The Wounded Land

Gritting his courage, Covenant put the berry in his mouth.

  “Covenant!” Sunder cried.

  The world spun wildly, then sprang straight. Cool juice filled Covenant’s mouth with a savor of peach made tangy by salt and lime. At once, new energy burst through him. Deliciousness cleansed his throat of dirt and thirst and blood. All his nerves thrilled to a savor he had not tasted for ten long years: the quintessential nectar of the Land.

  Sunder and Linden were on their feet, staring at him.

  A sound like dry sobbing came from him. His sight was a blur of relief and gratitude. The seed dropped from his lips. “Oh, dear God,” he murmured brokenly. “There’s Earthpower yet.”

  A moment later, Linden reached him. She helped him to his feet, peered into his face. “Are you—?” she began, then stopped herself. “No, you’re all right. Better. I can already see the difference. How—?”

  He could not stop shaking. He wanted to hug her; but he only allowed himself to touch her cheek, lift a strand of hair away from her mouth. Then, to answer her, thank her, he plucked another berry, and gave it to her.

  “Eat—”

  She held it gently, looked at it. Sudden tears overflowed her eyes. Her lower lip trembled as she whispered, “It’s the first healthy—” Her voice caught.

  “Eat it,” he urged thickly.

  She raised it to her mouth. Her teeth closed on it.

  Slowly a look of wonder spread over her countenance. Her posture straightened; she began to smile like a cool dawn.

  Covenant nodded to tell her that he understood. “Spit out the seed. Maybe another one will grow.”

  She took the seed in her hand, gazed at it for a moment as if it had been sanctified before she tossed it to the ground.

  Sunder had not moved. He stood with his arms clamped across his chest. His eyes were dull with the horror of watching his life become false.

  Carefully Covenant picked the last berry. His stride was almost steady as he went to Sunder, His heart sang: Earthpower!

  “Sunder,” he said, half insisting, half pleading, “this is aliantha. They used to be called treasure-berries—the gift of the Earth to anybody who suffered from hunger or need. This is what the Land was like.”

  Sunder did not respond. The glazing of his gaze was complete.

  “It’s not poison,” Linden said clearly, “It’s immune to the Sunbane.”

  “Eat it,” Covenant urged. “This is why we’re here. What we want to accomplish. Health. Earthpower. Eat it.”

  With a painful effort, Sunder dredged up his answer. “I do not wish to trust you.” His voice was a wilderland. “You violate all my life. When I have learned that aliantha are not poison, you will seek to teach me that the Sunbane does not exist—that all the life of the Land through all the generations has had no meaning. That the shedding I have done is no less than murder.” He swallowed harshly. “But I must. I must find some truth to take the place of the truth you destroy.”

  Abruptly he took the berry, put it in his mouth.

  For a moment, his soul was naked in his face. His initial anticipation of harm became involuntary delight; his inner world struggled to alter itself. His hands quavered when he took the seed from his mouth. “Heaven and Earth!” he breathed. His awe was as exquisite as anguish. “Covenant—” His jaw worked to form words. “Is this truly the Land—the Land of which my father dreamed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then he was mad.” One deep spasm of grief shook Sunder before he tugged back about him the tattered garment of his self-command. “I must learn to be likewise mad.”

  Turning away, he went back to the shelf of rock, seated himself in the shade, and covered his face with his hands.

  To give Sunder’s disorientation at least a degree of privacy, Covenant shifted his attention to Linden. The new lightness of her expression ameliorated her habitual severity, lifted some of her beauty out from under the streaked dust on her face. “Thank you.” He began to say, For trying to save my life. Back there in the woods. But he did not want to remember that blow. Instead he said, “For getting Sunder off me.” I didn’t know you trusted me that much. “Where did you learn that thumb-hold?”

  “Oh, that.” Her grin was half grimness, half amusement. “The med school I went to was in a pretty rough neighborhood. The security guards gave self-defense lessons.”

  Covenant found himself wondering how long it had been since a woman had last smiled at him. Before he could reply, she glanced upward. “We ought to get out of the sun. One treasure-berry apiece isn’t going to keep us going very long.”

