There was more singing in the evening, although not by Yaret. Parthenal took the lead: he had a fine tenor voice, and Rothir sometimes accompanied him in a bass rumble. Tiburé and Eled added choruses, a little less tunefully; but the overall sound for Yaret was both strange and lovely. They sang three ballads in Vonnish, in a slightly melancholy six-note mode that she had not come across before. When she tried to catch at the words, the meaning slipped past the edges of her mind. She was now feeling extremely tired.
“Maeneb is the best singer of us,” said Parthenal, “but I doubt if we can induce her to join in.” Maeneb was the only one of them not present in the hollow tree, although there was plenty of room there for her. Tiburé said that she had stayed outside to commune with the Farwth.
“And with the insects,” added Rothir. “There are wonderful multitudes of them here, but the biters come out in the evening.” Indeed, Yaret could hear their faint hum and whine from where she sat; along with the calls of unknown birds, which coloured the night air with plangent hollow flutings.
They had already eaten, a Warden having brought them bowls of some small fish and plain vegetables. After the songs they fell into quiet conversation, mainly in Vonnish; it seemed to Yaret that they were trying to engage Eled in their talk and to reassure him. She wondered how much he understood of his own situation – whether tomorrow he would feel lost once they had gone.
“I will look after Eled,” she said into a pause. “We will learn to walk again together. I am sure the Wardens will give us exercises to do; will they not, Eled? We can practise those and devise our own. And by the next time you meet your friends I’ll have taught how you to dance the Rannikan. You remember the Rannikan?”
Eled laughed, but with an anxious look in his brown eyes.
“It will not be for long, Eled,” Tiburé told him briskly.
“You’ll be well-cared for here,” said Rothir.
“We’ll explore the forest,” Yaret told him, “and learn the names of all those birds and trees. And play games. And perhaps you can teach me to speak Vonnish.”
“Good luck with that,” said Parthenal in an undertone. But he said aloud to Eled, “We will leave you my scroll, Eled. And we’ll write on it what is happening, as a reminder, so that you will always know that we are thinking of you.”
He produced a leather tube from which he unrolled a short parchment scroll and flattened it out. Yaret, seeing a map and words and numbers, looked quickly away.
“It doesn’t matter now,” said Parthenal. “It’s no secret any more.” He took up a small quill-tank pen and wrote a line or two beneath the map in a fluent script; then passed the scroll to Tiburé, who did the same before passing it to Rothir.
“We’ll get Maeneb to sign it also, later,” said Rothir as he finished writing.
“I will guard the scroll,” said Eled earnestly.
“We know it. You are also charged with taking care of Yaret, as far as you can with your leg still in a splint.”
Eled glanced around the tree as if looking for some immediate danger, a lurking lion perhaps. He put a hand on the hilt of the sword that lay beside him.
“I pledge to do so,” he said soberly.
“Good,” said Rothir. “We know that we can trust you in that.”
But a little later, once Eled had drifted off to sleep, Rothir turned to Yaret and said softly,
“I doubt if you will need much looking after. I told Eled to do it because he needs a task.”
“We all do,” said Yaret, “and mine shall be to take care of him, as far as I can with one foot.”
He nodded. She did not ask what the task of the Riders would be now, and where they would go, since they had chosen not to tell her.
Nor did they say any more about their destination the following morning.
It was a dawn of pale green-lemon light. Seemingly a whole choir of birds jostled on a branch outside the hollow tree, all intent on out-piping each other. The riders arose with the same organised quiet bustle that there had been in the Gyr cave; and then all too soon the horses were stamping outside, laden and ready to leave.
Yaret sat next to Eled on a root just outside the entrance of the hollow tree to watch them, her bandaged leg dangling. The effect of the Wardens’ drugs had worn off overnight so that now she felt blearily slow. Her leg was throbbing and tingling, as if the absent foot were being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles. But not tiny enough.
“Farewell,” said Tiburé. “Maeneb will send word through the wardens.”
“And I will hear word of you from the Farwth,” said Maeneb.
Tiburé rested her hand briefly on Eled’s head and nodded to Yaret, who propped herself on a crutch and stood up to bow. She had barely tried to use the crutches yet, and felt clumsy and unsafe. She bowed also to Maeneb, who made a vague gesture that might have been a wave.
Parthenal clapped Eled on the shoulder.
“Bear up, get well,” he said.
“I am,” Eled assured him.
He turned to Yaret. “You too, donkey.”
“Parthenal?” She put out her right hand to clasp his shoulder, before clenching it and touching it to her chest. “I hold you in my heart,” she said, “galeth.”
When Rothir came up to her she made the same gesture. “I hold you in my heart,” she said. “Always.”
“I too.” He laid his hand briefly on her arm. Then he turned to Eled and took his hand.
“You are a brave man, my friend,” he said, “and you bear your injury with fortitude. It will heal. Don’t be afraid. Keep up your courage.”
