And everywhere rang the music of bells — cymbals in carillon, chimes wefted into tapestries of tinkling, tones scattered on all sides — the metal-and-crystal language of Elemesnedene.
Linden could not take it all in: it dazzled her senses, left her gasping. When the silver sapling near her poured itself into human form and became Chant, she recoiled. She could hardly grasp the truth of what she saw.
These-?
Oh my God.
As if in confirmation, a tumble of starlings swept to the ground and transformed themselves into Daphin.
Then Covenant's voice breathed softly behind her, “Hellfire and bloody damnation,” and she became aware of her companions.
Turning, she saw them all-the Giants, the Haruchai, even Vain. But of the way they had come there was no sign. The fountainhead of the Callowwail, the mound of travertine, even the maidan did not exist in this place. The company stood on a low knoll surrounded by astonishments.
For a moment, she remained dumbfounded. But then Covenant clutched her forearm with his half-hand, clung to her. “What-?” he groped to ask, not looking at her. His grip gave her an anchor on which to steady herself.
“The Elohim,” she answered. “They're the Elohim.”
Honninscrave nodded as if he were speechless with memory and hope.
Pitchwife was laughing soundlessly. His eyes feasted on Elemesnedene. But the First's mien was grim-tensely aware that the company had no line of retreat and could not afford to give any offense. And Seadreamer's orbs above the old scar were smudged with contradictions, as if his Giantish accessibility to exaltation were in conflict with the Earth-Sight.
“Be welcome in our clachan,'” said Chant. He took pleasure in the amazement of the company. “Set all care aside. You have no need of it here. However urgent your purpose, Elemesnedene is not a place which any mortal may regret to behold.”
“Nor will we regret it,” the First replied carefully. “We are Giants and know the value of wonder. Yet our urgency is a burden we dare not shirk. May we speak of the need which has brought us among you?”
A slight frown creased Chant's forehead. "Your haste gives scant worth to our welcome. We are not Giants or other children, to be so questioned in what we do.
“Also,” he went on, fixing Linden with his jacinth-eyes, “none are admitted to the Elohimfest, in which counsel and gifts are bespoken and considered, until they have submitted themselves to our examination. We behold the truth in you. But the spirit in which you bear that truth must be laid bare. Will you accept to be examined?”
Examined? Linden queried herself. She did not know how to meet the demand of Chant's gaze. Uncertainly, she turned to Honninscrave.
He answered her mute question with a smile. “It is as I have remembered it. There is no need of fear.”
Covenant started to speak, then stopped. The hunching of his shoulders said plainly that he could think of reasons to fear any examination.
“The Giant remembers truly.” Daphin's voice was irenic and reassuring. “It is said among us that the heart cherishes secrets not worth the telling. We intend no intrusion. We desire only to have private speech with you, so that in the rise and fall of your words we may judge the spirit within you. Come.” Smiling like a sunrise, she stepped forward, took Linden's arm. “Will you not accompany me?”
When Linden hesitated, the Elohim added, “Have no concern for your comrades. In your name they are as safe among us as their separate needs permit.”
Events were moving too quickly. Linden did not know how to respond. She could not absorb all the sights and enhancements around her, could barely hold back the bells so that they did not deafen her mind. She was not prepared for such decisions.
But she had spent her life learning to make choices and face the consequences. And her experiences in the Land had retaught her the importance of movement. Keep going. Take things as they come. Find out what happens. Abruptly, she acquiesced to Daphin's slight pressure on her arm. “I'll come. You can ask me anything you want.”
“Ah, Sun-Sage,” the Elohim rejoined with a light laugh, “I will ask you nothing. You will ask me.”
Nothing? Linden did not understand. And Covenant's glare burned against the back of her neck as if she were participating in the way the Elohim demeaned him. He had travelled an arduous road to his power and did not deserve such treatment. But she would not retreat. She had risked his life for Mistweave's. Now she risked his pride, though the angry confusion he emitted hurt her. Accepting Daphin's touch, she started away down the knoll.
