With a movement that made his sark sigh along the wall, Honninscrave lowered himself to the floor. After long moments of silence, his voice rose out of the wan light.
“My brother is dead.” The knowledge still wrung him. “Having no other family since the passing of our mother and father, I loved him, and he is dead. The vision of his Earth-Sight gifted us with hope even as it blighted him with anguish, and now that hope is dead, and he will never be released. As did the Dead of The Grieve, he has gone out of life in horror. He will never be released. Cable Seadreamer my brother, bearer of Earth-Sight voiceless and valiant to his grave.”
Covenant did not turn his head. But he blinked at the sting in his eyes until the shadow above him softened it. The way of hope and doom, he thought dumbly. Lies open to you. Perhaps for him that had been true. Perhaps if he had been honest with Linden, or had heeded the Elohim, the path of the One Tree might have held some hope. But what hope had there ever been for Seadreamer? Yet without hope the Giant had tried to take all the doom upon himself. And somehow at the last he had found his voice to shout a warning.
Roughly Honninscrave said, “I beseeched of the Chosen that she speak to you, but she would not. When I purposed to come to you myself, she railed at me, demanding that I forbear. Has he not suffered sufficiently? she cried. Have you no mercy?” He paused briefly, and his voice lowered. “She bears herself bravely, the Chosen. No longer is she the woman of frailty and fright who quailed so before the lurker of the Sarangrave. But she also was bound to my brother by a kinship which rends her in her way.” In spite of her refusal, he seemed to believe that she deserved his respect.
Then he went on, “But what have I to do with mercy or forbearance? They are too high for me. I know only that Cable Seadreamer is dead. He will never be released if you do not release him.”
At that, Covenant flinched in surprise and pain. If I don’t—? He was sick with venom and protest. How can I release him? If revelation and dismay and Linden had not driven restraint so deeply into him during his struggle against the aura of the Worm of the World’s End, he would have burned the air for no other reason than because he was hurt and futile with power. How can I bear it?
But his restraint held. And Honninscrave looked preternaturally reduced as he sat on the floor against the wall, hugging his unanswered grief. The Giant was Covenant’s friend. In that light, Honninscrave might have been an avatar of lost Saltheart Foamfollower, who had given Covenant everything. He still had enough compassion left to remain silent.
“Giantfriend,” the Master said without lifting his head, “have you been given the tale of how Cable Seadreamer my brother came by his scar?”
His eyes were hidden beneath his heavy brows. His beard slumped on his chest. The shadow of the table’s edge cut him off at the torso; but his hands were visible, gripping each other. The muscles of his forearms and shoulders were corded with fatigue and strain.
“The fault of it was mine,” he breathed into the empty light. “The exuberance and folly of my youth marked him for all to see that I had been careless of him.
“He was my brother, and the younger by some years, though as the lives of Giants are reckoned the span between us was slight. Surely we were both well beyond the present number of your age, but still were we young, new to our manhood, and but recently prenticed to the seacraft and the ships we loved. The Earth-Sight had not yet come upon him, and so there was naught between us beyond my few years and the foolishness which he outgrew more swiftly than I. He came early to his stature, and I ended his youth before its time.
“In those days, we practiced our new crafts in a small vessel which our people name a tyrscull—a stone craft near the measure of the longboats you have seen, with one sail, a swinging boom, and oars for use should the wind be lost or displayed. With skill, a tyrscull may be mastered by one Giant alone, but two are customary. Thus Seadreamer and I worked and learned together. Our tyrscull we named Foamkite, and it was our heart’s glee.
“Now among prentices it is no great wonder that we reveled in tests against each other, pitting and honing our skills with races and displays of every description. Most common of these was the running of a course within the great harbor of Home—far sufficiently from shore to be truly at sea, and yet within any swimmer’s reach of land, should some prentice suffer capsize—a mishap which would have shamed us deeply, young as we were. And when we did not race we trained for races, seeking new means by which we might best our comrades.
