An outcry rose in him; but he held it down. “Are you surprised the Vow was broken? I thought it was going to break their hearts.
“Bannor didn’t turn aside. He gave me exactly what I needed. He showed me it was still possible to go on living.”
He paused to steady himself; and now Linden felt the meld of his certainty and power growing, felt him become palpably stronger.
“The fact is,” he said without accusation, “you’ve been wrong all along. You’ve misunderstood your own doubt from the beginning. What it means. Why it matters. First Kevin, then the other Lords, then me—ever since your people first came to the Land, you’ve been swearing yourselves in service to ordinary men and women who simply can’t be worthy of what you offer. Kevin was a good man who broke down when the pressure got to be worse than he could stand—and the Bloodguard were never able to forgive him because they pinned their faith on him and when he failed they thought it was their fault for not making him worthy, not preventing him from being human. Over and over again, you put yourselves in the position of serving someone who has to fail you for the mere reason that he’s human and all humans fail at one time or another—and then you can’t forgive him because his failure casts doubt on your service. And you can’t forgive yourselves either. You want to serve perfectly, and that means you’re responsible for everything. And whenever something comes along to remind you you’re mortal—like the merewives—that’s unforgivable too, and you decide you aren’t worthy to go on serving. Or else you want to do something crazy, like fighting Foul in person.”
Slowly he lowered his hand; but the gaze he fixed on Durris did not falter, and his clarify burned from his eyes. “You can do better than that. Nobody questions your worth. You’ve demonstrated it a thousand times. And if that’s not enough for you, remember Brinn faced the Guardian of the One Tree and won. Ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol. Any one of you would’ve done the same in his place. You don’t need to serve me anymore.
“And,” he added carefully, “I don’t need you. Not in the way you think. I don’t want you to come with me.”
Durris did not retreat. But Linden sensed that he wished to draw back, that Covenant’s certain strength abashed him. He seemed unable to deny the image Covenant painted—and unwilling to accept its implications.
“Ur-Lord, what would you have us do?” he asked as if he felt no distress. “You have given our lives to us. We must make recompense. That is necessary.” In spite of its inflexibility, his voice put the weight of Haruchai history into the word, necessary. The extravagance and loyalty of his people required an outlet. “The Vow of the Bloodguard was sworn to meet the bounty and grandeur of High Lord Kevin and Revelstone. It was not regretted. Do you ask such an oath from us again, that we may preserve the meaning of our lives?”
“No.” Covenant’s eyes softened and blurred, and he put his hand on Durris’ shoulder as if he wanted to hug the Haruchai. Linden felt pouring from him the ache of his appreciation. Bloodguard and Haruchai had given themselves to him without question; and he had never believed that he deserved them. “There’s something else I want you to do.”
At that, Durris’ stance sharpened. He stood before the Unbeliever like a salute.
“I want you to stay here. In Revelstone. With as many of your people as you can get. For two reasons. To take care of the wounded. The Land’s going to need them. It’s going to need every man or woman who can possibly be persuaded to face the future. And to protect the city. This is Revelstone, Lord’s Keep. It belongs to the Land—not to Corruption or Ravers. I want it safe. So the future will have a place to center. A place where people can come to learn about the past—and see what the Land means—and make plans. A place of defense. A place of hope. You’ve already given me everything Bannor promised and more. But I want you to do this, too. For me. And for yourselves. Here you can serve something that isn’t going to fail you.”
For a long moment, Durris was silent while his mind addressed his people. Then he spoke, and his dispassionate voice thrilled Linden’s hearing like a distant tantara of horns.
“Ur-Lord, we will do it.”
In response, Covenant squeezed Durris’ shoulder and tried to blink the gratitude out of his eyes. Instinctively Linden put her arms around him, marveling at what he had become.
But when Durris withdrew to stand among the other Haruchai, Cail came forward. His old scar showed plainly on one arm; but he bore other hurts as well. With Brinn, he had once demanded retribution against Linden, believing her a servant of Corruption. And with Brinn, he had succumbed to the song of the merewives. But Brinn had gone alone to meet the Guardian of the One Tree: Cail had been left behind to pay the price of memory and loss.
