The Wounded Land

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Linden was cursing bitterly in the stillness. He tried to raise his head. “Linden.”

  At once, she moved to his side. “Don’t try to get up. Just let me see it.”

  He turned his head to show her his hurt.

  She bent over him. He could feel her breath on his cheek. “You’re burned, but it doesn’t look serious. First-degree.” Her tone twitched with nausea and helplessness. “None of the bones are cracked. How do you feel?”

  “Dizzy,” he murmured. “Deaf. I’ll be all right.”

  “Sure you will,” she grated. “You probably have a concussion. I’ll bet you want to go to sleep.”

  He mumbled assent. The darkness in his head offered him cool peace, and he longed to let himself drown in it.

  She took a breath through her teeth. “Sit up.”

  He did not move; he lacked the strength to obey her.

  She nudged him with her knee. “I’m serious. If you go to sleep, you might drift into a coma, and I won’t be able to do anything about it. You’ve got to stay awake. Sit up.”

  The ragged edge in her voice sounded like a threat of hysteria. Gritting his teeth, he tried to rise. Hot pain flayed the bones of his head; but he pried himself erect, then slumped to the side so that his shoulder was braced against the wall.

  “Good,” Linden sighed. The pounding in his skull formed a gulf between them. She seemed small and lonely, aggrieved by the loss of the world she understood. “Now try to stay alert. Talk to me.” After a moment, she said, “Tell me what happened.”

  He recognized her need. Marid incarnated the fears which Nassic’s death had raised for her. A being who lived on hate, relished violence and anguish. She knew nothing about such things.

  “A Raver.” Covenant tried to slip his voice quietly past the pain. “I should have known. Marid is just a Stonedownor. He was possessed by a Raver.”

  Linden backed away from him, composed herself against the opposite wall. Her gaze held his face. “What’s a Raver?”

  “Servant of Foul.” He closed his eyes, leaned his head to the stone, so that he could concentrate on what he was saying. “There are three of them. Herem, Sheol, Jehannum—they have a lot of different names. They don’t have bodies of their own, so they take over other people—even animals, I guess. Whatever they can find. So they’re always in disguise.” He sighed—gently, to minimize the effect on his head. “I just hope these people understand what that means.”

  “So,” she asked carefully, “what I saw was the Raver inside Marid? That’s why he looked so—so wrong?”

  “Yes.” When he focused on her voice, his hurt became less demanding; it grew hotter, but also more specific and limited. As a fire in his skin rather than a cudgel in his brain, it crippled his thinking less. “Marid was just a victim. The Raver used him to kill Nassic—set us up for this. What I don’t know is why. Does Foul want us killed here? Or is there something else going on? If Foul wants us dead, that Raver made a big mistake when it let itself get caught. Now the Stonedown has something besides us to think about.”

  “What I don’t know,” Linden said in a lorn voice like an appeal, “is how I was able to see it. None of this is possible.”

  Her tone sparked unexpected memories. Suddenly he realized that the way she had stared at Marid was the same way she had regarded Joan. That encounter with Joan had shaken her visibly.

  He opened his eyes, watched her as he said, “That’s one of the few things that seems natural to me. I used to be able to see what you’re seeing now—the other times I was here.” Her face was turned toward him, but she was not looking at him. Her attention was bent inward as she struggled with the lunacy of her predicament. “Your senses,” he went on, trying to help her, “are becoming attuned to the Land. You’re becoming sensitive to the physical spirit around you. More and more, you’re going to look at something, or hear it, or touch it, and be able to tell whether it’s sick or healthy—natural or unnatural.” She did not appear to hear him. Defying his pain, he rasped, “Which isn’t happening to me.” He wanted to pull her out of herself before she lost her way. “For all I can see, I might as well be blind.”

  Her head flinched from side to side. “What if I’m wrong?” she breathed miserably. “What if I’m losing my mind?”

  “No! That part of you is never going to be wrong. And you can’t lose your mind unless you let it happen.” Wildness knuckled her features. “Don’t give up.”

