They were closer to wholeness than she had imagined; closer than she would have believed possible. Some of their cuts and gashes had already become scars. The rest were healing cleanly. And their cracked or broken bones were almost entirely mended.
Like their strength, the native resilience of the Haruchai was more than human. Hard riding had not harmed them. It had only slowed their recuperation.
Satisfied, Linden said quietly, “All right.” Doubtless the Humbled remained uncertain of her. Perhaps their suspicions had increased. “Let’s get going.” Nevertheless she trusted them with her life—and with the lives of her friends as well. “I’ve been waiting to see Andelain again for years.”
Without hesitation, the Manethrall headed along the vale until he reached a place where the Ranyhyn could surge up the sides of the next ridge. Slowly he increased his lead—or the other horses held back—until he rode a dozen strides or more ahead of Linden and her defenders.
Passing the crest, the riders ran out of shadow and down a gentle expanse of sunlit grass toward another rise. But it was little more than a line of low hillocks, and did not slow the Ranyhyn. Perhaps half a league beyond it stood a much higher ridge with more difficult slopes. Here and there, lichen-mottled fists and foreheads of bedrock jutted from the hillsides like buttresses. The horses were forced to pick a crooked and cautious way upward.
At the end of that ascent, however, Linden and her companions saw Salva Gildenbourne for the first time. As if involuntarily, they stopped to gaze at the forest’s immanent majesty.
It lay on the far side of a last ridge, a small interruption like a ripple in the earth. From the vantage of higher ground, Linden could see that Salva Gildenbourne was indeed vast. It stretched from the eastern horizon across her path and into the west, where it began to curve by slight degrees toward the south: a rich variegated green panoply bedecked at intervals with the ineffable gold of Gilden trees, and prodigal with the new growth of spring and rain; profligate with life and subtle Earthpower.
By her estimation, she was roughly fifteen leagues from Andelain. At this elevation, she might have been able to hope for a glimpse of the Hills which held the Land’s defining glory. But Sunder and Hollian had wrought well when they had brought forth Salva Gildenbourne. In addition, the forest had flourished for millennia on the overflow of Andelain’s fecundity. The woodland was too deep, dense, and tall to permit any faint emanation of the Hills to reach Linden’s senses.
Still she searched the southeast so avidly that moments passed before she felt the tension thick around her; the growing apprehension of her companions. Then she heard Liand say anxiously. “Linden,” and she saw him point toward the east.
The four Haruchai were gazing in that direction. Anele did the same in spite of his blindness. Mahrtiir had already ridden past the crest; but Narunal had halted when the other Ranyhyn did, and the Manethrall’s face also was turned to the east.
As soon as Linden saw the smoke seething out of the trees at the farthest limit of her sight, she wondered how she had failed to notice it immediately.
The smoke itself was black and fatal, but it was only smoke: it did not cry out to her health-sense. Natural fires were possible. Yet the season was spring. Showers had soaked the woods. Nonetheless Salva Gildenbourne was burning.
And there was more.
At that distance, she did not expect to see flames; but she discerned something worse. Rather than fire, she descried a kind of diseased Earthpower, an organic mystical energy distilled and polluted until it had become as fiery as a furnace, as hot as lava, and incandescent with hunger.
Instantly, instinctively, Linden knew the cause of the blaze. You’ll recognize them when you see them. Foul showed you what they’re like. In imposed visions during her translation to the Land, she had seen spots of wrongness bloom like chancres in the body of the Land, eruptions of ruin among the grass and beauty of the landscape. And from those vile pustulent boils, buboes, infections, had squirmed forth devouring monsters which seemed to emerge from the depths of volcanoes. Serpentlike and massive, with kraken jaws formed to rip and swallow earth and grass and trees, those beasts had feasted on the Land as if it were flesh. Ravenously they had consumed the vista of her vision.
Since then, she had learned to name the monsters. They were skurj, and they served Kastenessen because he had released them when he won free of his Durance.
