The sight of her wrung his heart. “Please,” he breathed. “Tell me why this hurts you so much.”
“I can’t shut it out.” Hands, arms, shoulders—every part of her was clenched into a rictus of damned and demanding passion. “It’s all happening to me. I can see—feel—the trees. In me. It’s too—personal. I can’t take it. It’s killing me.”
Covenant wanted to touch her, but did not dare. She was too vulnerable. Perhaps she would be able to feel leprosy in the contact of his fingers. For a moment, he grappled with a desire to tell her about Kevin. But she might hear that story as a denial of her pain. Yet he had to offer her something.
“Linden,” he said, groaning inwardly at the arduousness of what he meant to say, “when he summoned us here, Foul spoke to me. You didn’t hear him. I’m going to tell you what he said.”
Her hands writhed; but she made no other reply. After a difficult moment, he began to repeat the Despiser’s cold scorn.
Ah, you are stubborn yet.
He remembered every word of it, every drop of venom, every infliction of contempt. The memory came upon him like a geas, overwhelming his revulsion, numbing his heart. Yet he did not try to stop. He wanted her to hear it all. Since he could not ease her, he tried to share his sense of purpose.
You will be the instrument of my victory.
As the words fell on her, she coiled into herself—curled her arms around her knees, buried her face against them—shrank from what he was saying like a child in terror.
There is despair laid up for you here beyond anything your petty mortal heart can bear.
Yet throughout his recitation he felt that she hardly heard him, that her reaction was private, an implication of things he did not know about her. He half expected her to break out in keening. She seemed so bereft of the simple instinct for solace. She could have sustained herself with anger at the Despiser, as he did; but such an outlet seemed to have no bearing on her complex anguish. She sat folded trembling into herself, and made no sound.
Finally he could no longer endure watching her. He crawled forward as if he were damning himself, and sat beside her. Firmly he pried her right hand loose from its clinch, placed his halfhand in her grip so that she could not let go of his maimed humanity unless she released her hold on herself. “Lepers aren’t numb,” he said softly. “Only the body gets numb. The rest compensates. I want to help you, and I don’t know how.” Through the words, he breathed, Don’t hurt yourself like this.
Somehow the touch of his hand, or the empathy in his voice, reached her. As if by a supreme act of will, she began to relax her muscles, undo the knots of her distress. She drew a shuddering breath, let her shoulders sag. But still she clung to his hand, held the place of his lost fingers as if that amputation were the only part of him she could understand.
“I don’t believe in evil.” Her voice seemed to scrape through her throat, come out smeared with blood. “People aren’t like that. This place is sick. Lord Foul is just something you made up. If you can blame sickness on somebody, instead of accepting it for what it is, then you can avoid being responsible for it. You don’t have to try to end the pain.” Her words were an accusation; but her grip on his hand contradicted it. “Even if this is a dream.”
Covenant could not answer. If she refused to admit the existence of her own inner Despiser, how could he persuade her? And how could he try to defend her against Lord Foul’s manipulations? When she abruptly disengaged her hand, rose to her feet as if to escape the implications of his grasp, he gazed after her with an ache of loneliness indistinguishable from fear in his heart.
NINE: River-Ride
A short time later, Sunder returned. If he noticed Linden’s tension as she stood there pale and absolute with her back to Covenant, he did not ask for any explanation. Quietly he announced that he had found a place where they could rest safely until the next morning. Then he offered Covenant his hand.
Covenant accepted the help, let himself be pulled to his feet. His muscles felt like ashes in his limbs; but by leaning on Sunder’s shoulder he was able to travel another half a league to reach a stretch of rock. It was hidden among high brush, which provided at least some protection against discovery. Reclining on the rough stone, Covenant went to sleep for the remainder of the afternoon. After a supper of ussusimiel, he surprised himself by sleeping throughout the night.
In spite of the hardness of his bed, he did not awaken until shortly after sunrise. By that time, Sunder had already cleared a patch of ground and planted a new crop of melons.
When Covenant arose, Linden joined him. Avoiding his gaze as if she could not tolerate the sight of his thoughts, his concern for her, his countervailing beliefs, she examined him mutely, then pronounced him free of fever, fit to travel. Something she saw disturbed her, but she did not say what it was, and he did not ask.
