The One Tree t2cotc-2

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Oh my God, she groaned. Covenant so sorely damaged. Vain lost. Gifts refused. Moments only? It was true: the sun had scarcely moved at all since her last glimpse of it before entering Elemesnedene. That so much pain could have been committed in such a little time!

  “Let me go.” The plaint of a lorn and frightened child. “I've got to think.”

  For a moment, Brinn did not relent. But then Pitchwife came to her side. His misshapen eyes yearned on her behalf. In a hobbled tone, he said, “Release her. I will answer as best I may.”

  Slowly, Brinn unlocked his fingers; and Linden slumped into the grass.

  She huddled there with her face hidden against her knees. Old, familiar screams echoed in her, cries which no one had been able to hear until long after her father had bled to death. Tears squeezed from her eyes like involuntary self-recrimination.

  The voices of her companions passed back and forth over her head. Pitchwife began to recount the events in Elemesnedene; but shortly the demand for brevity dismayed his Giantish instincts, and he trailed off into directionless protests, The First took the task from him. Tersely, she detailed what she knew of Covenant's examination, then described the Elohimfest. Her account was succinct and stark. Her tone said plainly that she, like Pitchwife, ached for a full and formal telling. But this maidan- with the Elohim so near at hand-was no place for such a tale; and she withheld it sternly. She related how the location of the One Tree had been revealed and what price Covenant had paid for that vision. Then she stiffened herself to her conclusion.

  “Vain the Elohim have imprisoned. It is their word that he is perilous to them-a threat directed against them across the seas by those who made him. They will not suffer his release. Mayhap they have already taken his life.”

  There she fell silent; and Linden knew that nothing else remained to be said. She could not hope for any inspiration to rescue her from her burdens. As if she knew what they were thinking, she watched while Ceer and Hergrom splashed back to the travertine slopes of the fountain, attempting once again to enter Elemesnedene. But the way was closed to them. It had been closed to all the company, and there was nothing else left to be done. Yet when the two Haruchai retreated to the maidan, the water seemed to gleam on the surface of their stubbornness; and she saw with a groan of recognition that she would have to fight them as well. They had not forgiven her for sending them out of Elemesnedene.

  She tried to rise to her feet; but for a while she could not. The weight of decision held her down. Who was she, that she should try to take Covenant's place at the head of the quest? Gibbon-Raver had promised her an outcome of anguish and ruin.

  But her companions were asking themselves how they could force or trick their way back into the clachan. Though she felt that she was going crazy, she seemed to be the only sane one among them. And she had already accepted her role. If she could not at least stand loyal to herself, to the decisions she had made and the people she cared about, then everything she had already been and borne came to nothing.

  Clinching her long intransigence, she interrupted the company by climbing upright. Then she muttered, “There's nothing more we can do here. Let's get going.”

  They were struck silent as if she had shocked them. They glanced among themselves, wondering at her-at her willingness to abandon Vain, or at her attempt to command them. The First had sheathed her blade, but she showed her desire for battle in every muscle. Honninscrave and Seadreamer had found their way past pain into anger. Even Pitchwife had become enthusiastic for combat. And the Haruchai stood poised as if they were looking for a place to hurl violence.

  “Don't touch me,” Covenant answered. The abysm behind his eyes made him look like a blind man. His reiterated warning was the only evidence that he retained any vestige of mind at all.

  “I mean it.” Linden's tongue was thick with despair; but she knew that if she recanted now she would never be able to stop fleeing. “There's nothing we can do for Vain. Let's get back to the ship.”

  “Chosen.” The First's voice was as keen as iron. “We are Giants. Whatever his purpose, this Vain is our companion. We do not blithely turn from the succour of any companion.” Linden started to object; but the Swordmain cut her off. ''Also, we have been told that he was given to Covenant Giantfriend by the Dead of Andelain. By a Giant of the Lost-by Saltheart Foamfollower, the Pure One of the sur-jheherrin. Him we have beheld in the opening of Covenant's mind.