“The course was simply marked. One point about which we swung was a buoy fixed for that purpose, but the other was a rimed and hoary rock that we named Salttooth for the sheer, sharp manner in which it rose to bite the air. Once or twice or many times around that course we ran our races, testing our ability to use the winds for turning as well as for speed.”
Honninscrave’s voice had softened somewhat: remembrance temporarily took him away from his distress. But his head remained bowed. And Covenant could not look away from him. Punctuated by the muffled sounds of the sea, the plain details of Honninscrave’s story transfixed the atmosphere of the cabin.
“This course Seadreamer and I ran as often as any and more than most, for we were eager for the sea. Thus we came to stand well among those who vied for mastery. With this my brother was content. He had the true Giantish exhilaration and did not require victory for his joy. But in that I was less worthy of my people. Never did I cease to covet victory, or to seek out new means by which it might be attained.
“So it befell that one day I conceived a great thought which caused me to hug my breast in secret, and to hasten Seadreamer to Foamkite, that I might practice my thought and perfect it for racing. But that thought I did not share with him. It was grand, and I desired its wonder for myself. Not questioning what was in me, he came for the simple pleasure of the sea. Together we ran Foamkite out to the buoy, then swung with all speed toward upthrust Salttooth.
“It was a day as grand as my thought.” He spoke as if it were visible behind the shadows of the cabin. “Under the faultless sky blew a wind with a whetted edge which offered speed and hazard, cutting the wave-crests to white froth as it bore us ahead. Swiftly before us loomed Salttooth. In such a wind, the turning of a tyrscull requires true skill—a jeopardy even to competent prentices—and it was there that a race could be won or lost, for a poor tack might drive a small craft far from the course or overturn it altogether. But my thought was for that turning, and I was not daunted by the wind.
“Leaving Seadreamer to the tiller and the management of the boom, I bid him run in as nigh to Salttooth as he dared. All prentices knew such a course to be folly, for the turning would then bear us beyond our way. But I silenced my brother’s protests and went to Foamkite’s prow. Still preserving my secret, hiding my hands from his sight, I freed the anchor and readied its line.”
Abruptly the Master faltered, fell still. One fist lay knotted in his lap; the other twisted roughly into his beard, tugging it for courage. But after a moment, he drew a deep breath, then let the air hiss away through his teeth. He was a Giant and could not leave his story unfinished.
“Such was Seadreamer’s skill that we passed hastening within an arm’s span of Salttooth, though the wind heeled us sharply from the rock and any sideslip might have done Foamkite great harm. But his hand upon the wind was sure, and an instant later I enacted my intent. As we sped, I arose and cast the anchor upon the rock, snagging us there. Then I lashed the line.
“This was my thought for a turning too swift to be matched by any other tyrscull, that our speed and the anchor and Salttooth should do the labor for us—though I was uncertain how the anchor might be unsnared when the turn was done. But I had not told Seadreamer my purpose.” His voice had become a low rasp of bitterness in his throat. “He was fixed upon the need to pass Salttooth without mishap, and my act surprised him entirely. He half gained his feet, half started toward me as if I had gone mad. Then the line sprang taut, and Foamkite came about with a vi
olence which might have snapped the mast from its holes.”
Again he stopped. The muscles of his shoulders bunched. When he resumed, he spoke so softly that Covenant barely heard him.
“Any child might have informed me what would transpire, but I had given no consideration to it. The boom wrenched across the stem of Foamkite with a force to sliver granite. And Seadreamer my brother had risen into its path.
“In that wind and my folly, I would not have known that he had fallen, had he not cried out as he was struck. But at his cry I turned to see him flung into the sea.
“Ah, my brother!” A groan twisted his voice. “I dove for him, but he would have been lost had I not found the path of his blood in the water and followed it. Senseless he hung in my arms as I bore him to the surface.