At the same time, other shapes in the area resolved themselves into human form-more Elohim coming to examine the rest of the company. Though she was now braced for the sight, she was still dazed to see trees, fountains, dancing aggregations of gems melt so unexpectedly into more familiar beings. As Cail placed himself protectively at her side opposite Daphin, she found a keen comfort in his presence. He was as reliable as stone. Amid the wild modulations of the clachan, she needed his stability.
They had not reached the bottom of the slope when Chant said sharply, “No.”
At once, Daphin stopped. Deftly, she turned Linden to face the company.
Chant was looking at Linden. His gaze had the biting force of an augur. “Sun-Sage.” He sounded distant through the warning clatter of the bells. “You must accompany Daphin alone. Each of your companions must be examined alone.”
Alone? she protested. It was too much. How could such a stricture include Cail? He was one of the Haruchai. And she needed him. The sudden acuity of her need for him took her by surprise. She was already so alone—
She gathered herself to remonstrate. But Cail preceded her. “The Chosen is in my care,” he said in a voice as flat as a wall. “I will accompany her.”
His intransigence drew Chant's attention. The Elohim's easy elegance tightened toward hauteur. “No,” he repeated. “I care nothing for such care. It is not binding here. Like the Sun-Sage, you will go alone to be examined.”
Covenant moved. The First made a warding gesture, urging forbearance. He ignored her. Softly, he grated, “Or else?”
“Or else,” Chant mimicked in subtle mockery, “he will be banished to the place of shades, from whence none return.”
“By hell!” Covenant rasped. “Over my dead-”
Before he could finish, the four Haruchai burst into motion. On the spur of a shared impulse, they hurled themselves forward in attack. Brinn launched a flying kick at Chant's chest. Ceer and Hergrom threw body-blocks toward other Elohim. Cail slashed at Daphin's legs, aiming to cut her feet from under her.
None of their blows had any effect.
Chant misted as Brinn struck. The Haruchai plunged straight through him, touching nothing. Then Chant became a tangle of vines that caught and immobilized Brinn. Daphin sprouted wings and rose lightly above Cail's blow. Before he could recover, she poured down on him like viscid spilth, clogging his movements until he was paralyzed. And the Elohim assailed by Ceer and Hergrom slumped effortlessly into quicksand, snaring them at once.
The Giants watched. Honninscrave stared in dismay, unready for the violence which boiled so easily past the smooth surface of Elemesnedene. Seadreamer tried to charge to the aid of the Haruchai; but the First and Pitchwife held him back.
“No” Among the Giants, Covenant stood like imminent fire, facing the Elohim with wild magic poised in every muscle. His passion dominated the knoll. In a low voice, as dangerous as a viper, he articulated, “You can discount me. That's been done before. But the Haruchai are my friends. You will not harm them.”
“That choice is not yours to make!” Chant retorted. But now it was he who sounded petulant and diminished.
Chant.“ Daphin's voice came quietly from the sludge imprisoning Cail. ”Bethink you. It is enough. No further purpose is served."
For a moment, Chant did not respond. But the bells took on a coercive note; and abruptly he shrugged himself back into human shape. At the same time, Daphin flow
ed away from Cail, and the other two Elohim arose from the quicksand as men. The Haruchai were free.
“Sun-Sage,” said Chant, nailing Linden with his gaze, “these beings stand under the shelter of your name. They will suffer no harm. But this offense surpasses all endurance. Elemesnedene will not permit it. What is your will?”
Linden almost choked on the raw edges of the retort she wished to make. She wanted words which would scathe Chant, shame all the Elohim. She needed Cail with her. And the extravagance of his outrage was vivid behind the flatness of his face. The service of the Haruchai deserved more respect than this. But she clung to forbearance. The company had too much to lose. None of them could afford an open break with the Elohim. In spite of the secret perils of the clachan, she made her decision.
“Put them back on the maidan. Near the fountain. Let them wait for us. Safely.”
Covenant's visage flamed protest at her, then fell into a grimace of resignation. But it made no difference. Chant had already nodded.