  “We will not see such a gift lost. Though we do not comprehend him, we conceive that the gifts given to Covenant by his Dead are vital and necessary. Vain must be recovered.”

  Linden understood. The Elohim had planted a seed of possibility, and its fruit was apparent in the gazes of her companions. That she should take Covenant's ring and use it.

  She shook her head. That would be a violation as fundamental as any rape. His ring was his peril and his hope, and she would not take it from him. Its power meant too much to her.

  And she had other reasons to deny the idea. Covenant's plight could wait, at least until the company was safely away from this place; but Vain's could not. What the Demondim-spawn needed from her was not what it appeared to be.

  To the First, she said flatly, “No.” In this, at least, she knew who she was. “It isn't up to you.”

  “I am the First-” began the Swordmain.

  “It would've been Covenant's decision,” Linden went on severely, clamping herself rigid with all her will, “but he's in no condition. That leaves me.”

  She could not explain herself for fear the Elohim would hear her and take action. They were surely able to hear anything they desired, uncover any purpose they chose. So she invented reasons as if she knew what she was talking about.

  “You can't do it. He's so important because he comes from outside. Like the white gold. You don't. We wouldn't be here at all if the job could be done by anybody else. You can't take his place,” she insisted. "I'm going to, whether I can or not.

  "And I say we're going to leave. Let Vain take care of himself. We don't even know why he was given to Covenant.

  Maybe this is the reason. To get him into Elemesnedene, so he can do whatever he was created for. I don't know, and I don't care. We have what we came to get. And I don't want to keep Covenant here. They're after his ring. I'll be damned if we're going to stand around and let them hurt him again."

  The First replied with a perplexed frown, as though Linden's stability had become a matter of open doubt. But Brinn showed no doubt. In a voice like stone, he said, “We know nothing of these questions. Our ignorance was thrust upon us when we sought to serve the promise we have given the ur-Lord.” His accusation was implicit. "We know only that he has been harmed when he should have been in our care. And Vain is his, given to him in aid of his quest. For that reason alone, we must stand by the Demondim-spawn.

  “Also,” he continued inflexibly, “you have become a question in our sight. Vain made obeisance to you when you were redeemed from Revelstone. And he it was who strove to bear you from the peril of the graveling and the Sunbane-sickness. Perchance it was he who brought the sur-jheherrin to our aid against the lurker, in your name. Do you lack all wish to serve those who have served you?”

  Linden wanted to cry out at his words. He rubbed them like salt into her failures. But she clung to her purpose until the knuckles of her will whitened. “I understand what you're saying.” Her voice quivered, deserted by the flat dispassion which she had tried for so long to drill into herself. “But you can't get in there. They've closed us out. And we don't have any way to make them change their minds. Covenant is the only one they were ever afraid of, and now they don't have that to worry about.” If Covenant had chosen that moment to utter his blank refrain, her control might have snapped. But he was mercifully silent, lost in the absence of his thoughts. “Every minute we stay here, we're taking the chance they might decide to do something worse.”

  The challenge of Brinn's gaze did not waver. When she finished, he replied as thou
gh her protest were gratuitous, 'Then heal him. Restore to him his mind, so that he may make his own choosing on Vain's behalf."

  At that, Linden thought she would surely break. She had already endured too much. In Brinn's eyes, she saw her flight from Covenant during his venom-relapse returning to impugn her. And Brinn also knew that she had declined to protect Covenant from Infelice's machinations. The First had not omitted that fact from her tale. For a moment, Linden could not speak through the culpability which clogged her throat.

  But the past was unalterable; and for the present no one had the right to judge her. Brinn could not see Covenant deeply enough to judge her. Covenant's plight was hers to assess-and to meet as she saw fit. Gritting her control so hard that it ached in the bones of her skull, she said, “Not here. Not now. What's happened to him is like amnesia. There's a chance it'll heal itself. But even if it doesn't-even if I have to do something about it-I'm not going to take the risk here. Where the Elohim can tamper with anything.” And Vain might be running out of time. “If I'm not completely careful-” She faltered as she remembered the darkness behind his eyes. “I might extinguish what's left.”

