But he rejected the idea, rejected the self-pity behind it. “I’d rather survive,” he murmured dimly. “I don’t want to die like that.”
The voice smiled. “It is done. You will live.”
By force of habit, Covenant said, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“You will see it. But there is first one other thing that you will see. You have not asked for this gift, but I give it to you whether or not you wish it. I did not ask your approval when I elected you for the Land, and do not ask now.”
Before Covenant could protest, he sensed that the voice had left him. Once again, he was alone in the darkness. Oblivion swaddled him so comfortably that he almost regretted his decision to live. But then something around him or in him began to change, modulate. Without sight or hearing or touch, he became aware of sunlight, low voices, a soft warm breeze. He found himself looking down as if from a high hill at Glimmermere.
The pure waters of the lake reflected the heavens in deep burnished azure, and the breeze smelled gently of spring. The hills around Glimmermere showed the scars of Lord Foul’s preternatural winter. But already grass had begun to sprout through the cold-seared ground, and a few tough spring flowers waved bravely in the air. The stretches of bare earth had lost their gray, frozen deadness. The healing of the Land had begun.
Hundreds of people were gathered around the lake. Almost immediately, Covenant made out High Lord Mhoram. He stood facing east across Glimmermere. He bore no staff. His hands were heavily bandaged. On his left were the Lords Trevor and Loerya, holding their daughters, and on his right was Lord Amatin. All of them seemed solemnly glad, but Mhoram’s serene gaze outshone them, testified more eloquently than they could to the Land’s victory.
Behind the Lords stood Warmark Quaan and Hearthrall Tohrm—Quaan with the Hafts of his Warward, and Tohrm with all the Hirebrands and Gravelingases of Lord’s Keep. Covenant saw that Trell Atiaran-mate was not among them. He understood intuitively; Trell had carried his personal dilemma to its conclusion, and was either dead or gone. Again the Unbeliever found that he could not argue away his guilt.
All around the lake beyond the Lords were Lorewardens and warriors. And behind them were the survivors of Revelstone—farmers, Cattleherds, horse-tenders, cooks, artisans, Craftmasters—children and parents, young and old—all the people who had endured. They did not seem many, but Covenant knew that they were enough; they would be able to commence the work of restoration.
As he watched, they drew close to Glimmermere and fell silent. High Lord Mhoram waited until they were all attentive, ready. Then he lifted up his voice.
“People of the Land,” he said firmly, “we are gathered here in celebration of life. I have no long song to sing. I am weak yet, and none of us is strong. But we live. The Land has been preserved. The mad riot and rout of Lord Foul’s army shows us that he has fallen. The fierce echo of battle within the krill of Loric shows us that the white gold has done combat with the Illearth Stone, and has emerged triumphant. That is cause enough for celebration. Enough? My friends, it will suffice for us and for our children, while the present age of the Land endures.
“In token of this, I have brought the krill to Glimmermere.” Reaching painfully into his robe, he drew out the dagger. Its gem showed no light or life. “In it, we see that ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and white gold wielder, has returned to his world, where a great hero was fashioned for our deliverance.
“Well, that is as it must be, though my heart regrets his passing. Yet let none fear that he is lost to us. Did not the old legends say that Berek Halfhand would come again? And was not that promise kept in the person of the Unbeliever? Such promises are not made in vain.
“My friends—people of the Land—Thomas Covenant once inquired of me why we so devote ourselves to the Lore of High Lord Kevin Landwaster. And now, in this war, we have learned the hazard of that Lore. Like the krill, it is a power of two edges, as apt for carnage as for preservation. Its use endangers our Oath of Peace.
“I am Mhoram son of Variol, High Lord by the choice of the Council. I declare that from this day forth we will not devote ourselves to any Lore which precludes Peace. We will gain lore of our own—we will strive and quest and learn until we have found a lore in which the Oath of Peace and the preservation of the Land live together. Hear me, you people! We will serve Earthfriendship in a new way.”