“Thomas Covenant,” he said softly. “Earthfriend. Permit me.”
Covenant stared at him. A strange bleakness showed in Cail’s eyes.
“I have heard your words,” said the Haruchai, “but they are not mine to acknowledge or eschew. Since that time when the white beauty and delusion of the merewives took me from myself, I have not stood in your service. Rather have I followed the command placed upon me by ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol. You have not forgotten.” Covenant nodded, wary of grief; but still Cail quoted, “ ‘Cail will accept my place at your side until the word of the Bloodguard Bannor has been carried to its end.’ ” Then he went on, “That I have done. But it was not I who was proven against the Guardian of the One Tree. In the stead of victory, I have met only the deaths of Giants and the doubt of my people. And this I have done, not solely because I was commanded, but also because I was promised. It was given to me that when the word of Bannor was fulfilled I would be permitted to follow my heart.
“Earthfriend, you have proclaimed that fulfillment. And I have served you to my best strength. I ask now that you permit me.
“Permit me to depart.”
“Depart?” Covenant breathed. His open face showed that this was not what he had expected. He made an effort to pull himself out of his surprise. “Of course you can go. You can do whatever you want. I wouldn’t stop you if I could. You’ve earned—” Swallowing roughly, he changed direction. “But you’re needed here. Are you going home—back to your family?”
Without expression, Cail replied, “I will return to the merewives.”
Covenant and the First reacted in simultaneous protest, but her hard voice covered his. “That is madness! Have you forgotten that you were scant moments from death? Almost Galewrath and I failed of your rescue. I will not see the life which I brought up from the deep cast away!”
But surprise and apprehension seemed to tighten Linden’s percipience to a higher pitch, a keener penetration; and she saw Cail with sudden acuity, felt parts of him which had been hidden until now. She knew with the instantaneous certainty of vision that he did not intend to throw his life away, did not want death from the Dancers of the Sea: he wanted a different kind of life. A resolution for the inextricable desire and bereavement of his extreme nature.
She cut Covenant off, stopped the First. They glared at her; but she ignored their vehemence. They did not understand. Brinn had said, The limbs of our women are brown from sun and birth. But there is also a whiteness as acute as the ice which bleeds from the rock of mountains, and it burns as the purest snow burns in the most high tor, the most wind-flogged col. And from it grew a yearning which Cail could no longer bear to deny. Panting with the force of her wish to support him, give him something in return for his faithfulness, she rushed to utter the first words that came to her.
“Brinn gave his permission. Don’t you see that? He knew what he was saying—he knew what Cail would want to do. He heard the same song himself. Cail isn’t going to die.”
But then she had to halt. She did not know how to explain her conviction that Brinn and Cail could be trusted.
“Thomas Covenant,” Cail said, “I comprehend the value of that which you have granted to the Haruchai—a service of purity and worth. And I have witnessed Brinn’s encounter with a
k-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol, the great victory of our people. But the cost of that victory was the life of Cable Seadreamer. For myself I do not desire such worth.
“The song of the merewives has been named delusion. But is not all life a manner of dreaming? Have you not said that the Land itself is a dream? Dream or delusion, the music I have heard has altered me. But I have not learned the meaning of this change. Ur-Lord, I wish to prove what I have dreamed to its heart. Permit me.”
Linden looked at Covenant, imploring him with her eyes; but he did not meet her gaze. He faced Cail, and conflicting emotions wrestled each other visibly across his mien: recognition of what Cail was saying; grief over Seadreamer; fear for the Haruchai. But after a moment he fought his way through the moil. “Cail—” he began. His throat closed as though he dreaded what he meant to say. When he found his voice, he sounded unexpectedly small and lonely, like a man who could not afford to let even one friend go.
“I heard the same song you did. The merewives are dangerous. Be very careful with them.”
Cail did not thank the Unbeliever. He did not smile or nod or speak. But for an instant the glance he gave Covenant was as plain as a paean.