  “True.” The aliantha had blunted his hunger, eased his body’s yearning for water, restored a measure of life to his muscles. But it could not make him impervious to the sun. Around him, the Plains swam with heat as if the fabric of the ground were being bleached away fiber by fiber. He rubbed absent-mindedly at the blood on his chin, started toward Sunder.

  Linden halted him. “Covenant.”

  He turned. She stood facing eastward, back over the shelf of rock. Both hands shaded her eyes.

  “Something’s coming.”

  Sunder joined them; together, they squinted into the haze. “What the hell—?” Covenant muttered.

  At first he saw nothing but heat and pale dirt. But then he glimpsed an erect figure, shimmering darkly in and out of sight.

  The figure grew steadier as it approached. Slowly, it became solid, transubstantiating itself like an avatar of the Sunbane. It was a man. He wore the apparel of a Stonedownor.

  “Who—?”

  “Oh, my God!” Linden gasped.

  The man came closer.

  Sunder spat, “Marid!”

  Marid? An abrupt weakness struck Covenant’s knees.

  The Sunbane will have no mercy—

  The man had Marid’s eyes, chancrous with self-loathing, mute supplication, lust. He still wore stakes tied to each of his ankles. His gait was a shambling of eagerness and dread.

  He was a monster. Scales covered the lower half of his face; both mouth and nose were gone. And his arms were snakes. Thick scale-clad bodies writhed from his shoulders; serpent-heads gaped where his hands had been, brandishing fangs as white as bone. His chest heaved for air, and the snakes hissed.

  Hellfire.

  Linden stared at Marid. Nausea distorted her mouth. She was paralyzed, hardly breathing. The sight of Marid’s inflicted ill reft her of thought, courage, motion.

  “Ah, Marid, my friend,” Sunder whispered miserably. “This is the retribution of the Sunbane, which none can foretell. If you were innocent, as the ur-Lord insists—” He groaned in grief. “Forgive me.”

  But an instant later his voice hardened. “Avaunt, Marid!” he barked. “Ware us! Your life is forfeit here!”

  Marid’s gaze flinched as if he understood; but he continued to advance, moving purposefully toward the shelf of rock.

  “Marid!” Sunder snatched out his poniard. “I have guilt enough in your doom. Do not thrust this upon me.”

  Marid’s eyes shouted a voiceless warning at the Graveler.

  Covenant’s throat felt like sand; his lungs labored. In the back of his mind, a pulse of outrage beat like lifeblood.

  Three steps to his side, Linden stood frozen and appalled.

  Hissing voraciously, Marid flung himself into a run. He sprinted to the rock, up the shelf.

  For one splinter of time, Covenant could not move. He saw Marid launch himself at Linden, saw fangs reaching toward her face, saw her standing as if her heart had stopped.

  Her need snatched Covenant into motion. He took two desperate strides, crashed head and shoulders against her. They tumbled together across the hard dirt.

  He disentangled himself, flipped to his feet.

  Marid landed heavily, rolling to get his legs under him.

  Wielding his knife, Sunder attempted to close with Marid. But a flurry of fangs drove him back.

  At once, Marid rushed toward Linden again.

  Covena
nt met the charge. He stopped one serpent head with his right forearm, caught the other scaly body in his left fist.

  The free snake reared back to strike.

  In that instant, Sunder reached into the struggle. Too swiftly for the snakes to react, he cut Marid’s throat. Viscid fluid splashed the front of Covenant’s clothes.

  Sunder dropped his dead friend. Blood poured into the dirt. Covenant recoiled several steps. As she rose to her knees, Linden gagged as if she were being asphyxiated by the Sunbane.

  The Graveler paid no heed to his companions. A frenetic haste possessed him. “Blood,” he panted. “Life.” He slapped his hands into the spreading pool, rubbed them together, smeared red onto his forehead and cheeks. “At least your death will be of some avail. It is my guilt-gift.”

  Covenant stared in dismay. He had not known that a human body could be so lavish of blood.

  Snatching out the Sunstone, Sunder bent his head to Marid’s neck, sucked blood directly from the cut. With the stone held in both palms, he spewed fluid onto it so that it lay cupped in Marid’s rife. Then he looked upward and began to chant in a language Covenant could not understand.