“I will,” said Eled.
A minute later, they were gone. Yaret stayed on her feet, leaning on the crutches to watch the horses disappear amidst the trees. Very quickly they were so completely swallowed by the forest that even the thud of hooves was no longer audible. Yet the shuffling rank of birds above her sang on blithely as if nothing had just changed.
She sat down again next to Eled.
“Well,” she said, “I have a plan for today.”
Eled looked round at her, his face unhappy. “What is it?”
“First we eat. Then when the Wardens come, we ask them to take us for a walk. If we are to stay in this forest, I would like to learn it a little. Then, while we are resting, I will sing and help you learn the songs that you enjoy. But you have to teach me something in return.”
“What?”
“You have to teach me Vonnish.”
Eled smiled. “I know Vonnish!”
“Good. So that is my plan, but if you think of more things to do along the way, we can add them in. Now, let me sort out breakfast.”
There was another thing she wanted to ask Eled to teach her; but that would have to wait. As she fetched the basket of fruit and grainy bread that had been left outside the tree, she reflected that it would be a while before either of them could engage in swordplay.
The previous morning, while half-asleep, she had seen Parthenal outside the entrance to the tree, going through his drill. It had been impressive enough to wake her up. Now it made her think that she ought to learn to wield a sword. Although she did not particularly relish the idea, she had a feeling that it might be useful, in case by some mischance she ever came across a stoneman.
For she had gathered from the Riders’ talk that the stonemen were marching north, in considerable numbers. It was unlikely that they would ever come close to Obandiro, since there was no reason for them to aim for such a sparsely populated area; but all the same…
Enough of that, she told herself. Stop fighting shadows. Swordplay might be interesting, that’s all.
However, the perils that the Riders of the Vonn could meet with soon were all too real to her. She tried to shut out those thoughts too. The Riders would not be in any danger yet; not until they left the safety of Farwithiel.
So it was better for her to focus on the here and now. Establishing a routine was important, both for her sake and for Eled’s. She was not short of ideas for things to do – if anything, she had too many. But she needed to learn what activities Eled could cope with, and what would benefit his recovery and mood the most.
The walk in the forest was too much for him, she realised almost as soon as they set out. The problem was not physical. After the Wardens had arrived and given them a dose of belvane, the pair of them took up the wooden crutches which had been provided. They were able to practise hobbling around the tree without too much discomfort, laughing at each other’s efforts.
But when they set out to hobble through the forest – with a Warden in attendance alongside each – Eled quickly became at first alarmed and then overwhelmed. She had thought the exercise must surely be good for him. Perhaps it was. But the vast strangeness of the forest was not, even though he was aware that he was in Farwithiel.
“He’s only been here once before, for a few days,” murmured Goren the mind-doctor, who now was Eled’s chief attendant. “He’s had no time to get to know it. Farwithiel has laid no roots in him.”
“Does it usually? Lay down roots, I mean.”
Goren smiled. He was a neat, affable old man with thinning white hair and a bland manner. Behind it Yaret suspected he was scrutinising everything.
“I don’t mean literally,” he said. “But anyone who stays for any length of time will find themselves changed. Farwithiel will grow into their dreams. Its strength and wildness will have their effect.”
She thought that he was over-dramatising. But certainly Farwithiel had its effect on Eled. Seeing his bewilderment at his surroundings – which seemed almost a kind of grief – Yaret soon pleaded tiredness so that they could both retreat into the hollow tree.
Even back in that more manageable sanctuary Eled looked around as if it were all new to him, and saw with relief his pack and sword and scroll.
“I have to look after that,” he said.
“Read it now, Eled,” she suggested.
“Am I allowed?”
“You are. Look for the messages on the bottom. Your friends want you to read this every day.”
Eled unfurled the scroll and read the messages, his lips moving. “Yes,” he said, “yes.”
That seemed to settle him again. And once the Wardens had departed, their medical duties over, the singing was more successful than walking about had been. Yaret taught him half a children’s song about a greedy bird, translated into Standard. While he was slow to learn, that did not seem to bother him. So it did not matter.
She gave him the gourd to play with and watched him inspecting the hinge and experimenting with the tension of the string. His innate intelligence was evident. Perhaps she could make another instrument? Surely in all this forest there must be gourds somewhere that were suitable. She could ask the Farwth, if she knew how. Though it seemed far too trivial a thing to bother the Farwth with. Maybe she could ask the Wardens.
In fact, there were many things she wanted to ask the Wardens, but neither Goren nor Walen were particularly forthcoming. Certainly they showed no curiosity equal to her own. She felt that they were too wrapped up in the concerns of Farwithiel to have much interest in people from outside.
And it was true that there was much here to enrapture. Once Eled was asleep again, Yaret took up her crutches and hobbled back out of the giant tree.
