To the southwest of the Dagnath Nebren a vast forest spreads over the hills and into the lowlands, reaching even to the northern bounds of the Berugwanna. That is not a glad place. On its edges, where the trees grow less thickly and there are sunny glades and bright rides, it is wholesome and safe enough, and here the Entellári in former ages had been wont to wander and tend the trees and plants. Here the power of their presence still lingers. The hardier Hyûvandri have settled there, clearing the undergrowth to sow crops and feed beasts, and pasturing great black cattle like bison, which roam far and wide among the trees. And these settlers are called the Farangri, for their hardihood in making their homes there and guarding the borders of the lands of the Hyûvandri. And for them, the forest is called Farangrim, even though the greatest part of it lies beyond their settlements and stretches for an unmeasured distance into the north.
Thither Ingos had been too, on his travels, and brought the cheer of his face into the shadowy woods on the borders of Farangrim. So when Vidnî and Mirutháli brought the news of the dolorous stroke, the Farangri were dismayed and lamented, for they feared that the Kúmi Netári would creep into Farangrim and menace them, and the Sheefra would waylay them with their mists. And there was another unspoken fear. Tales spoke of a phantom presence, a demon, sometimes called a gulbân, in the depths of the forest. Something that took the form of a great dark tree, but was not rooted in the ground. By night, it stalked through the forests and, as it went, a strange and eerie sound was heard, a continuous humming, whirring, booming sound. By day, it stood still or moved imperceptibly to catch the unwary. It towered above the forest trees looking down with unseen eyes and booming with unseen mouth. It stood like a mighty pinetree hardly moving, listening with unseen ears. Those who encountered this gulbân named it Thangwerga, ‘the one who moves silently yet makes a fearful clamour’.
Now after the fall of Ingos, folk who lived on the extreme edge of the settled region of Farangrim began to encounter Thangwerga more and more frequently. Bringing in the beasts as the evenings drew in, they would hear the booming coming down the aisles of the woods. Passing through a home field at night, they beheld, beyond the hedges, blotting out the starry sky, the huge form standing silent, or perhaps beginning to extend a shadowy arm and hand towards them. Then they ran in terror to the shelter of their settlements, yet still fearful that such a lofty being might easily step over their walls and break down their houses. It was believed that a person who had once encountered Thangwerga was marked down as a future victim. And, indeed, men and women and children began to be lost in the woods and not seen again, often on a night when the booming had been heard.
Now Nabbolô, one of the Five Valka Angûthégri, did not dwell in Nanôr. When the Valkari were driven out of the Southlands by the burning of Valkamet, they settled in Nanôr in the East, but Nabbolô was sent by Murnag into the West. She dwelt in a lonely house in the marches of Farangrim, and the Farangri paid her little notice, only thinking that she was a Wise Woman, with knowledge of herbs and simples; yet for the most part, people avoided her and made use of their own wisdom and learning, which they had from their Father Ingos. Indeed he told them to rely on such things as he had taught them, which came from the Entellári and the Kabdath , and not to heed other cunning folk. The Farangri called Nabbolô the ûthéga, but they knew not her kin.
Now the village where the fear of the appearances of Thangwerga, and the disappearances of people, was greatest, was called Arosgath. So one day, an amêtudhyod, an assembly or folkmoot, was held there. An elder of the people, Fildimar by name, stood up and said:
‘Let us go to Nabbolô the ûthéga and get from her some power of protection or some remedy for this scourge of Thangwerga.’
But Brúand, the headman of Arosgath, said:
‘Nay, friends, far be it from us to call for help from such a person, against whom Father Ingos cautioned us. Let us rather send to the Southlands, to see whether perhaps the Entellári can help us.’
Fildimar said:
‘We are no longer the concern of the Entellári. They have left us under the rule of children. Nabbolô is a Hyûvanya like us. Moreover, the Southlands are many days’ journey away, and the peril is growing worse daily. But Nabbolô dwells close by.’