  Around him, the air concentrated as if the heat took personal notice of his invocation. Energy blossomed from the orcrest.

  A shaft of vermeil as straight as the line between life and death shot toward the sun. It crackled like a discharge of lightning; but it was steady and palpable, sustained by blood.

  It consumed the blood in Sunder’s hands, drank the blood from Marid’s veins, leeched the blood from the earth. Soon every trace of red was gone. Marid’s throat gaped like a dry grin.

  Still chanting, Sunder set down the Sunstone near Marid’s head. The shaft binding the orcrest to the sun did not falter.

  Almost at once, water bubbled up around the stone. It gathered force until it was a small spring, as fresh and clear as if it arose from mountain rock rather than from barren dust.

  As he watched, Covenant’s head began to throb. He was flushed and sweating under the weight of the sun.

  Still Sunder chanted; and beside the spring, a green shoot raised its head. It grew with staggering celerity; it became a vine, spread itself along the ground, put out leaves. In a moment, it produced several buds which swelled like melons.

  The Graveler gestured Linden toward the spring. Her expression had changed from suffocation to astonishment. Moving as if she were entranced, she knelt beside the spring, put her lips into the water. She jerked back at once, surprised by the water’s coldness. Then she was drinking deeply, greedily.

  A maleficent fire bloomed in Covenant’s right forearm. His breathing was ragged. Dust filled his mouth. He could feel his pulse beating in the base of his throat.

  After a time, Linden pulled away from the spring, turned to him. “It’s good,” she said in dim wonder. “It’s good.”

  He did not move, did not look at her. Dread spurted up in him like water from dry ground.

  “Come on,” she urged. “Drink.”

  He could not stop staring at Marid. Without shifting his gaze, he extended his right arm toward her.

  She glanced at it, then gave a sharp cry and leaped to him, took hold of his arm to look at it closely.

  He was loath to see what she saw; but he forced himself to gaze downward.

  His forearm was livid. A short way up from his wrist, two puncture marks glared bright red against the darkness of the swelling. “Bastard bit me,” he coughed as if he were already dying.

  EIGHT: The Corruption of the Sun

  “Sunder!” Linden barked. “Give me your knife,”

  The Graveler had faltered when he saw the fang marks; and the spring had also faltered. But he recovered quickly, restored the cadence of his chant. The shaft of Sunbane-fire wavered, then grew stable once more. The melons continued to ripen.

  Still chanting, he extended his poniard toward Linden. She strode over to him, took the blade. She did not hesitate; all her actions were certain. Stooping to one of Marid’s ankles, she cut a section of the rope which bound the stake.

  The pain became a hammer in Covenant’s forearm, beating as if it meant to crush the bones. Mutely, he gripped the elbow with his left hand, squeezed hard in an effort to restrict the spread of the venom. He did not want to die like this, with all his questions unanswered, and nothing accomplished.

  A moment later, Linden returned. Her lips were set in lines of command. When she said, “Sit down,” his knees folded as if she held the strings of his will.

  She sat in front of him, straightened his arm between them. Deftly she looped the rope just above his elbow, pulled it tight until he winced; then she knotted it.

  “Now,” she said evenly, “I’m going to have to cut you. Get out as much of the venom as I can.”

  He nodded. He tried to swallow, but could not.

  She set the point of the blade against the swelling, abruptly snatched it back. Her tone betrayed a glimpse of strain. “Goddamn knife’s too dirty.”

  Frowning, she snapped, “Don’t move,” and jumped to her feet. Purposefully she went to the hot red shaft of Sunder’s power. He hissed a warning, but she ignored him. With a physician’s care, she touched the poniard to the beam.

  Sparks sprayed from the contact; fire licked along the knife. When she withdrew it, she nodded grimly to herself.

  She rejoined Covenant, braced his arm. For a moment, she met his gaze. “This is going to hurt,” she said straight into his eyes. “But it’ll be worse if I don’t do it.”

  He fought to clear his throat. “Go ahead.”