The birds were quieter now, but more visible; bright moving sparks of red and vivid green high up in the branches. She could not identify any of them. One type in particular caught her fancy. They had small, round, orange-brown bodies, and long tails that wagged whenever they perched – which was never for long. They flew in changeable tweeting flocks, settling for a moment restlessly before all taking off again.
She limped away from the close-stemmed mass of trunks and foliage that Maeneb had called the Farwth, under the more widely spread trees. Even so, some grew so close to each other – their trunks touching and branches intertwining – that she was hard put to say which tree was which. Others stood alone, reaching up to join a lofty canopy that was hidden from her sight in mist.
Yaret could not name many of the trees. Even those she thought she recognised, like Eastern Ash, were so hugely increased in size that she was doubtful if they were actually the same species. In places light fell in and splashed across the leafy, pool-dotted floor. Occasional fruits fell, too, with faint thunks, gold and pitted or furred and pink. Not knowing what they were, she left them where they lay. No doubt the Farwth had a purpose in their falling.
Always in her consciousness was the massive presence of the Farwth behind her. Or was it around her? Did she walk through it now? Which part of the forest was the Farwth?
And how had a tree – or a forest – learned to communicate with humans? Something else to ask the Wardens. Though she did not expect to get an answer from them.
Ask me.
The voice made her stop in her tracks. Again she thought of her grandmother, busy in the kitchen, tying on her apron. Nothing asked, nothing given, Gramma Thuli used to say.
“If I ask, will you give me an answer?” she said aloud.
No answer.
Yaret smiled. Then she asked, speaking to the air, “Farwth. How did you learn to communicate with humans?”
I was taught, said the Farwth. She wondered if the birds heard it as well. Probably not, because the nearest flock continued its alternate twittering and flitting.
“By whom were you taught?”
Silence.
Yaret reflected, and then, to be polite, turned on her crutches to face the immense close-knit mass of greenery. Not just greenery: brownery. Goldery. So many shades.
“What is the best thing for me to do with Eled?” she asked.
He is not a tree. If he were a tree then I would know.
“What would you do if he were a damaged tree?”
Keep him watered, sheltered, and free of pests. If he were too damaged, then withdraw.
“Withdraw what?”
Myself, said the Farwth.
Yaret reflected again, more on the nature of the Farwth than on Eled. She would have to work out Eled for herself.
“Where in the forest may I go?” she asked.
Wherever you wish. I will stop you if you go too far.
“That is very kind,” said Yaret, and she bowed.
It is not kind. It is necessary. Now you may tell me about Madeo. I should like to know her history.
“I will try,” said Yaret. “Although you probably know more than me, if you know Madeo was my ancestor. How did you learn that?”
From your blood and bone. As I can tell which tree a sapling is descended from.
“It must be through my grandfather’s line: he’s the one that’s from Obandiro. But he never mentioned anything like that,” she mused. Most likely he hadn’t known. Or maybe it had been another secret kept from her… Yaret waited, but the Farwth made no comment on the matter.
“Well, ancestor or not,” she said, “I don’t know much about Madeo apart from her songs. Was it Madeo who taught you to speak?”
I could speak before she came.
Yaret sat down carefully on the dry grass beneath a tree that was strange to her: its huge leaves were like many-fingered, feathery hands. She laid her crutches down beside her. Both her legs were aching, not just the shortened one; her arms and shoulders too. But the bruises from her fall were starting to turn from blue to yellow now.
She thought about Madeo, putting in order what she knew of the bard’s life four hundred years ago. After the long journey south, it was not really much. Madeo had spent little time in Obandiro, except for the last years of her long life. The sequence and full extent of her travels had been much guessed at from her lyrics but could not be defined for certain.
Madeo had made perhaps three trips to Farwithiel; however, they were wrapped in mystery and obscurity. Mentally Yaret ran through those songs that referred to the ancient forests which the bard had found within the cloud-banks. But much of what Madeo had said about Farwithiel was Ulthared. It could not be spoken of except in certain circumstances.
So Yaret thought it instead. The Ulthared spoke of the wisdom of the earth grown straight and tall: a sea of roots with a multitude of changing waves of green above it; yet a single entity. Perhaps the Farwth then was not as huge as it had since become. But in the Ulthared its grace and power were clear, if not much else was.
That is of interest.
It seemed that she did not need to speak her thoughts aloud; for whatever she wished the Farwth to know, it knew.
She wondered if it also knew her other thoughts. That would be disconcerting. Especially as it was a one-way street: the Farwth’s thoughts were closed to her.
You would not understand them, said the Farwth.
Very likely not, thought Yaret. It occurred to her – she did not know why – that the Farwth might be lonely, if it was indeed a single entity. No matter how old and huge and wise it was, it was only one.
And many.
“I stand corrected,” Yaret said.
And many, and yet one.