  Brinn did not blink. His stare said flatly that this argument was just another refusal, as unworthy of Covenant as all the others. Despairingly, Linden turned back to the First.

  “I know what I'm doing. Maybe I've already failed too often. Maybe none of you can trust me. But I'm not losing my mind.” In her ears, her insistence sounded like the frail pleading of a child. “We've got to get out of here. Go back to the ship. Leave.” With all her determination, she refrained from shouting, Don't you understand? That's the only way we can help Vain! “We've got to do it now.”

  The First debated within herself. Both Honninscrave and Seadreamer looked studiously elsewhere, unwilling to take sides in this conflict. But Pitchwife watched Linden as if he were remembering Mistweave. And when the First spoke, he smiled like the lighting of a candle in a dark room.

  Dourly, she said, “Very well. I accept your command in this. Though I can fathom little concerning you, you are the Chosen. And I have seen evidence of strange strength in you, when strength was least looked for. We will return to Starfare's Gem.”

  Abruptly, she addressed the Haruchai. “I make no claim upon your choosing. But I ask you to accompany us. Vain lies beyond your reach. And the Giantfriend and the Chosen require every aid.”

  Brinn cocked his head slightly as if he were listening to a silent consultation. Then he said, “Our service was given to the ur-Lord- and to Linden Avery in the ur-Lord's name. Though we mislike that Vain should be abandoned, we will not gainsay you.”

  That Vain should be abandoned. Linden groaned. Every word the Haruchai uttered laid another crime to her charge. More blood on her hands, though she had taken an oath to save every life she could. Maybe Brinn was right. Maybe her decision was just another denial. Or worse. Are you not evil?

  But she was suddenly too weak to say anything else. The sunlight blurred her sight like sweat. When Cail offered her his arm, she accepted it because she had no choice. She felt unable to support herself. As she joined her companions moving along the River Callowwail toward Woodenwold and the anchorage of Starfare's Gem, she was half-blind with sunlight and frailty, and with the extremity of her need to be right.

  The maidan seemed to stretch out forever ahead of her. Only the cumulative rush of the River marked the expanse, promising that the grass was not like Elemesnedene, not featureless and unending, Cail's assistance was bitter and necessary to her. She could not comprehend the gentleness of his aid. Perhaps it was this quality of the Haruchai which had driven Kevin Landwaster to the Ritual of Desecration; for how could he have sustained his self-respect when he had such beings as the Bloodguard to serve him?

  The Callowwail reflected blue in turbulent pieces back at the sky. She clung to her own self-respect by considering images of Vain, seeking to remember everything he had done. He had remained passive when the demented Coursers had driven him into a quagmire in Sarangrave Flat. And yet he had found a way to rejoin the company. And surely he had chosen to hazard Elemesnedene for his own secret reasons?

  Slowly, her sight cleared. Now she could see the splendid autumn of Woodenwold rising before her. Soon she and her companions would be among the trees. Soon—

  The sudden fierce clanging of the bells staggered her. Except for Cail's grasp, she would have fallen. The Elohim had been silent since her expulsion from the clachan; but now the bells were outraged and desperate in her mind, clamouring woe and fury.

  Pitchwife came to her, helped Cail uphold her. “Chosen?” he asked softly, urgently. “What harms you?” His tone reflected the stricken pallor of her countenance.

  “It's Vain,” she panted through the silent clangour. Her voice sounded too thin and detached to have come from her. “He's trying to escape.”

  The next instant, a concussion like a thunderclap buffeted the company. The cloudless sky darkened; powers blasting against each other dimmed the sun. A long tremor like the opening howl of an earthquake ran through the ground.

  Giants yelled. Fighting to keep their balance, the Haruchai circled defensively around Linden and Covenant.

  As she looked back toward the fountainhead of the Callowwail, Linden saw that the water was on fire.

  Burning and blazing, a hot surge of power spread flames down the current. Its leading edge spat out fury like the open door of a furnace. On either side of the swift fire, the maidan rippled and flowed as though it were evaporating.