As he finished, he lifted the krill and tossed it high into the air. It arced glinting through the sunlight, struck water in the center of Glimmermere. When it splashed the potent water, it flared once, sent a burn of white glory into the depths of the lake. Then it was gone forever.
High Lord Mhoram watched while the ripples faded. Then he made an exultant summoning gesture, and all the people around Glimmermere began to sing in celebration:
Hail, Unbeliever! Keeper and Covenant,
Unoathed truth and wicked’s bane,
Ur-Lord Illender, Prover of Life:
Hail! Covenant!
Dour-handed wild magic wielder,
Ur-Earth white gold’s servant and Lord—
Yours is the power that preserves.
Sing out, people of the Land—
Raise obeisance!
Hold honor and glory high to the end of days:
Keep clean the truth that was won!
Hail, Unbeliever!
Covenant!
Hail!
They raised their staffs and swords and hands to him, and his vision blurred with tears. Tears smeared Glimmermere out of focus until it became only a smudge of light before his face. He did not want to lose it. He tried to clear his sight, hoping that the lake was not gone. But then he became conscious of his tears. Instead of wetting his cheeks, they ran from the corners of his eyes down to his ears and neck. He was lying on his back in comfort. When he refocused his sight, pulled it into adjustment like the resolution of a lens, he found that the smear of light before him was the face of a man.
The man peered at him for a long moment, then withdrew into a superficial haze of fluorescence. Slowly Covenant realized that there were gleaming horizontal bars on either side of the bed. His left wrist was tied to one of them, so that he could not disturb the needle in his vein. The needle was connected by a clear tube to an IV bottle above his head. The air had a faint patina of germicide.
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it,” the man said. “That poor devil is going to live.”
“That’s why I called you, doctor,” the woman said. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“Do?” the doctor snapped.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” the woman replied defensively. “But he’s a leper! He’s been making people in this town miserable for months. Nobody knows what to do about him. Some of the other nurses want—they want overtime pay for taking care of him. And look at him. He’s so messed up. I just think it would be a lot better for everyone—if he—”
“That’s enough.” The man was angry. “Nurse, if I hear another word like that out of you, you’re going to be looking for a new job. This man is ill. If you don’t want to help people who are ill, go find yourself some other line of work.”
“I didn’t mean any harm,” the nurse huffed as she left the room.
After she was gone, Covenant lost sight of the doctor for a while; he seemed to fade into the insensitive haze of the lighting. Covenant tried to take stock of his situation. His right wrist was also tied, so that he lay in the bed as if he had been crucified. But the restraints did not prevent him from testing the essential facts about himself. His feet were numb and cold. His fingers were in the same condition—numb, chill. His forehead hurt feverishly. His lip was taut and hot with swelling.
He had to agree with the nurse; he was in rotten shape.
Then he found the doctor near him again. The man seemed young and angry. Another man entered the room, an older doctor whom Covenant recognized as the one who had treated him during his previous stay in the hospital.
Unlike the younger man, this doctor wore a suit rather than a white staff jacket. As he entered, he said, “I hope you’ve got good reason for calling me. I don’t give up church for just anyone—especially on Easter.”
“This is a hospital,” the younger man growled, “not a bloody revival. Of course I’ve got good reason.”
“What’s eating you? Is he dead?”
“No. Just the opposite—he’s going to live. One minute he’s in allergic shock, and dying from it because his body’s too weak and infected and poisoned to fight back—and the next— Pulse firm, respiration regular, pupillary reactions normal, skin tone improving. I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a goddamn miracle, that’s what it is.”
“Come, now,” the older man murmured. “I don’t believe in miracles—neither do you.” He glanced at the chart, then listened to Covenant’s heart and lungs for himself. “Maybe he’s just stubborn.” He leaned close to Covenant’s face. “Mr. Covenant,” he said, “I don’t know whether you can hear me. If you can, I have some news which may be important to you. I saw Megan Roman yesterday—your lawyer. She said that the township council has decided not to rezone Haven Farm. The way you saved that little girl—well, some people are just a bit ashamed of themselves. It’s hard to take a hero’s home away from him.