“With the sea thus wind-slashed, I saw little of his injury but blood until I had borne him to Foamkite and wrested him aboard. But there his wound seemed so great that I believed his eyes had been crushed in his head, and for a time I became as mad as my intent had been. To this day, I know nothing of our return to the docks of Home. I did not regain myself until a healer spoke to me, compelling me to hear that my brother had not been blinded. Had the boom itself struck him, mayhap he would have been slain outright. But the impact was borne by a cable along the boom, taking him below the eyes and softening the blow somewhat.”
Once more he fell still. His hands covered his face as if to stanch the flow of blood he remembered. Covenant watched him mutely. He had no courage for such stories, could not bear to have them thrust upon him. But Honninscrave was a Giant and a friend; and since the days of Foamfollower Covenant had not been able to close his heart. Though he was helpless and aggrieved, he remained silent and let Honninscrave do what he willed.
After a moment, the Master dropped his hands. Drawing a breath like a sigh, he said, “It is not the way of Giants to punish such folly as mine, though I would have found comfort in the justice of punishment. And Cable Seadreamer was a Giant among Giants. He did not blame the carelessness which marked his life forever.” Then his tone stiffened. “But I do not forget. The fault is mine. Though I too am a Giant in my way, my ears have not found the joy to hear this story. And I have thought often that perhaps my fault is greater than it has appeared. The Earth-Sight is a mystery. None can say why it chooses one Giant rather than another. Perhaps it befell my brother because of some lingering hurt or alteration done him by the puissance of that blow. Even in their youth, Giants are not easily stricken senseless.”
Suddenly Honninscrave looked upward; and his gaze struck foreboding into Covenant’s maimed empathy. His eyes under his heavy brows were fierce with extremity, and the new-cut lines around them were as intense as scars. “Therefore have I come to you,” he said slowly, as if he could not see Covenant quailing. “I desire a restitution which is not within my power to perform. My fault must be assuaged.
“It is the custom of our people to give our dead to the sea. But Cable Seadreamer my brother has met his end in horror, and it will not release him. He is like the Dead of The Grieve, damned to his anguish. If his spirit is not given its caamora”—for an instant, his voice broke—“he will haunt me while one stone of the Arch of Time remains standing upon another.”
Then his gaze fell to the floor. “Yet there is no fire in all the world that I can raise to give him surcease. He is a Giant. Even in death, he is immune to flame.”
At that, Covenant understood; and all his dreads came together in a rush: the apprehension which had crouched in him since Honninscrave had first said, If you do not release him; the terror of his doom, to destroy the Earth himself or to surrender it for destruction by ceding his ring to Lord Foul. The Despiser had said, The ill that you deem most terrible is upon you. Of your own volition you will give the white gold into my hand. Either that or bring down the Arch of Time. There was no way out. He was beaten. Because he had kept the truth from Linden, seeking to deny it. And Honninscrave asked—!
“You want me to cremate him?” Clenched fear made him harsh. “With my ring? Are you out of your mind?”
Honninscrave winced. “The Dead of The Grieve—” he began.
“No!” Covenant retorted. He had walked into a bonfire to save them from their reiterated hell; but risks like that were too great for him now. He had already caused too much death. “After I sink the ship, I won’t be able to stop!”
For a moment, even the sounds of the sea fell still, shocked by his vehemence. The Giantship seemed to be losing headway. The light of the lantern flickered as if it were going out. Perhaps there were shouts like muffled lamentations in the distance. Covenant could not be sure. His senses were condemned to the surface of what they perceived. The rest of the dromond was hidden from him.
If the Master heard anything, he did not react to it. His head remained bowed. Moving heavily, like a man hurt in every limb, he climbed to his feet. Though the hammock hung high above the floor, he stood head and shoulders over the Unbeliever; and still he did not meet Covenant’s glare. The lantern was below and behind him as he took one step closer. His face was shadowed, dark and fatal.
In a wan and husky voice, he said, “Yes, Giantfriend.” The epithet held a tinge of sarcasm. “I am gone from my mind. You are the ring-wielder, as the Elohim have said. Your power threatens the Earth. What import has the anguish of one or two Giants in such a plight? Forgive me.”