  She heard him. With an effort that wrung his heart, she compelled her body to relax, muscle by muscle. She drew a breath that trembled; but when she exhaled, she was calmer. “I just feel so helpless.”

  He said nothing, waited for her.

  After a moment, she sniffed sharply, shook her hair away from her face, met his gaze. “If these Ravers can possess anybody,” she said, “why not us? If we’re so important—if this Lord Foul is what you say he is—why doesn’t he just make us into Ravers, and get it over with?”

  With a silent groan of relief, Covenant allowed himself to sag. “That’s the one thing he can’t do. He can’t afford it. He’ll manipulate us every way he can, but he has to accept the risk that we won’t do what he wants. He needs our freedom. What he wants from us won’t have any value if we don’t do it by choice.” Also, he went on to himself, Foul doesn’t dare let a Raver get my ring. How could he trust one of them with that much power?

  Linden frowned. “That might make sense—if I understood what makes us so important. What we’ve got that he could possibly want. But never mind that now.” She took a deep breath. “If I could see the Raver—why couldn’t anybody else?”

  Her question panged Covenant. “That’s what really scares me,” he said tautly. “These people used to be like you. Now they aren’t.” And I’m not. “I’m afraid even to think about what that means. They’ve lost—” Lost the insight which taught them to love and serve the Land—to care about it above everything else. Oh, Foul, you bastard, what have you done? “If they can’t see the difference between a Raver and a normal man, then they won’t be able to see that they should trust us.”

  Her mouth tightened. “You mean they’re still planning to kill us.”

  Before Covenant could reply, the curtain was thrust aside, and the Graveler entered the room.

  His eyes were glazed with trouble, and his brow wore a scowl of involition and mourning, as if his essential gentleness had been harmed. He had left his staff behind; his hands hung at his sides. But he could not keep them still. They moved in slight jerks, half gestures, as if they sought unconsciously for something he could hold onto.

  After a moment of awkwardness, he sat down on his heels near the entryway. He did not look at his prisoners; his gaze lay on the floor between them.

  “Sunder,” Covenant said softly, “son of Nassic.”

  The Graveler nodded without raising his eyes.

  Covenant waited for him to speak. But the Graveler remained silent, as if he were abashed. After a moment, Covenant said, “That woman who attacked Marid. She was your mother.”

  “Kalina Nassic-mate, daughter of Alloma.” He held himself harshly quiet. “My mother.”

  Linden peered intently at Sunder. “How is she?”

  “She rests. But her injury is deep. We have little healing for such hurts. It may be that she will be sacrificed.”

  Covenant saw Linden poised to demand to be allowed to help the woman. But he forestalled her. “Sacrificed?”

  “Her blood belongs to the Stonedown.” Sunder’s voice limped under a weight of pain. “It must not be wasted. Only Nassic my father would not have accepted this. Therefore”—his throat knotted—“it is well he knew not that I am the Graveler of Mithil Stonedown. For it is I who will shed the sacrifice.”

  Linden recoiled. Aghast, Covenant exclaimed, “You’re going to sacrifice your own mother?”

  “For the survival of the Stonedown!” croaked Sunder. “We must have blood.” Then he clamped down his emotion. “You also will be sacri
ficed. The Stonedown has made its judgment. You will be shed at the rising of the morrow’s sun.”

  Covenant glared at the Graveler. Ignoring the throb in his head, he rasped, “Why?”

  “I have come to make answer.” Sunder’s tone and his downcast eyes reproved Covenant. The Graveler plainly loathed his responsibility; yet he did not shirk it. “The reasons are many. You have asked to be released so that you may approach another village.”

  “I’m looking for friends,” Covenant countered stiffly. “If I can’t find them here, I’ll try somewhere else.”

  “No.” The Graveler was certain. “Another Stonedown would do as we do. Because you came to them from Mithil Stonedown, they would sacrifice you. In addition,” he continued, “you have spoken friendship for the na-Mhoram, who reaves us of blood.”

  Covenant blinked at Sunder. These accusations formed a pattern he could not decipher. “I don’t know any na-Mhoram. The Mhoram I knew has been dead for at least three thousand years.”

