Roger Taylor - Valderen

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.

‘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 guid-ing 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 know-ingly.

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.