At once, the four Haruchai began to float away from the knoll. They were not moving themselves. The ground under their feet swept them backward, as if they were receding along a tide. And as they went, they faded like vapour.
But before they were dispelled, Linden caught one piercing glance from Cail-a look of reproach as if he had been betrayed. His voice lingered in her after he was gone.
“We do not trust these Elohim”
Chant snorted. “Let him speak of trust when he has become less a fool. These matters are too high for him, and so he thinks in his arrogance to scorn them. He must count himself fortunate that he has not paid the price of our displeasure.”
“Your displeasure!” Linden controlled herself with difficulty. “You're just looking for excuses to be displeased.” Cail's last look panged her deeply. And the magnitude of what she had just done made her tremble. "We came here in good faith. And the Haruchai are good faith. They don't deserve to be dismissed. I'll be lucky if they ever forgive me. They're never going to forgive you,"
The First made a cautioning gesture. But when Linden looked stiffly in that direction, she saw a grim satisfaction in the First's eyes. Honninscrave appeared distressed; but Seadreamer was nodding, and Covenant's features were keen with indignation and approval.
“Your pardon.” In an instant, Chant donned an urbane calm like a second mantle. “My welcoming has been unseemly. Though you know it not, my intent has been to serve the purpose which impels you. Let me make amends. Ring-wielder, will you accompany me?”
The invitation startled Covenant. But then he gritted, “Try to stop me.”
Riding the effect of his approval, Linden turned to Daphin. “I'm ready when you are.”
Daphin's countenance betrayed neither conflict nor disdain. “You are gracious. I am pleased.” Taking Linden's arm once again, she led her away from the company.
When Linden glanced backward, she saw that all her companions were moving in different directions, each accompanied by an Elohim. A dim sense of incompleteness, of something missing, afflicted her momentarily; but she attributed it to the absence of the Haruchai and let Daphin guide her away among the wonders of Elemesnedene.
But she detached her arm from the Elohim's touch. She did not want Daphin to feel her reactions. For all its amazements, the clachan suddenly seemed a cold and joyless place, where beings of inbred life and convoluted intent mimed an exuberance they were unable to share.
And yet on every hand Elemesnedene contradicted her. Sportive and gratuitous incarnations were everywhere as far as she could see-pools casting rainbows of iridescent fish; mists composed of a myriad ice crystals; flowers whose every leaf and petal burned like a cruse. And each of them was an Elohim, enacting transformations for reasons which eluded her. The whole of the clachan appeared to be one luxurious entertainment.
But who was meant to be entertained by it? Daphin moved as if she were bemused by her own thoughts, unaware of what transpired around her. And each performance appeared hermetic and self-complete. In no discernible way did they co-operate with or observe each other. Was this entire display performed for no other reason than the simple joy of wonder and play?
Her inability to answer such questions disturbed Linden. Like the language of the bells, the Elohim surpassed her. She had been learning to rely on. the Land-born penetration of her senses; but here that ability did not suffice. When she looked at a fountain of feathers or a glode of ophite, she only knew that it was one of the Elohim because she had already witnessed similar incarnations. She could not see a sentient being in the gavotte of butterflies or the budding of liquid saplings, just as she had not seen Chant and Daphin in the earth near her feet. And she could not pierce Daphin's blank beauty to whatever lay within. The spirit of what she saw and heard was beyond her reach. All she could descry clearly was power-an essential puissance that seemed to transcend every structure or law of existence. Whatever the Elohim were, they were too much for her.
Then she began to wonder if that were the purpose of her examination-to learn how much of the truth she could discern, how much she was worthy of the role the Elohim had seen in her. If so, the test was one she had already failed.
But she refused to be daunted. Covenant would not have surrendered his resolve. She could see him limned in danger and old refusal, prepared to battle doom itself in order to wrest out survival for the Land he loved. Very well. She would do no less.
Girding herself in severity, she turned her mind to her examination.