They were a distortion rather than a shattering of Law, but they had one quality in common with caesures: they were discrete, localized; individually small compared to Salva Gildenbourne, or to the wider Land. However, enough of them together could wreak enormous devastation. Their combined hungers might prove to be as ruinous as the Sunbane.
Linden did not say their name aloud. None of her companions uttered it. Instead she asked softly so that she would not gasp or groan, “How far—? Stave, can you tell how far away they are?”
“A score of leagues,” the former Master replied as if he were unacquainted with dread or horror. “Perhaps somewhat more.”
“More,” stated Galt flatly.
“Are you able to determine their number?” asked Liand. “I cannot.”
Roger had told Linden that Kastenessen had not brought very many of them down from the north yet, but she had no confidence that Covenant’s son had given her the truth.
“The distance precludes certainty,” answered Stave. “but they do not appear to be as many as ten. Salva Gildenbourne has endured substantial harm. The source of this smoke is not the only region where the trees have suffered. Other portions also have been devoured, some at the verge, some in the depths, and some nigh unto Andelain itself. Yet the savaging of the forest is fresh only at the site of the smoke. Earlier flames were extinguished by rain.” He looked to the Humbled for confirmation. “Therefore we judge that this smoke reveals where Kastenessen’s beasts feed, and that the skurj are few in number.”
At the sound of that name, Anele groaned.
“It is conceivable,” Stave continued implacably. “that they feed for a time, then burrow beneath the trees to emerge in another place. But this is by no means certain. It is also conceivable that other skurj lurk within the earth. Indeed, it is conceivable that beasts in far greater numbers are masked by trees and distance, and that the razing of Andelain has already begun.
“Nor are we able to estimate the swiftness of the skurj. We can be certain only that Kastenessen is aware of your journey, and of your purpose. He will not find it difficult to gauge the point at which you will enter Salva Gildenbourne.”
Linden swallowed at the dread beating in her throat. “Then we need to move fast. And we need to go now,” before the distant monsters could cross twenty leagues of forest.
She had to hope that Roger and a new army of Cavewights or other forces did not await her among the trees.
Mahrtiir must have heard her—or Narunal did. At once, the Manethrall’s Ranyhyn sprang into a hard gallop down the slope.
In formation, with the Humbled surrounding Stave and Linden, Liand and Anele, the company plunged after Mahrtiir.
As Hyn rushed toward the last ridge before the descent to Salva Gildenbourne, Linden confirmed that Covenant’s ring still hung under her shirt; that Jeremiah’s racecar remained in her pocket. Then she tightened her grasp on the Staff of Law and tried to ready herself. At her back, she felt Liand take the orcrest from its pouch and close it in his fist; but he did not invoke its radiance.
Clutching Hrama’s mane, Anele continued to face the smoke in the east. His fixation there gave Linden reason to hope that no skurj were concealed closer to her small company.
In moments, the Ranyhyn were pounding up the shallow sides of the final rise; and she began to worry about Pahni and Bhapa. But as she and her companions followed Mahrtiir over the crest and downward again, she spotted the two Cords at the edge of the forest. Their apprehension as they waved told her that they had seen the smoke and drawn their own conclusions; but their manner did not sug
gest any immediate peril.
Now Linden could see why Stave had described Salva Gildenbourne as unruly.—formed without the benefit of lore. She would not have called it a forest: it was a jungle. With no Forestal, or any other benign power, to shepherd the trees, they had thronged so close to each other over the centuries, and were crowded by such a multitude of brush, fallen branches, and massive moss-thick deadwood trunks, that they seemed to forbid intrusion. Indeed, they almost forbade light.
They would restrict the percipience of anyone who walked among them.
Fifteen leagues of this woodland stood between her and Andelain; within Salva Gildenbourne, she and her companions might be taken by surprise; and she did not know how quickly the skurj moved.
By the time that Hyn and the other horses had slowed to join the Ramen, Mahrtiir had already spoken to Bhapa and Pahni. “There is no present peril apart from the distant skurj,” he announced. “The Cords are certain of this.
“We are Ramen. Only theurgy may baffle our skills. But there is another matter which must be decided here.”