  “That is not possible.” Sunder spoke without raising his head. “You have no more than two score years.” His hands twisted. “But that signifies little beside the Rede of the Clave. Though the Riders are loathly to us, their power and knowledge is beyond doubt. They have foretold your coming for a generation. And they are nigh. A Rider will arrive soon to enforce the will of the Clave. Retribution for any disregard would be sore upon us. Their word is one we dare not defy. Our sole concern is that the shedding of your blood may aid the survival of the Stonedown.”

  “Wait,” Covenant objected. “One thing at a time.” Pain and exasperation vied in his head. “Three thousand years ago, a man with a halfhand and a white gold ring saved the Land from being completely destroyed by the Gray Slayer. Do you mean to tell me that’s been forgotten? Nobody remembers the story?”

  The Graveler shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I have heard such a tale—perhaps I alone in Mithil Stonedown. Nassic my father spoke of such things. But he was mad—lost in his wits like Jous and Prassan before him. He would have been sacrificed to the need of the Stonedown, had Kalina his wife and I permitted it.”

  Sunder’s tone was a revelation to Covenant. It provided him a glimpse of the Graveler’s self-conflict. Sunder was torn between what his father had taught him and what the Stonedown accepted as truth. Consciously he believed what his people believed; but the convictions of his half-mad father worked on him below the surface, eroding his confidence. He was a man unreconciled to himself.

  This insight softened Covenant’s vexation. He sensed a range of possibilities in Sunder, intuitions of hope; but he handled them1 gingerly. “All right,” he said. “Let that pass. How is killing us going to help you?”

  “I am the Graveler. With blood I am able to shape the Sunbane.” The muscles along his jaw clenched and relaxed without rhythm or purpose. “Today we lie under the desert sun—today, and for perhaps as many as three days more. Before this day, the sun of rain was upon us, and it followed the sun of pestilence. Our herd needs forage, as we need crops. With your blood, I will be able to draw water from the hard earth. I will be able to raise an acre, perhaps two acres, of grass and grain. Life for the Stonedown, until the fertile sun comes again.”

  This made no sense to Covenant. Fumbling for comprehension, he asked, “Can’t you get water out of the river?”

  “There is no water in the river.”

  Abruptly Linden spoke. “No water?” The words conveyed the depth of her incredulity. “That’s not possible. It rained yesterday.”

  “I have said,” Sunder snapped like a man in pain, “that we lie under the desert sun. Have you not beheld it?”

  In his astonishment, Covenant turned to Linden. “Is he telling the truth?”

  Sunder’s head jerked up. His eyes nicked back and forth between Covenant and Linden.

  Through her teeth, she said, “Yes. It’s true.”

  Covenant trusted her hearing. He swung back to the Graveler. “So there’s no water.” Steadiness rose in him—a mustering of his resources. “Let that pass, too.” The throb in his head insisted on his helplessness; but he closed his ears to it. “Tell me how you do it. How you shape the Sunbane.”

  Sunder’s eyes expressed his reluctance. But Covenant held the Graveler with his demand. Whatever strength of will Sunder possessed, he was too unsure of himself now to refuse. How many times had his father told him about the Unbeliever? After a moment, he acceded. “I am the Graveler.” He reached a hand into his jerkin. “I bear the Sunstone.”

  Almost reverently, he drew out a piece of rock half the size of his fist. The stone was smooth, irregularly shaped. By some trick of its surface, it appeared transparent, but nothing showed through it. It was like a hole in his hand.

  “Hellfire,” Covenant breathed. Keen relief ran through him. Here was one hard solid piece of hope. “Orcrest.”

  The Graveler peered at him in surprise. “Do you have knowledge of the Sunstone?”

  “Sunder.” Covenant spoke stiffly to control his excitement and anxiety. “If you try to kill us with that thing, people are going to get hurt.”

  The Stonedownor shook his head. “You will not resist. Mirkfruit will be broken in your faces—the same melon which made you captive. There will be no pain.”

  “Oh, there will be pain,” growled Covenant. “You’ll be in pain.” Deliberately he put pressure on the Graveler. “You’ll be the only one in this whole Stonedown who knows you’re destroying the last hope of the Land. It’s too bad your father died. He would have found some way to convince you.”

