Roger Taylor - Farnor

But that too drifted away… softer… and softer.

And then he was many people, staring, talking, anx-ious for the downed young man.

Mostly anxious.

And finally there was only confusion. Eddying to and fro, slipping tantalizingly into coherence then slipping away before it could be grasped. Until, slowly, a rhythm made its way through the swirling din and demanded attention. Drawing all to it like mountain streams to a valley lake.

‘Farnor. Farnor.’

Light entered the darkness, painfully bright.

And blue.

‘Farnor. Son.’

And he was back; the focus of a ring of worried faces centred by Gryss, head cocked on one side, and his father and Marna gazing down at him. The heavy scent of crushed ferns filling his nostrils.

He held up his hand and stared at it curiously. It was there, and solid, and, beyond debate, his. He felt unexpectedly relieved at the revelation.

‘Are you all right?’ His father’s voice impinged on his reverie.

Farnor looked up at him and smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘What happened?’

‘You tell me what happened,’ Gryss replied, almost indignantly. ‘You fell over. You’ve been unconscious for a good few minutes.’

Farnor made to sit up but Gryss restrained him. ‘Give yourself a moment,’ he said. ‘It’s probably the heat. When did you eat last?’

Farnor scowled. A surge of rebellion stirred in him. He wouldn’t be treated like some sticky child out on his first round-up. The humiliation!

But a quieter part of him set the indignation aside.

He looked again at the watching faces. People he had known all his life. Down-to-earth people. Some he liked, some he respected, some made him laugh, some were just friends.

He wanted to tell them that in some way he had touched the creature that they were hunting. Touched it and other things also. He wanted to tell them that the creature was profoundly evil and that if it were caught – and that would be no light task – then it would wreak appalling destruction on its captors.

There was no doubt about his new-gained knowl-edge of the creature, though how it had come to him he could not begin to fathom – it was just there. But they would not understand. Not even his own father. Gryss, perhaps. But still…

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Truly. I must have snagged my foot and tumbled. Winded myself. Or banged my head on the ground.’

Garren looked at him closely and then stood up, relieved normality closing about him. He made a small pantomime of searching for damage to the ground as he gave his son’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘I can’t see a dent,’ he said. There was some laughter from the spectators at this antic, and several hands helped Farnor to his feet. As he stood he caught Gryss’s eye; the eye of old Gryss, the healer, from whom little could be kept.

Farnor shrugged.

‘Watch where you’re putting your feet then, young Farnor,’ Gryss said significantly. ‘I doubt anyone here’s anxious to be carrying you back home.’

And the hunt set off again.

Farnor was relieved to have avoided further interro-gation by Gryss, but sensed that this was only a postponement.

‘Are you all right? What happened?’ The questions this time came softly from Marna.

‘I told you, I tripped,’ Farnor replied irritably, though equally softly.

‘You didn’t,’ Marna hissed. ‘You were looking at the fur, then you went down like a log. I saw you.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Farnor said, recogniz-ing the mistake even as he made it.

Marna seized it. ‘Talk about what?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing!’ Farnor snapped as loudly as he dared. Marna took his arm and shook it. ‘I’ll tell you later,’ he surrendered, and Marna released him grudgingly.

The group continued in silence for some time until the ferns petered out, and with them even such small signs as the creature had left. And there were other problems.

The path they had been following had taken them away from the castle, but they were almost level with it. Ahead the valley floor rose gradually, and the tree cover became thicker.

Without any command they stopped. To continue would be to go beyond the castle. They had reached the boundary of their territory and, though no obstacle opposed them, only some grim necessity would make them go further.

Gryss swore under his breath. He knew that for every reason he could put forward for continuing, two would be raised for turning back and trying some other method of catching the creature. Even night watches. As leader he would have to follow.

‘This is far enough,’ he said, voicing the silent con-sensus. ‘It seems as if it’s hiding in the woods up there. It could be anywhere. We’ll have to wait for it to come to us, after all.’

Farnor looked around, registering only faintly the unspoken unwillingness to travel beyond this unmarked boundary. Having been drawn past his own limits, he saw nothing in this place to restrain him. On either side of the valley the high peaks were closing in, but they were not yet oppressive. Ahead lay rising undulations of easy mountain turf no different from those parts of the valley that he knew. And the trees too were no different. Swaying and whispering gently. Almost as if they were calling out to him.

To the left, some way away and much higher than the motionless group, was the castle, oddly dominant now in spite of the mountains behind it.

‘We might see something from up there,’ Farnor offered, pointing towards it.

Gryss looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Maybe,’ he said. He cast a glance at the others, watching him uneasily after Farnor’s suggestion. ‘But it’ll be too late to be going much further even if we do.’ He spoke to the watchers. ‘You head back. Start making arrangements for a round-up, and schooling yourselves to the idea of night watches. I’ll go to the castle with Garren and these two.’ He nodded at Farnor and Marna. ‘Perhaps we can see something from there.’

There was no dispute and the group divided.

As he trudged slowly up the long slope to the castle, Farnor found himself next to Gryss while Garren and Marna walked ahead.

‘What happened?’ Gryss asked bluntly.

‘What do you mean?’ Farnor tried.

‘What happened when you passed out?’

Farnor shrugged his shoulders and repeated his earlier explanation.

‘You were neither winded nor stunned, young Far-nor,’ Gryss declared. ‘And even if I didn’t have the wits to see that, I’ve known you since before you were born and I certainly know when you’re lying. Now what happened?’

‘I don’t know,’ Farnor said, after hesitating as long as he dared and taking refuge in a version of the truth. ‘I just remember feeling light-headed. As if I was far away but here at the same time. And then I was waking up with you all round me.’

Gryss looked at him narrowly but did not press his interrogation. Instead, he admitted his ignorance.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘you’re not cursed with the falling sickness, nor are any of your family. And you’re too strong to be overcome by the sun and a little walking.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘And I’d swear you were dreaming. It was almost as if you were awake and just had your eyes closed.’

‘I wasn’t pretending!’ Farnor exclaimed, heatedly.

Gryss was taken aback at this response. ‘I know,’ he said both reassuringly and apologetically. ‘But I’ve never seen anything like it before. Can’t you remember anything?’

Farnor suddenly wanted to spill out the strange contact he had had with the creature they were hunting, but even as the thought formed he rejected the idea. Besides, as time had passed, the incident had become less vivid in his mind. Perhaps indeed he had only been dreaming.