Linden hugged the Staff to her chest. “Go on. I don’t know how much time we have.”
“Ringthane,” said Mahrtiir as if he were glowering beneath his bandage. “we cannot ask the Ranyhyn to enter this forest. They would bear us, forcing passage among the brush and saplings. But if we were assailed, by the skurj or any other foe, they could neither defend themselves nor flee. Salva Gildenbourne is too densely obstructed. Such monsters as we have cause to fear would devour the Ranyhyn whole.”
Linden winced. “You’re saying that we’ll have to make it on foot.” Fifteen leagues through the heaviest jungle that she had seen since the rampant dire fertility of the Sunbane. “That doesn’t even sound possible.”
“Yet the Manethrall speaks sooth,” said Stave. “In this, the Humbled and I concur.”
Damn it, she thought. “And there aren’t any roads? Any paths? No, of course not.” The Masters had discouraged travel for centuries. They certainly had not wanted anyone to visit Andelain, where the numinous manifestation of Earthpower would undermine everything that Stave’s kinsmen had striven to accomplish. “So where is the nearest river?”
“In this region,” Bhapa offered hesitantly, “are streams aplenty. The nearest lies no more than half a league to the east. Doubtless it provides a path into Salva Gildenbourne. Yet—”
“Yet,” rasped Mahrtiir. “it would serve neither us nor the Ranyhyn if we are assailed. Such a path would be too easily blocked against us.”
“No true river enters Salva Gildenbourne from the north,” Stave added. “Only the nearer streams flow southward. Others gather toward Landsdrop in the east. If you seek to approach Andelain by water, we must ride west and south to the Soulsease. Even mounted as we are, that journey must delay us further. And there we will be no less distant from our goal.”
Bitter with frustration, Linden faced Stave. “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew all this. We could have headed straight for the Soulsease from Revelstone. We could have saved—”
“Chosen.” Stave’s eye flashed. “I did not speak of the Soulsease because I had no certain knowledge of the skurj. Also I deem our present course to be the safer road. Any passage into Salva Gildenbourne by river will be fraught with hazard. Doubtless the Ranyhyn would be able to bear us, swimming. But doing so, they could not guard themselves.” He indicated her other companions. “Nor could we give battle on their behalf—or on our own. Only your powers might preserve us.”
Mahrtiir and the Cords nodded their agreement.
“A raft—?” Liand offered tentatively.
Stave held Linden’s gaze. “Grant that we may devise a raft adequate to convey us. Still we would be required to part from the Ranyhyn. And still would we be defenseless, apart from your powers. Do you relish the prospect of spears, arrows, flung stones, and nameless theurgies while we stand exposed upon the unsteady support of a raft?
“If you did not ward us all, we could do naught but perish.”
From the forest’s edge, Linden could not see the place where the skurj consumed Salva Gildenbourne. She sensed nothing of the monsters. For that very reason, she seemed to feel them rush closer by the moment.
Bracing herself on the hard stone of her purpose, she said, “All right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blame you.
“I’m sure that you’re right. And I really can’t face the delay of riding around this forest.” She did not want to give Kastenessen or Roger that much time—“Let’s go to that stream Bhapa mentioned. We’ll do what we can on foot.”
Surely any watercourse would be less occluded with brush and deadwood than the rest of the forest?
Mahrtiir nodded his assent. Without waiting for a reply from Stave or any of the Humbled, he and his Cords sent their mounts racing eastward along the fringe of Salva Gildenbourne.
Linden ground her teeth as she and the rest of her companions followed. She was galloping straight toward the most deadly of her many foes, but she could not imagine a better alternative. She had to locate Loric’s krill; needed to find Thomas Covenant among the Dead. She would never rescue Jeremiah without them.
The Harrow’s claim that he could take her to her son meant nothing while he stayed away. He may have feared Kastenessen and the skurj as badly as she did—
The swift run of the Ranyhyn startled birds from the nearby trees. Grasshoppers leapt away and butterflies scattered. Linden’s company plowed a furrow of small frights, quickly forgotten in the immaculate sunlight, as the riders shortened the distance between themselves and their peril.