Then he turned on his heel, strode out of the forehall into the sunlight, and was gone.
Covenant watched the Haruchai go as if even now he wanted to call Cail back; but he did not do so. And none of the other Haruchai made any move to challenge Cail’s decision. Slowly a rustle like a sigh passed through the hall, and the tension eased. Hollian blinked the dampness out of her eyes. Sunder gazed bemusement and awe at the implications of Cail’s choice. Linden wanted to show Covenant the gratitude Cail had neglected; but it was unnecessary. She saw that he understood now, and his expression had softened. Behind his sorrow over all the people he had lost lurked a wry smile which seemed to suggest that he would have made Cail’s choice if she had been a Dancer of the Sea.
The First cleared her throat. “Earthfriend, I am no equal for you. These determinations surpass me. In your place, my word would have been that our need for the accompaniment of the Haruchai is certain and immediate. But I do not question you. I am a Giant like any other, and such bravado pleases me.
“Only declare swiftly where this Mount Thunder and Kiril Threndor may be found, that Mistweave may bear the knowledge eastward to Seareach. It may be that his path and Cail’s will lie together—and they will have need of each other.”
Covenant nodded at once. “Good idea.” Quickly he described as well as he could Mount Thunder’s location astride the center of Landsdrop, where the Soulsease River passed through the Wightwarrens and became the main source for Sarangrave Flat and the Great Swamp. “Unfortunately,” he added, “I can’t tell you how to find Kiril Threndor. I’ve been there once—it’s in the chest of the mountain somewhere—but the whole bloody place is a maze.”
“That must suffice,” the First said. Then she turned to Mistweave. “Hear you? If skill and courage may achieve it, Sevinhand Anchormaster will bring Starfare’s Gem to Seareach and The Grieve. There you must meet him. If we fail, the fate of the Earth falls to you. And if we do not,” she continued less grimly, “you will provide for our restoration Homeward.” In a softer voice, she asked, “Mistweave, are you content?”
Linden looked at Mistweave closely and was reassured. The Giant who had sought to serve her and believed that he had failed was injured and weary, his arm in a sling, bruises on his broad face; but much of his distress had faded. Perhaps he would never entirely forget his self-doubt. But he had redeemed most of it. The spirit within him was capable of peace.
She went to him because she wanted to thank him—and wanted to see him smile. He towered over her; but she was accustomed to that. Taking one of his huge bands in her small grasp, she said up to him. “Sevinhand’s going to be the Master now. Galewrath will be the Anchormaster.” Deliberately she risked this reference to Honninscrave’s end. “Starfare’s Gem will need a new Storesmaster. Someone who knows something about healing. Tell them I said you should have the job.”
Abruptly he loomed over her, and she was swept into the embrace of his uninjured arm. For an instant, she feared that he was hurt and weeping; but then his emotions came into better focus, and she returned his clasp as hard as she could.
When he set her down again, he was grinning like a Giant.
“Begone, Mistweave,” the First muttered in a tone of gruff kindness. “Cail Haruchai will outdistance you entirely.”
In response, he shouted a laugh. “Outdistance a Giant? Not while I live!” With a holla to Pitchwife and a salute to Covenant and Linden, he snatched up his sack of supplies and dashed for the tunnel under the watchtower as if he intended to run all the way to Landsdrop rather than let Cail surpass him.
After that, nothing remained to delay the company. The First and Pitchwife shouldered their packs. Sunder and Hollian lifted the bundles they had prepared for themselves. For a moment, Covenant looked around the stone of the forehall as though he feared to leave it, dreaded the consequences of the path he had chosen; but then his certitude returned. After saying a brief farewell to the Haruchai, and accepting their bows with as much grace as his embarrassment allowed, he turned his feet toward the sunlight beyond the broken gates. Vain and Findail took their familiar positions behind him—or behind Linden—as the company moved outward.
Gritting her teeth against the shock of the Sunbane on her bare nerves, Linden went back out into the desert sun.
