Roger Taylor - Valderen

Marken shook his head slowly. ‘No,’ he replied doubtfully. ‘But something’s wrong. Unsettled, turbu-lent.’ He hesitated and his face became agitated. ‘You’ll have to forgive me, Derwyn, I suddenly seem to find myself not where I thought I was. As if I’d been walking uphill without realizing it, and suddenly turned to find myself looking out over a totally unfamiliar treescape.’

Derwyn looked concerned, and even Edrien forebore to make any caustic observation, so disturbed did Marken seem. ‘I don’t understand,’ Derwyn said.

‘Nor do I,’ Marken replied after a long pause. ‘That’s the problem. Everything is at once so clear and so vague. It’s clear that something portentous is about to happen – or perhaps has happened – but vague about what it could be, or might have been. Or when, or how it will affect us.’

‘How long have you had these feelings?’ Derwyn asked gently.

‘I don’t know,’ Marken replied. ‘That’s what I was trying to say. It’s as if I’ve had them almost for years, but for some reason have only just noticed them.’ He looked at Derwyn. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, standing up and putting his hand to his head. ‘Even talking like this is… changing things.’

There was a long, uneasy silence, in which Marken stood motionless, staring into the trees, while his companions watched him, uncertain what to say or do. Then, abruptly, he seemed to reach a decision. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to go away for a little while. I’ll have to find… a quiet place… calm myself, order my thoughts.’

Edrien frowned, puzzled by this remark, but Bildar and Derwyn exchanged shocked glances. Derwyn stood and took Marken’s arm and looked at him intently. After a moment however, he nodded slowly, and, with reluctant resignation, said, ‘You must do as your judgement tells you, Marken.’ He sat down again, but it was almost as if he could not trust his legs to support him. Then, clearing his throat awkwardly, he became practical. ‘Do you want a companion to tend to your needs?’ he asked.

‘No, thank you, Derwyn,’ Marken replied. ‘I’ll have to be truly alone.’ He affected a slight heartiness. ‘And I’ve not lost all my Forest skills yet. I’ll survive for as long as I have to.’

Derwyn was too well acquainted with the old Hearer to dispute the matter with him. ‘As you wish,’ he said helplessly. There was another uncomfortable silence. ‘When will you go?’ he asked eventually.

Marken looked pained. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘I’ll get some things from my lodge and go immediately. There’s nothing needing a Hearer for a little while, and…’ he looked from side to side, restlessly. ‘… matters aren’t going to resolve themselves by us sitting talking about them.’

‘Whatever you wish,’ Derwyn said again softly.

Marken gave a curt nod and made a small, awkward gesture of farewell to Bildar and Edrien, then turned and walked off into the trees.

Edrien stood up hesitantly, her mouth hanging open in bewilderment. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked her father uncertainly. ‘What’s happened? What’s he doing? Where’s he going?’

Derwyn motioned his daughter to sit down and, leaning back in his chair, put his head in his hands.

‘Father?’ Edrien insisted.

Bildar laid a hand on her arm. ‘A minute,’ he whis-pered. ‘Give him a minute.’

Edrien turned to him, the same questions on her face, but Bildar waved a finger for silence.

‘Damnation,’ Derwyn said suddenly, his face grim. He slapped the table with his hand, and the birds feasting nearby rose as one and scattered noisily into the trees.

‘What’s the matter?’ Edrien tried again, her voice both anxious and impatient. ‘What was Marken talking about? Why’s he gone off like that all of a sudden?’ Guilt tinged her expression. ‘Was it something I did?’

Derwyn looked at her sharply, as if surprised to find that he was not alone. His dark expression faded almost immediately into regret as she flinched away from it. He took her hand. ‘No, no,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I’m afraid it’s something far more serious than your acid tongue.’

‘What, then?’ Unsettled by her father’s sudden change of mood, Edrien let a petulant note waver into her question.

Derwyn scowled. ‘I don’t know, Edrien,’ he said, echoing her tone. ‘And neither does Marken. Nor Bildar. Nor any of us. Something’s troubling him deeply; very deeply. And he needs to go to what the Hearers call a quiet place.’

Edrien frowned. ‘But…’

Bildar cut through the angry family tension that was beginning to develop between father and daughter. ‘Marken’s a Hearer, Edrien,’ he said, risking the obvious. ‘No one knows what they Hear, or how, or why. But they’re our only contact with them and we need them if we’re to live here in any semblance of harmony. We have to weigh what they say, and we have to trust their judgement.’

Edrien’s lip began to curl slightly.

‘No!’ Bildar said softly, but with great force. ‘You’re young, and you take things for granted. Just listen for once. That’s the way it is, even though we don’t truly understand it.’ He became stern. ‘And we don’t denounce because we don’t understand. We think and we listen and we watch and we stay silent until perhaps, one day, the light dawns.’ He tapped his temple with his finger.

Untied to her by blood, Bildar had an authority over Edrien that was in many ways greater than her father’s. She nodded, but did not speak. Bildar cast an anxious glance at Derwyn and hesitated before continuing. ‘Your father’s concerned because we don’t know when, or even if, Marken’s going to come back.’

The remainder of Edrien’s antagonism drained away into shocked disbelief. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know if he’s coming back?’ She looked at her father and then back at Bildar, a frightened girl suddenly trying not to peer out of the young woman’s eyes.

Seeing his daughter thus downed, Derwyn’s own darkness faded a little. ‘We’ve no answers to any of your questions, Edrien,’ he said gently. ‘Hearers are Hearers. If Marken could’ve told us the how and why of every-thing then he would have done. All we can do now is accept whatever problems his leaving presents us with. His own troubles are far greater. If he needs anything at all, it’s to know that his friends, his people, will be carrying on as he’s always shown them, trusting in the knowledge that this is their will and that they’ll not leave us without guidance for long.’

Edrien looked in the direction that Marken had taken. Her face was pale and she seemed suddenly near to tears, but her father’s appeal to friendship and trust had forbidden any response other than concern for Marken now.

‘You mean he’s just going to wander off somewhere and sit under a tree and think?’ she said, her voice unsteady.

Derwyn shrugged, but did not reply.

Shaking her head rapidly, as if to clear it, Edrien took refuge in practicalities. ‘You men are so illogical,’ she announced. ‘How can he wander off without knowing what he’s doing, or where he’s going? What in the Forest’s name does…’

Bildar interrupted, a little impatiently. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘He trusts himself, and what he Hears. And we must do the same. It’s a rare thing for a Hearer to leave like this but it’s happened to others before now.’

Edrien let out an exasperated breath. ‘If you say so,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘But I don’t understand what’s happening at all. Marken’s probably not been away from the lodge alone in years. How’s he going to manage?’

‘He’ll manage well enough,’ Derwyn said, though his voice lacked conviction. He looked up at the sunny sky. ‘It’s summer, after all. And he’s well rooted. Try not to fret.’