d been any great evil in him, or if any such evil would have been drawn after him,’ she said, quietly and seriously.
Derwyn sighed noisily and nodded. ‘Marken said more or less the same thing,’ he conceded. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ His face relaxed somewhat. ‘Perhaps I have been a little too... agitated... about this business so far.’ He paused, and his eyes became distant. ‘But, seeing the lad lying there, with his strange clothes and his black hair,’ he grimaced slightly. ‘He really did look like something out of an old tale. And now this business with Marken.’ He shook his head. ‘Gone to find a quiet place, for mercy’s sake. Where does that leave us? I’ve heard of that kind of thing happening to Hearers but I scarcely gave it credence. I certainly never thought it’d happen to us, to Marken. This is his root lodge.’
This time it was Angwen who sighed. She rested her chin on her hand pensively. ‘Well, we’ll have to see what he has to say when he comes back,’ she said after a moment.
‘If he comes back,’ Derwyn said significantly. ‘That’s the problem, isn’t it?’
‘He’ll be back,’ Angwen said.
‘You seem quite confident about that,’ Derwyn said, looking at her earnestly. ‘Most of the stories I’ve ever heard about Hearers wandering off to find a quiet place have involved them never coming back.’
Angwen did not reply. Instead she began slowly twisting and turning her hands, bending and straightening her long fingers, and apparently studying them in great detail. Derwyn watched her in silence. Angwen moved now as she had when they had first fallen in love, and through the years he had never tired of watching her subtle, elusive grace. He had never seen the like in any other woman. Still it touched the young man housed inside him. And too, he knew, that there was no pointless vanity in her present examination; she was not looking at her hands, she was ordering her thoughts. Angwen had many kinds of grace.
‘Marken’s well rooted,’ she said eventually. ‘But that’s not what will bring him back. He’ll come back because they want him to. They protected the boy in some way, they drew Marken and thus you to him in a quite unprecedented manner. And there are other lodges round here that could have served the same end, aren’t there?’
Derwyn pursed his lips. That thought had not occurred to him.
‘But when the boy’s safe, Marken suddenly senses confusion all around him. Their confusion, as much as his own. Confusion that he thinks might have been rumbling on perhaps even for years. And he’s got an inquiring mind, Derwyn. His every fibre would have wanted to stay here and learn about that boy. I don’t think he simply walked away. I think he was drawn away.’
‘They want to tell him something,’ Derwyn said, on an impulse.
Angwen nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, simply. ‘I think so. Marken, the boy, us, we’re all at the centre of this. They wouldn’t have let the boy in on some whim, would they? Nor chosen Marken to search him out, nor had him brought here. And, from what both Marken and the boy said, I think they may well have turned away his pursuers.’
She paused and continued looking at her hands. When she spoke again she was almost whispering. ‘Think, Derwyn. We live in harmony with them, but it’s they who are the stronger and the older, and we who are really the outsiders. They’ve little or no need of us. They respect us, perhaps, or they fulfil some ancient obligation, who can say? But they aren’t as we are, and generally they leave us to our own destinies.’
Derwyn’s brow furrowed a little.
‘You know it’s so,’ Angwen replied. ‘Many’s a child wandered off to perish, and many’s an injured hunter bled to death, where a whisper from them would have found them.’
Derwyn grimaced. Angwen’s clarity of vision was sometimes difficult to deal with. ‘A cold respect,’ he could not help saying.
Angwen looked at him sadly. ‘But it is so,’ she said. ‘And how could it be otherwise? Either they interfere with our lives or they don’t. And if they did, what would we be then? Clinging parasites, useless and draining? Noisy pets? Either way, as captive as if we were bound in cages. Yet this time they did interfere. More than we’ve ever known.’ She nodded her head conclusively. ‘They have some need of this boy. This boy who isn’t even Valderen. And he in his turn needs us if he’s to survive here.’
‘And you think Marken will be told what’s to be done with him?’ Derwyn asked.
‘It’s logical, if nothing else,’ Angwen declared.
‘But if that were the case, they could’ve told him what he needed to know in the first place,’ Derwyn said, although he was reluctant to challenge the optimism in his wife’s words.
Angwen nodded again. ‘I doubt it’s that simple,’ she said, reflectively. ‘They aren’t as we are. Marken spoke of great confusion. Perhaps they don’t know what they want. Perhaps what they want is beyond our understanding.’ She shrugged. ‘Perhaps it’s difficult for them to make themselves Heard, or perhaps Marken, or any Hearer for that matter, simply can’t understand fully what he’s Hearing...’ She stopped abruptly. ‘But that’s all conjecture and vagueness,’ she concluded, smiling and holding her hands out, palms upwards, with a small shrug of defeat. She raised an eyebrow. ‘What does the bold hunter’s intuition tell him?’
Derwyn smiled and raised his head in mock imitation of an animal testing the air. ‘My hunter’s instinct tells me that I’ve been dithering where I should’ve been thinking, and that, as usual, you’re probably right,’ he said. ‘There’s obviously something special about the boy. And, without a doubt, he’ll need us while he’s here. And who else but Marken could be the link to tell us what’s happening? I’ll be patient and await events.’ Then his smile faded abruptly and his expression became almost fearful. It was as if a black cloud had suddenly appeared in a bright summer sky, to obscure the sun and throw the land below into cold shadow.
‘What’s the matter?’ Angwen asked, her eyes abruptly anxious.
Derwyn forced a smile, but it merely served to accentuate his look of distress. ‘There’s a bad feeling in the air, Angwen. All around. Change coming. Change for us. Change for them. Darkness...’
Slowly, like Farnor before him, he wrapped his arms about himself protectively.