“Of course, to be honest I should tell you that Megan performed a little legerdemain for you. She’s a sharp lawyer, Mr. Covenant. She thought the council might think twice about evicting you if it knew that a national news magazine was going to do a human interest story on the famous author who saves children from rattlesnakes. None of our politicians were very eager for headlines like ‘Town Ostracizes Hero.’ But the point is that you’ll be able to keep Haven Farm.”
The older man receded. After a moment, Covenant heard him say to the other doctor, “You still haven’t told me why you’re in such high dudgeon.”
“It’s nothing,” the younger man replied as they left the room. “One of our Florence Nightingales suggested that we should kill him off.”
“Who was it? I’ll get the nursing superintendent to transfer her. We’ll get decent care for him from somewhere.”
Their voices drifted away, left Covenant alone in his bed.
He was thinking dimly, A miracle. That’s what it was.
He was a sick man, a victim of Hansen’s disease. But he was not a leper—not just a leper. He had the law of his illness carved in large, undeniable letters on the nerves of his body; but he was more than that. In the end, he had not failed the Land. And he had a heart which could still pump blood, bones which could still bear his weight; he had himself.
Thomas Covenant: Unbeliever.
A miracle.
Despite the stiff pain in his lip, he smiled at the empty room. He felt the smile on his face, and was sure of it.
He smiled because he was alive.
Here ends
The Power that Preserves
Book Three of
“The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever.”
GLOSSARY
Acence: a Stonedownor, sister of Atiaran
ahamkara: Hoerkin, “the Door”
Ahanna: painter, daughter of Hanna
aliantha: treasure-berries
amanibhavam: horse-healing grass, poisonous to men
Amatin: a Lord, daughter of Matin
Amok: mysterious guide and servant to ancient Lore
Amorine: First Haft, later Hiltmark
anundivian yajña: “lost” Ramen craft of bone-sculpting
Asuraka: Staff-Elder of the Loresraat
Atiaran Trell-mate: a Stonedownor, mother of Lena
aussat Befylam: child-form of the jheherrin
Banas Nimoram: the Celebration of Spring
Bann: a Bloodguard, assigned to Lord Trevor
Bannor: a Bloodguard, assigned to Thomas Covenant
Baradakas: a Hirebrand of Soaring Woodhelven
Berek Halfhand: Heartthew, founder of the line of Lords, first of the Old Lords
Bhrathair: a people met by the wandering Giants
Birinair: a Hirebrand; later a Hearthrall of Lord’s Keep
Bloodguard: the defenders of the Lords
bone-sculpting: ancient Ramen craft, marrowmeld
Borillar: a Hirebrand and Hearthrall of Lord’s Keep
Brabha: a Ranyhyn, Korik’s mount
caamora: Giantish ordeal of grief by fire
Caer-Caveral: apprentice Forestal of Morinmoss Forest
Caerroil Wildwood: Forestal of Garroting Deep
Callindrill Faer-mate: a Lord
Cavewights: evil creatures existing under Mount Thunder
Celebration of Spring: the Dance of the Wraiths of Andelain on the dark of the moon in the middle night of spring
Cerrin: a Bloodguard, assigned to Lord Shetra
Circle of elders: Stonedown leaders
clingor: adhesive leather
Close, the: council chamber of Lord’s Keep
Coercri: The Grieve; habitation of the Unhomed in Seareach
Colossus, the: ancient stone figure guarding the Upper Land
Cord: second Ramen rank
Cording: ceremony of becoming a Cord
Corimini: Eldest of the Loresraat
Corruption: Bloodguard name for Lord Foul
Creator, the: legendary Timelord and Landsire, enemy of Lord Foul
Crowl: a Bloodguard
Damelon Giantfriend: Old High Lord, son of Berek Halfhand
Dance of the Wraiths: Celebration of Spring
Demondim: makers of ur-viles and Waynhim
Desolation, the: era of ruin in the Land, after the Ritual of Desecration
Despiser, the: Lord Foul
Despite: Power of Evil
dharmakshetra: “to brave the enemy,” Waynhim name
diamondraught: Giantish liquor
Doar: a Bloodguard
Drinishok: Sword-Elder of the Loresraat
Drinny: a Ranyhyn, Lord Mhoram’s mount, foal of Hynaril
Drool Rockworm: a Cavewight, later leader of the Cavewights, finder of the Staff of Law
dukkha: “victim,” Waynhim name
Dura Fairflank: a mustang, Thomas Covenant’s mount
Earthfriend: title first given to Berek Halfhand
Earthpower, the: the source of all power in the Land.