  “Enough!” Sunder almost shouted at the laceration of his spirit. “I have uttered the words I came to speak. In this at least I have shown you what courtesy I may. If there is aught else that you would say, then say it and have done. I must be about my work.”

  Covenant did not relent. “What about Marid?”

  Sunder jerked to his feet, stood glowering down at Covenant. “He is a slayer, unshriven by any benefit to the Stonedown—a violator of the Rede which all accept. He will be punished.”

  “You’re going to punish him?” Covenant’s control faltered in agitation. “What for?” He struggled erect, thrust his face at the Graveler. “Didn’t you hear what I told you? He’s innocent. He was taken over by a Raver. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Yes,” Sunder retorted. “And he is my friend. But you say he is innocent, and your words have no meaning. We know nothing of any Raver. The Rede is the Rede. He will be punished.”

  “Goddamn it!” snapped Covenant, “did you touch him?”

  “Am I a fool? Yes, I put my hand upon him. The fire of his guilt is gone. He has awakened and is tormented with the memory of a noisome thing which came upon him out of the rain. Yet his act remains. He will be punished.”

  Covenant wanted to take hold of the Graveler, shake him. But his efforts only made the bonds cut deeper into his wrists. Darkly he asked, “How?”

  “He will be bound.” The soft violence of Sunder’s tone sounded like self-flagellation. “Borne out into the Plains during the night. The Sunbane will have no mercy for him.” In ire or regret, he evaded Covenant’s glare.

  With an effort, Covenant put aside the question of Marid’s fate, postponed everything he did not understand about the Sunbane. Instead he asked, “Are you really going to kill Kalina?”

  Sunder’s hands twitched as if they wanted Covenant’s throat. “Should it ever come to pass that I am free to leave this room,” he rasped acidly, “I will do my utmost to heal her. Her blood will not be shed until her death is written on her forehead for all to see. Do you seek to prevent me from her side?”

  The Graveler’s distress touched Covenant. His indignation fell away. He shook his head, then urged quietly, “Untie Linden. Take her with you. She’s a healer. Maybe she—”

  Linden interrupted him. “No.” Despite its flatness, her voice carried a timbre of despair. “I don’t even have my bag. She needs a hospital, not wishful thinking. Let him
make his own decisions.”

  Covenant wheeled toward her. Was this the same woman who had insisted with such passion, I can help her! Her face was half hidden by her hair. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

  “Third-degree burns”—she articulated each word as if it were a mask for the contradictions of her heart—“are hard enough to treat under the best circumstances. If he wants to commit euthanasia, that’s his business. Don’t be so goddamn judgmental.”

  Without transition, she addressed Sunder. “We need food.”

  He regarded her suspiciously. “Linden Avery, there are things that I would give you for your ease, but food is not among them. We do not waste food on any man, woman, or child who is under judgment. Kalina my mother will not be given food unless I am able to show that she can be healed.”

  She did not deign to look at him. “We also need water.”

  Cursing sourly, Sunder turned on his heel, slapped the curtain out of his way. As he left, he snapped, “You will have water.” Outside he yelled at someone, “The prisoners require water!” Then he passed beyond earshot.

  Covenant watched the swaying of the curtain, and strove to still his confusion. He could feel his pulse beating like the rhythm of slow flame in the bones of his skull. What was wrong with Linden? Moving carefully, he went to her. She sat with her gaze lowered, her features shrouded by the dimness of the room. He sank to his knees to ask her what was the matter.

  She faced him harshly, shook her hair. “I must be hysterical. These people are planning to kill us. For some silly reason, that bothers me.”

  He studied her for a moment, measuring her belligerence, then retreated to sit against the opposite wall. What else could he do? She was already foundering; he could not insist that she surrender her secrets to him. In her straits, during his first experience with the Land, he had lost himself so badly—He closed his eyes, groped for courage. Then he sighed, “Don’t worry about it. They’re not going to kill us.”

  “Naturally not.” Her tone was vicious. “You’re Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and white gold wielder. They won’t dare.”