  In the heart of the heat, Linden descried a dark figure swimming.

  Vain!

  He struggled down the Callowwail as if he were beset by acid. His strokes were frantic-and growing weaker every moment. The flames tore at his flesh, rent his black essence. He appeared to be dissolving in the fiery current.

  “Help him!” Vain's need snatched Linden to a shout. “They're killing him!”

  The Haruchai reacted without hesitation. Their doubt of her did not hamper their gift for action. Springing forward, Ceer and Hergrom dove straight into the River and the crux of the flames.

  For an instant, she feared that they would be consumed. But the fire did not touch them. It burned to the pitch of Vain's ebon being and left their flesh unharmed.

  As the Haruchai reached him, he threw his arms around their necks; and at once the erosion of his strength seemed to pause as if he drew sustenance from them. Gathering himself suddenly, he thrust them beneath the surface. With a concentrated effort, he cocked himself, braced his feet on their shoulders. From that base, he leaped out of the Callowwail.

  The flames tried to follow; but now they ran off his sleek skin like water, fraying in the sunlight. He had escaped their direct grasp. And the sun poured its light into him like an aliment. Over all the maidan, the air was dim with preternatural twilight; but on Vain the sun shed its full strength, reversing the dissolution which the Elohim had wrought against him. Spreading his arms, he turned his black eyes upward and let the light restore him to himself.

  The bells rang out keen loss, wild threats, but did no more damage.

  In the River, the power faded toward failure. Ceer and Hergrom broke the surface together, unscathed, and climbed the bank to stand with the rest of the company, watching Vain.

  Slowly, the Demondim-spawn lowered his arms; and as he did so, midday returned to the maidan. In a moment, he stood as he had always stood, balanced between relaxation and readiness, with a faint, undirected smile on his lips. He seemed as uncognisant as ever of the company, blind to assistance or rescue.

  “Your pardon,” said the First to Linden in quiet wonder. “I had given too little thought to the compulsion which drives him to follow you.”

  Linden remained still, held by vindication and relief. She did not know whether Vain followed herself or Covenant-and did not care. For once, she had been right.

  But the company could not stay where it was. Many of the bells had faded back into silence, r
eceding with the flames. However, others were too angry to retreat; and the threat they conveyed impelled her to say, “Come on. Some of them want to try again. They might not let us leave.”

  Honninscrave looked at her sharply. “Not?” His glad memories of the Elohim had already suffered too much diminution. But he was a Giant and knew how to fight. “Stone and Sea!” he swore, “they will not prevent us. If we must, we will swim from the Raw, towing Starfare's Gem after us.”

  The First gave him a nod of approval, then said, “Still the Chosen speaks truly. We must depart.” At once, she swept Covenant into her arms and set off at a lope toward Woodenwold.

  Before Linden could try to follow, Seadreamer picked her up, carried her away along the verge of the Callowwail. Cail and Ceer ran at his sides. Brinn and Hergrom dashed ahead to join the First. Eager for his ship, Honninscrave sped past them. Pitchwife's deformed back hindered him, but he was able to match the pace the First set.

  Behind them, Vain trotted lightly, like a man who had been running all his life.

  Eleven: A Warning of Serpents

  BEFORE Starfare's Gem had passed halfway to the open Sea, the wind became a stiff blow like a shout from the Rawedge Rim. It drove the dromond as if the Elohim in their wrath were determined to expel the quest for all time from their demesne. But Honninscrave did not let the wind have his vessel. The cliffs and turns of the Raw became darker, more bitter and hazardous, as the afternoon waned. Therefore he shortened sail, held the Giantship to a careful pace. The company did not reach the end of the gullet until nearly sunset.

  There Starfare's Gem stumbled into a long fight to keep itself off the rocks of the coast. The exhalation of the Raw conflicted with the prevailing wind along the littoral; and they pulled the dromond into a maze of turbulence. Tacking in flurries, struggling to run one guess ahead of the next shift, Honninscrave and his crew laboured back and forth against the southern promontory of the Raw.