And the voice of Fildimar prevailed. So a party was sent from Arosgath and came to Slidhig, the house of Nabbolô in the woods. When they drew near and saw it, they were daunted, and some would even have turned back. For the fashion of Slidhig was thus: the part of the house in which Nabbolô dwelt was raised up on columns, with a porticoed veranda on all four sides, so that it was like a watchtower. And the columns were four great tree trunks, but they were carved and painted in the likeness of the legs of a dragon, with a scaly surface, and four great clawed feet all facing one way. The door, which was curiously shaped, almost like a round mouth, faced in the same direction. From the door a steep stair descended to the ground between the pillars; and the balusters of that stair were shaped like great sharp teeth. Beneath the house, within the shadow of those legs, Nabbolô’s chickens scratched at the bare earth.
Not even Fildimar had the courage to ascend those steps, so the emissaries stood in a small knot at the foot of them, while he called up:
‘Lady Nabbolô, wise rune-mistress, we Farangri of Arosgath have come to beg for your assistance. For we are greatly troubled and distressed by the gulbân Thangwerga. Help us if you can.’
After a pause, the mouth-like door of Slidhig slowly opened, and the figure of Nabbolô came to the railing of the veranda. She was of low stature and clothed all in black. She looked down on the folk of Arosgath, but her eyes could not be seen. Then she spoke, but her mouth could not be seen:
‘Years unnumbered Nabbolô dwelt
Arosgath’s neighbour; yet never till now
Did you deign to call, or courtesy show,
But shunned our shadow as a sure danger.
So what gift do you give if I guide your steps?’
Fildimar replied:
‘We are poor farmers. We can spare a beast or two from our herds and flocks. We have no gold nor treasures, nor any device of power better than what, no doubt, you can obtain by your own great skills and wisdom. But name your price, Lady Nabbolô.’
Nabbolô said with scorn:
‘You prattle price, as I a pedlar were!
My counsel’s cost must be counted dearer.
No beast suffices, but blood and flesh
Of a living son, to serve in Slidhig.
Bring me a boy, born here and bred,
To draw water, and wood to hew,
Then shall I proffer help, and prove skilful.’
And the ûthéga turned her back and went into the house. The door shut.
At this the folk of Arosgath were dismayed. Were they truly ready to hand over one of their sons to be servant in this evil-looking house? They returned to the village. All the inhabitants met, and there was hot debate. But finally it was agreed that the fathers of the village who had sons of a suitable age should draw lots for whose son should be sent.
The lots were drawn, and the son of the headman Brúand was chosen: Berwen, a fine sturdy youth, with the makings of a hardy Faranka farmer. Brúand was distraught, but the folk were determined. As if to harden their resolve, that very night the huge form of Thangwerga was seen by many at the edge of the woods, blotting out the Moon.
The small party returned to Slidhig, Brúand weeping as he brought his son along. Nabbolô came forth from her door, and at the sight of the young man, she momentarily lifted her hands in glee. Then she said:
You, boy Berwen, bring up water
From the well yonder. Walk the ladder
At Slidhig’s rear, and spill nothing!
By loyal labour release Arosgath.
To keep our bargain, I counsel give.
That grisly wight is no gulbân’s spawn,
But a proud prince imprisoned by force
In a brutish body for his brave exploits.
By name, Groiznath; of goodly kin.
Jealous Giants unjustly trapped
This trusty prince in treelike shape
In Farangrim’s realm, not to roam further.
The Giants’ runes are riven now:
To restore this prince to his proud bearing
And mind of man, a maid is needed;
The fairest maid in farm or mill
To woo that wight with woman’s hand.
Her kiss will kill the cursèd charm
And renew that knight in noble form.
Go pick your purest, prettiest maid,
And great Groiznath his gift will yield!
And with that she called Berwen to attend upon her, went indoors, and shut the door.
This time, there was no need to draw lots. To rid themselves of the terror, they were obliged to sacrifice the most beautiful girl in Arosgath. Now, it so happened that all were agreed on who that was. The daughter of Fildimar, Brúand’s opponent, whose name was Beski Tyúgrumôl, was acknowledged by all as perfect in beauty; she also had the sharpest tongue, the cruelest wit, and the proudest mind in the whole of the marchlands. Her nickname ‘Sweet-mouth’ had been given with some irony. All the inhabitants of Arosgath agreed that Beski should be offered to the gulbân, and some were not sorry to think that this might be the last they saw of her. And now, it was Fildimar weeping and lamenting over his child, as Brúand had done over his; her fate might be far worse than the lad’s, yet it was her father’s own counsel that had brought it to pass.
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