THIRTEEN: The Eh-Brand
It was worse than she had expected. It seemed worse than it had been that morning. Glimmermere’s cleansing and Revelstone’s protection appeared to have sharpened her health-sense, making her more vulnerable than ever to the rife ill of the Sunbane. The sun’s heat felt as hard and heavy as stone. She knew it was not literally gnawing the flesh from her bones, not charring her bones to the malign blackness which she had inherited from her father. Yet she felt that she was being eaten away—that the Sunbane had found its likeness in her heart and was feeding on her.
During the long days when she and the quest had been away from the sun’s corruption, she had groped toward a new kind of life. She had heard intimations of affirmation and had followed them urgently, striving to be healed. At one time, with the tale of her mother told for the first time and Covenant’s arms about her, she had believed that she could say no forever to her own dark hungers. There is also love in the world. But now the desert sun flamed at her with the force of an execration, and she knew better.
In some ways, she was unable to share Covenant’s love for the Land. She had never seen it healthy: she could only guess at the loveliness he ascribed to it. And to that extent he was alone in his dismay. There’s only one way to hurt a man who’s lost everything. Give him back something broken. Yet she was like the Land herself. The power tormenting it was the same might which demonstrated to her undefended nerves that she was not whole.
And she and her companions were on their way to confront Lord Foul, the source and progenitor of the Sunbane.
And they were only eight. In effect, they were only six: two Giants, two Stonedownors, Covenant and Linden. Vain and Findail could be trusted to serve no purposes but their own. With the sun burning against her face as it started its afternoon decline, she lost what little understanding she had ever had of Covenant’s reasons for refusing the aid of the Haruchai. Their intransigent integrity at her side might have helped to keep the Sunbane out of her soul.
Mount Thunder lay to the east; but Covenant was leading the company west and south down through the dead foothills below the intricately wrought face of the Keep. His intent, he explained, was to join the watercourse which had once been the White River and follow it toward Andelain. That was not the most direct path, but it would enable the company to do what Sunder, Linden, and he had done previously—to ride the river during a sun of rain. Recollections of cold and distress made Linden shiver, but she did not demur. She favored any plan which might reduce the amount of
time she had to spend exposed to the sun.
Above her rose the sheer, hard face of Revelstone. But some distance ahead, Furl Falls came tumbling down the side of the plateau; and its implications were comforting. Already much of the potent water springing from the roots of Glimmermere had been denatured. Furl Falls was only a wisp of what it should have been. Yet it remained. Centuries of the Sunbane had not ruined or harmed the upland tarn. Through the brown heat and light of the sun, Furl Falls struck hints of blue like sparks from the rough rock of the cliff.
To the south, the hills spread away like a frown of pain in the ground, becoming slowly less rugged—or perhaps less able to care what happened to them—as they receded from the promontory of the Westron Mountains. And between them wound the watercourse Covenant sought. Following what might once have been a road, he brought the company to an ancient stone bridge across the broad channel where the White River had stopped running. A trickle of water still stretched thinly down the center of the riverbed; but even that moisture soon vanished into a damp, sandy stain. The sight of it made Linden thirsty with empathy, although she had eaten and drunk well before leaving Mhoram’s quarters.
Covenant did not cross the bridge. For a moment, he glared at the small stream as if he were remembering the White River in full spate. Then, controlling his fear of heights with a visible effort, he found a way down into the riverbed. The last sun of rain had not left the channel smooth or clear, but its bottom offered an easier path than the hills on either side.
Linden, Sunder, and Hollian followed him. Pitchwife came muttering after them. Vain leaped downward with a lightness which belied his impenetrability: on his wooden wrist and left ankle, the heels of the Staff of Law caught the sun dully. Findail changed shape and glided gracefully to the river-bottom. But the First did not join the rest of the company. When Covenant looked back up at her, she said, “I will watch over you.” She gestured along the higher ground of the east bank. “Though you have mastered the Clave, some caution is needful. And the exertion will ease me. I am a Giant and eager, and your pace gives me impatience.”