Then Covenant wanted to cry out in earnest, torn like dead Kevin Landwaster between love and defeat. But loud feet had come running down the companionway outside his cabin, had already reached his door. The door sprang open without any protest from Cail. A crewmember thrust her head past the threshold.
“Master, you must come.” Her voice was tight with alarm. “We are beset by Nicor.”
TWO: Leper’s Ground
Honninscrave left the cabin slowly, like a man responding by habit, unconscious of the urgency of the summons. Perhaps he no longer understood what was happening around him. Yet he did respond to the call of his ship.
When the Master reached the companionway, Cail closed the door behind him. The Haruchai seemed to know instinctively that Covenant would not follow Honninscrave.
Nicor! Covenant thought, and his heart labored. Those tremendous serpentlike sea-beasts were said to be the offspring of the Worm of the World’s End. Starfare’s Gem had passed through a region crowded with them near the Isle of the One Tree. They had been indifferent to the dromond then. But now? With the Isle gone and the Worm restive?
And what could one stone vessel do against so many of those prodigious creatures? What could Honninscrave do?
Yet the Unbeliever did not leave his hammock. He stared at the dark ceiling and did not move. He was beaten, defeated. He dared not take the risk of confronting the Giantship’s peril. If Linden had not intervened at the One Tree, he would already have become another Kevin, enacting a Ritual of Desecration to surpass every other evil. The threat of the Nicor paled beside the danger he himself represented.
Deliberately he sought to retreat into himself. He did not want to know what transpired outside his cabin. How could he endure the knowledge? He had said, I’m sick of guilt—but such protests had no meaning. His very blood had been corrupted by venom and culpability. Only the powerless were truly innocent, and he was not powerless. He was not even honest. The selfishness of his love had brought all this to pass.
Yet the lives at stake were the lives of his friends, and he could not close himself to the dromond’s jeopardy. Starfare’s Gem rolled slightly in the water as if it had lost all headway. A period of shouts and running had followed Honninscrave’s departure, but now the Giantship was silent. With Linden’s senses, he would have been able to read what was happening through the stone itself; but he was blind and bereft, cut off from the essential spirit of the world. His numb hands clutched the edges of the hammock.
Time passed. He was a coward, and his dreads swarmed darkly about him as if they were born in the shadows above his
head. He gripped himself with thoughts of ruin, held himself still with curses. But Honninscrave’s face kept coming back to him: the beard like a growth of pain from his cheeks, the massive brow knuckled with misery, the hands straining. Covenant’s friend. Like Foamfollower. My brother has met his end in horror. It was intolerable that such needs had to be refused. And now the Nicor—!
Even a beaten man could still feel pain. Roughly he pulled himself into a sitting position. His voice was a croak of coercion and fear as he called out, “Cail!”
The door opened promptly, and Cail entered the cabin.
The healed wound of a Courser-spur marked his left arm from shoulder to elbow like the outward sign of his fidelity; but his visage remained as impassive as ever. “Ur-Lord?” he asked flatly. His dispassionate tone gave no hint that he was the last Haruchai left in Covenant’s service.
Covenant stifled a groan. “What the hell’s going on out there?”
In response, Cail’s eyes shifted fractionally. But still his voice held no inflection. “I know not.”
Until the previous night, when Brinn had left the quest to take up his role as ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol, Cail had never been alone in his chosen duty; and the mental interconnection of his people had kept him aware of what took place around him. But now he was alone. Brinn’s defeat of the former Guardian of the One Tree had been a great victory for him personally, and for the Haruchai as a people; but it left Cail isolated in a way that no one who had not experienced such mind-sharing could measure. His blunt I know not silenced Covenant like an admission of frailty.
Cail—Covenant tried to say. He did not want to leave the Haruchai in that loneliness. But Brinn had said, Cail will accept my place in your service until the word of the Bloodguard Bannor has been carried to its end. And no appeal or protest would sway Cail from the path Brinn had marked out for him. Covenant remembered Bannor too poignantly to believe that the Haruchai would ever judge themselves by any standards but their own.