Daphin had said, I will ask you nothing. You will ask me. That made more sense to her now. She might reveal much in her questions. But she accepted the risk and looked for ways to gain information while exposing as little as possible.
She took a moment to formulate her words clearly against the incessant background of the bells, then asked in her flat professional voice, “Where are we going?”
“Going?” replied Daphin lightly. “We are not 'going' at all. We merely walk.” When Linden stared at her, she continued, “This is Elemesnedene itself. Here there is no other 'where' to which we might go.”
Deliberately, Linden exaggerated her surface incomprehension. "There has to be. We're moving. My friends are some-where else. How will we get back to them? How will we find that Elohimfest Chant mentioned?"
“Ah, Sun-Sage,” Daphin chuckled. Her laugh sounded like a moonrise in this place which had neither moon nor sun. “In Elemesnedene all ways are one. We will meet with your companions when that meeting has ripened. And there will be no need to seek the place of the Elohimfest. It will be held at the centre, and in Elemesnedene all places are the centre. We walk from the centre to the centre, and where we now walk is also the centre.”
Is that what happened to those Giants who decided to stay here? Linden barely stopped herself from speaking aloud. Did they just start walking and never find each other again until they died?
But she kept the thought to herself. It revealed too much of her apprehension and distrust. Instead, she chose an entirely different reaction. In a level tone, as if she were simply reporting symptoms, she said, “Well, I've been walking all day, and I'm tired. I need some rest.”
This was not true. Though she had not eaten or rested since the quest had left Starfare's Gem, she felt as fresh as if she had just arisen from a good sleep and a satisfying meal. Somehow, the atmosphere of the clachan met all her physical needs. She made her assertion simply to see how Daphin would respond.
The Elohim appeared to perceive the lie; yet she delicately refrained from challenging it. “There is no weariness in Elemesnedene,''' she said, ”and walking is pleasant. Yet it is also pleasant to sit or to recline. Here is a soothing place." She indicated the slope of a low grassy hill nearby. On the hillcrest stood a large willow leaved entirely in butterfly-wings; and at the foot of the slope lay a still vlei with colours floating across its surface like a lacustrine portrait of the clachan itself. Daphin moved onto the hillside and sat down, disposing her cymar gr
acefully about her.
Linden followed. When she had found a comfortable position upon the lush grass, she framed her next question.
Pointing toward the vlei, she asked, “Is that a man or a woman?” Her words sounded crude beside Daphin's beauty; but she made no attempt to soften them. She did not like exposing her impercipience; but she guessed that her past actions had already made the Elohim aware of this limitation.
“Morninglight?” replied Daphin, gazing at the colour-swept water. “You would name him a man.”
“What's he doing?”
Daphin returned her apple-green eyes to Linden. “Sun-Sage, what question is this? Are we not in Elemesnedene ? In the sense of your word, there is no 'doing' here. This is not an act with a purpose such as you name purpose. Morninglight performs self-contemplation. He enacts the truth of his being as he beholds it, and thus he explores that truth, beholding and enacting new truth. We are the Elohim. For certain visions we look elsewhere. The 'doing' of which you speak is more easily read on the surface of the Earth than in its heart. But all truths are within us, and for these truths we seek into ourselves.”
“Then,” Linden asked, reacting to a curious detachment in Daphin's tone, “you don't watch him? You don't pay attention to each other? This”-she indicated Morninglight's water-show-“isn't intended to communicate something?”
The question seemed to give Daphin a gentle surprise. “What is the need? I also am the heart of the Earth, as he is. Wherefore should I desire his truth, when I may freely seek my own?”
This answer appeared consistent to Linden; and yet its self-sufficiency baffled her. How could any being be so complete? Daphin sat there in her loveliness and her inward repose, as if she had never asked herself a question for which she did not already know the answer. Her personal radiance shone like hints of sunlight, and when she spoke her voice was full of moonbeams. Linden did not trust her. But now she comprehended the wonder and excitement, the awe bordering on adoration, which Honninscrave had learned to feel toward these people.
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