As soon as Sunder’s new crop was ripe, he replenished his stock of seeds and refilled his sack of melons. Then he led Covenant and Linden away into the brush.
The Mithil River had turned toward the northwest, and they continued to follow its course as closely as the terrain permitted. Initially their progress was slow; their way traversed a tangle of ground-ivy which threatened to baffle even the Graveler’s strength. But beyond the ivy they entered a deep forest of banyan trees, and walking became easier.
The second day of the fertile sun raised the banyans to heights far beyond anything Covenant would have believed possible. Huge avenues and galleries lay between the trunks; the prodigious intergrown branches arched and stretched like the high groined ceiling and towering pillars of a place of reverence in Revelstone—or like the grand cavern of Earthroot under Melenkurion Skyweir. But the effect was ominous rather than grand. Every bough and trunk seemed to be suffering under its own weight.
Several times, Covenant thought he heard a rumble of hooves in the distance, though he saw nothing.
The next day, the companions met some of the consequences of the sun’s necrotic fecundity. By midmorning, they found themselves struggling through an area which, just the day before, had been a stand of cedars many hundreds of feet tall. But now it looked like the scene of a holocaust.
Sometime during the night, the trees had started to topple; and each falling colossus had chopped down others. Now the entire region was a chaos of broken timber—trunks and branches titanically rent, splintered, crushed. The three companions spent the whole day wrestling with the ruins.
Near sunset, they won through to a low hillside of heather, seething in the breeze and twice their height. Sunder attacked the wrist-thick stems with his poniard, and eventually succeeded in clearing an area large enough for them to lie down. But even then he could not rest; he was taut with anxiety. While they ate, Covenant made no comment; and Linden, wrapped in her privacy, seemed unaware of the Graveler. But later Covenant asked him what troubled him.
Grimly Sunder replied, “I have found no stone. The moon wanes, and will not penetrate this heather sufficiently to aid my search. I know not how to avoid Marid’s fate.”
Covenant considered for a moment, then said, “I’ll carry you. If I’m protected, you ought to be safe, too.”
The Graveler acceded with a stiff shrug. But still he did not relax. Covenant’s suggestion violated a lifetime of ingrained caution. Quietly Covenant said, “I think you’ll be all right. I was right about the aliantha, wasn’t I?”
Sunder responded by settling himself for sleep. But when Covenant awakened briefly during the night and looked about him, he saw the Graveler staring up into the darkness of the heather like a man bidding farewell to the use of his eyes.
The companions rose in the early gray of dawn. Together they moved through the heather until they found a thinning through which they could glimpse the eastern horizon. The breeze had become stronger and cooler since the previous evening. Covenant felt a low chill of apprehension. Perhaps he and Linden had not been protected by their footwear; perhaps they were naturally immune to the Sunban
e. In that case—
They had no time to search for alternatives. Sunrise was imminent. Linden took the sack of melons. Covenant stooped to let Sunder mount his back. Then they faced the east. Covenant had to compel himself not to hold his breath.
The sun came up flaring azure, blue-clad in an aura of sapphire.
It shone for only a moment. Then black clouds began to roll westward like the vanguard of an attack.
“The sun of rain.” With an effort, Sunder ungnarled his fingers from Covenant’s shoulders and dropped to the ground. “Now,” he rasped against the constriction of his chest, “we will at last begin to travel with some swiftness. If we do not foil pursuit altogether, we will at least prolong our lives.”
At once, he turned toward the River, started plunging hurriedly through the heather as if he were racing the clouds.
Covenant faced Linden across the rising wind. “Is he all right?”
“Yes,” she replied impatiently. “Our shoes block the Sunbane.” When he nodded his relief, she hastened after Sunder.
The heather spread westward for some distance, then changed abruptly into a thicket of knaggy bushes as tall as trees along the riverbank. The clouds were overhead, and a few raindrops had begun to spatter out of the sky, as Sunder forged into the high brush. While he moved, he hacked or broke off stout branches nearly eight feet along, cut loose long sections of creeper. These he dragged with him through the thicket. When he had collected all he could manage, he gave the branches and vines to his companions, then gathered more wood of the same length.
By the time they came in sight of the riverbed, only a small strip of sky remained clear in the west.