Soon they reached the stream. It came tumbling through a notch in the nearest ridge and down a series of flat stones like shelves or stairs, then slowed as the ground tilted more gradually toward the forest. Where it disappeared under the crowded canopy, it was little more than a rill which Linden could have crossed with a step. However, the watercourse was wider than the stream. More water often flowed there, chuckling over its rocks as it was fed by spring and summer rains. If trees and brush did not throng too closely to the stream, or spill over its banks, Linden and her companions would not be forced to walk in single-file into Salva Gildenbourne.
Linden could not guess how Anele’s mind would be affected by the jungle, but the stones and sand of the streambed might suffice to keep him safe.
Mahrtiir and the Cords had already dismounted when the rest of the riders arrived in muted thunder. Carrying bundles of supplies, Bhapa and Pahni entered the trees at once to scout ahead. At the same time, Stave and the Humbled sprang down from their Ranyhyn to survey the forest and take defensive positions.
For a moment, Linden, Liand, and Anele remained on their horses. Now that she had decided to part from Hyn, Linden found that she was acutely reluctant to do so. She had learned to feel safe on Hyn’s back—And the trees seemed to brood ominously among their shadows, in spite of the distant calling of birds and the glad rippling of the stream.
Liand was uncharacteristically anxious: he had heard the Elohim give warning, and had spent enough time in Anele’s company to absorb the old man’s horror of the skurj. And Anele himself was obviously alarmed. He tested the air repeatedly, jerking his head from side to side as if his blindness galled him. His knuckles were white as he clung to Hrama’s mane.
I could have preserved the Durance! Stopped the skurj. With the Staff!
Somewhere underneath his madness, he blamed himself for Kastenessen’s freedom. My fault! Behind the Mithil’s Plunge, he had begged Linden to let him die. If the skurj closed on him, he would be trapped between terror and culpability.
Oh, hell, Linden growled to herself. She could not heal the old man’s mind: he had made that clear. She had no hope for him, or for any of her companions, if she did not reach Andelain and Loric’s krill.
Angry at her own fear, she dropped abruptly from Hyn’s back and strode over to the stream. Standing in the watercourse beside the rill, she muttered. “Let’s do this. I’m not
getting any younger.
“Clyme,” she ordered as Liand dismounted and began urging Anele to join him, “you’re in the lead with Mahrtiir.” She could not bear to send the Manethrall ahead alone. “Stave, you’re with Liand, Anele, and me. Galt and Branl can take the rear.” The Cords would watch over the company from among the trees. If they were fortunate, they might avoid being caught. “We should spread out a bit. I don’t want anything”—or anyone—“to hit all of us at once.”
Facing the Humbled, she added stiffly, “I know what Handir said. No Master will answer Stave unless he speaks aloud. This is the exception. Sound won’t carry far through these trees.” And she and her companions might easily lose sight of each other along the twisted stream. “If you refuse to communicate with Stave, you might get us killed.”
Galt, Clyme, and Branl gazed at her without expression. She thought that they would take offense—or simply ignore her. But then Clyme joined Mahrtiir, and Branl gestured for Linden to precede him.
Apparently they had decided to obey her.
The Manethrall met Clyme with a keen-edged grin. He bid farewell to Narunal with a deep bow and a whinnying shout of gratitude. Then he headed into the gloom of Salva Gildenbourne, compensating for his lack of sight with percipience.
Linden did not doubt that he could sense the shape of the sand and stones ahead of his feet, feel the weight of the boughs overhead, hear the quick scurrying of beetles and small animals, smell the tangled growth of the jungle. And she trusted Clyme to protect Mahrtiir from the more insidious ramifications of his blindness. The Bloodguard had esteemed the Ramen as much as the Ramen had distrusted them.
While Liand extricated Anele from Hrama, Linden hugged Hyn’s neck. She felt that she should say something to thank the great horses, all of them. But words were inadequate—and she was too full of trepidation. Instead she promised softly, “I’ll see you again. I’ll need you. The Land needs you.”
Fatal Revenant Page 70