Elena: High Lord during first attack by Lord Foul; daughter of Lena
Elohim: people met by the wandering Giants
Eoman: twenty warriors plus a Warhaft
Eoward: twenty Eoman plus a Haft
fael Befylam: serpent-form of jheherrin
Faer: mate of Lord Callindrill
Fangthane the Render: Ramen name for Lord Foul
Fire-Lions: fire-flow of Mount Thunder
fire-stones: graveling
First Haft: third-in-command of the Warward
First Mark: the Bloodguard commander
First Ward of Kevin’s Lore: primary knowledge left by Lord Kevin
Fleshharrower: a Giant-Raver, Jehannum, moksha
Forbidding: a repelling force, a wall of power
Forestal: a protector of the Forests of the Land
Foul’s Creche: the Despiser’s home
Furl Falls: waterfall at Revelstone
Furl’s Fire: warning fire at Revelstone
Gallows Howe: place of execution in Garroting Deep
Garth: Warmark of the Warward of Lord’s Keep
Gay: a Winhome of the Ramen
Giantclave: Giantish conference
Giants: the Unhomed, ancient friends of the Lords
Gilden: a maple-like tree with golden leaves
Gildenlode: a power-wood formed from Gilden trees
Glimmermere: a lake on the upland above Revelstone
Gorak Krembal: Hotash Slay
Grace: a Cord of the Ramen
graveling: fire-stones, made to glow by stone-lore
Gravin Threndor: Mount Thunder
Gray Slaye
r: plains name for Lord Foul
Grieve, The: Coercri, Giant city
griffin: lion-like beast with wings
Haft: commander of an Eoward
Haruchai, the: original race of the Bloodguard
Healer: a physician
Hearthrall of Lord’s Keep: a steward responsible for light, warmth, and hospitality
Heart of Thunder: cave of power in Mount Thunder
Heartthew: Berek Halfhand
heartwood chamber: Woodhelven meeting place
Heer: leader of a Woodhelven
Herem: a Raver, Kinslaughterer, turiya
High Lord: leader of the Council of Lords
High Lord’s Furl: banner of the High Lord
High Wood: lomillialor, offspring of the One Tree
Hile Troy: Warmark of High Lord Elena’s Warward
Hiltmark: second-in-command of the Warward
Hirebrand: a master of wood-lore
Hoerkin: a Warhaft
Home: original homeland of the Giants
Howor: a Bloodguard, assigned to Lord Loerya
Hurn: a Cord of the Ramen
hurtloam: a healing mud
Huryn, a Ranyhyn, Terrel’s mount
Hynaril: a Ranyhyn, mount of Tamarantha and Mhoram
Hyrim: a Lord, son of Hoole
Illearth Stone: stone found under Mount Thunder, source of evil power
Imoiran Tomal-mate: a Stonedownor
Irin: a warrior of the Third Eoman of the Warward
Jain: a Manethrall of the Ramen
Jehannum: a Raver, Fleshharrower, moksha
jheherrin: soft ones, living by-products of Foul’s misshaping
Kam: a Manethrall of the Ramen
Kelenbhrabanal: Father of Horses in Ranyhyn legends
Kevin Landwaster: son of Loric Vilesilencer, last High Lord of the Old Lords
Kevin’s Lore: knowledge of power left by Kevin in the Seven Wards
Kinslaughterer: A Giant-raver, Herem, turiya
Kiril Threndor: chamber of power deep under Mount Thunder, Heart of Thunder