  Slowly, deliberately, she cut a deep cross between the fang marks. A scream tore his flesh. He went rigid, but did not permit himself to flinch. This was necessary; he had done such things himself. Pain was life; only the dead felt no pain. He remained still as she bent her head to suck at the incisions. With his free hand, he gripped his forehead, clutching the bones of his skull for courage.

  Her hands squeezed the swelling, multiplying fire. Her lips hurt him like teeth as she drew blood and venom into her mouth.

  The taste shattered her composure; she spat his blood fiercely at the ground. “God!” she gasped. “What kind—?” At once, she attacked the wound again, sucked and spat with violent revulsion. Her hands shuddered as she gripped his arm.

  What kind—? Her words throbbed along the pressure in his head. What was she talking about?

  A third time she sucked, spat. Her features strained whitely, like clenched knuckles. With unintended brutality, she dropped his arm; a blaze shot up through his shoulder. Springing to her feet, she stamped on the spat blood, ground it into the dirt as if it were an outrage she wanted to eradicate from the world.

  “Linden,” he panted wanly through his pain, “what is it?”

  “Venom!” She fulminated with repugnance. “What kind of place is this?” Abruptly she hastened to Sunder’s spring, began rinsing her mouth. Her shoulders were knots of abhorrence.

  When she returned to Covenant, her whole body was trembling, and her eyes were hollow. “Poison.” She hugged herself as if she were suddenly cold. “I don’t have words for it. That wasn’t just venom. It was something more—something worse. Like the Sunbane. Some kind of moral poison.” She pulled her hands through her hair, fighting for control. “God, you’re going to be so sick—! You need a hospital. Except there’s no antivenin in the world for poison like that.”

  Covenant whirled in pain, could not distinguish between it and fear. Moral poison? He did not understand her description, but it clarified other questions. It explained why the Raver in Marid had allowed itself to be exposed. So that Marid would be condemned to the Sunbane, would become a monster capable of inflicting such poison. But why? What would Lord Foul gain if Covenant died like this? And why had Marid aimed his attack at Linden? Because she was sensitive to the Land, could see things the Despiser did not want seen?

  Covenant could not think. The reek of blood on his shirt filled his senses. Everything
became dread; he wanted to wail. But Linden came to his aid. Somehow she suppressed her own distress. Urging him upright, she supported him to the water so that he could drink. He was already palsied. But his body recognized its need for water; he swallowed thirstily at the spring.

  When he was done, she helped him into the shade of the shelf. Then she sat beside him and held his livid arm with her hands, trying in that way to make him comfortable.

  Blood dripped unremarked from his cuts. The swelling spread darkness up toward his elbow.

  Sunder had been chanting continuously; but now he stopped. He had at last been able to make his invocation briefly self-sustaining. When he fell silent, the orcrest’s vermeil shaft flickered and went out, leaving the stone empty, like a hole in the ground; but the spring continued to flow for a few moments. He had time to drink deeply before the water sank back into the barren earth.

  With his poniard, he cut the melons from their vine, then bore them into the shade, and sat down on Covenant’s left. Unsteadily he began slicing the melons into sections, scooping out the seeds. The seeds he put away in a pocket of his jerkin. Then he handed sections of melon across to Linden.

  “This is ussusimiel,” he said in a fragile tone, as if he were exhausted and feared contradiction. “At need it will sustain life with no other food.” Wearily he began to eat.

  Linden tasted the fruit. She nodded her approval, then started to devour the sections Sunder had given her. Dully Covenant accepted a piece for himself. But he felt unable to eat. Pain excruciated the bones of his right arm; and that fire seemed to draw all other strength out of him, leaving him to drown in a wide slow whirl of lassitude. He was going to pass out—And there were so many things his companions did not understand.

  One was more important than the others. He tried to focus his sight on the Graveler. But he could not keep his vision clear. He closed his eyes so that he would not have to watch the way the Stonedownor blurred and ran.

  “Sunder.”

  “Ur-Lord?”

  Covenant sighed, dreading Sunder’s reaction. “Listen.” He concentrated the vestiges of his determination in his voice. “We can’t stay here. I haven’t told you where we’re going.”