Sunder pressed forward to the edge of the bank. There he prepared a space in which he could work. Obeying his terse orders, though they did not know what he had in mind, Covenant and Linden helped him strip his vines and branches of twigs and leaves. Then they put all the wood together lengthwise, and Sunder lashed it into a secure bundle with the vines. When he was done, he had a tight stack thicker than the reach of his arms.
Wind began to rip the top of the thicket. Heavy drops slapped against the leaves, producing a steady drizzle within the brush. But Sunder appeared to have forgotten his haste. He sat down and did what he could to make himself comfortable.
After a moment, Covenant asked, “Now what?”
Sunder looked at him, at Linden. “Are you able to swim?”
They both nodded.
“Then we will await the rising of the River.”
Covenant blinked the water out of his eyes. Damnation, he muttered. A raft.
The idea was a good one. The current of the Mithil would provide a faster pace than anything they could hope to match by traveling overland. And Sunder’s raft would give them something to hold onto so that they did not exhaust themselves. The Graveler had been in such a hurry because the chore of making even this small raft would have been far more difficult under the full weight of the rain. Covenant nodded to himself. Sunder was a more resourceful guide than he deserved.
Linden seated herself near the raft and folded her arms over her knees. In a flat voice, she said, “It’s going to be cold.”
That was true; the rain was already chilly. But Covenant ignored it, moved to look down into the river bottom.
The sight made him dubious. The bed was choked with growth almost to the level of the rim. He did not know how long the water would take to rise; but when it did, the trees and brush would make it extremely hazardous.
As Sunder handed out rations of ussusimiel, Covenant continued studying the watercourse. The downpour was hard and flat now, beating into the brush as steadily as a waterfall, and the air darkened gradually; but he could see well enough to make out the first muddy stirrings of the River. Initially he feared that the water would rise too slowly. But the thicket had caused him to underestimate the force of the storm. The torrents fell heavily—and more heavily moment by moment. The rain sounded like a great beast thrashing in the brush.
The water began to run more rapidly. Moiling like a current of snakes, the stream slipped between the trees, rushed slapping and gurgling through the shrubs. All this region of the South Plains drained into the watercourse. Covenant had barely finished his meal when a sudden change came over the flow. Without warning, the current seemed to leap upward, forward, like a pouncing predator; and some of the bushes shifted.
They were shallow-rooted. The stream tugged them free. They caught promptly in the limbs of the trees, hung there like desperation in the coils of the current. But the water built up against them. The trees themselves started to topple.
Soon uprooted trunks and branches thronged the River, beating irresistibly downstream. The water seethed with the force of an avalanche. Rain crashed into the Mithil, and it rose and ran avidly. Foot by foot, it swept itself clean.
The current was more than halfway up the banks when Sunder got to his feet. He spent a moment ensuring that his few possessions were secure, then stooped to the raft, lashed the sack of melons tightly to the wood.
A spasm of fear twisted Covenant’s chest. “It’s too dangerous!” he shouted through the noise of the rain. “We’ll be battered to pieces!” I’m a leper!
“No!” Sunder returned. “We will ride with the current—with the trees! If the hazard surpasses you, we must wait! The River will not run clear until the morrow!”
Covenant thought about the Rider, about beings he had encountered who could sense the presence of white gold. Before he could respond, Linden barked, “I’ll go crazy if I have to spend my time sitting here!”
Sunder picked up one end of the raft. “Cling to the wood, lest we become lost to each other!”
At once, she bent to the other end of the bundle, locked her hands among the branches, lifted them.
Cursing silently, Covenant placed himself beside her and tried to grip the wet branches. The numbness of his fingers threatened to betray him; he could not be sure of his hold.
“We must move as one!” Sunder warned. “Out into the center!”
Covenant growled his understanding. He wanted to pause for a VSE. The watercourse looked like an abyss to his ready vertigo.
The next moment, Sunder yelled, “Now!” and hurled himself toward the edge.
Hellfire! The raft yanked at Covenant as Sunder and Linden heaved it forward. He lurched into motion.
Sunder sprang for the water. The raft dove over the bank. Covenant’s grip tore him headlong past the edge. With a shattering jolt, he smashed into the water.
The impact snatched his inadequate fingers from the raft. The Mithil swept him away and down. He whirled tumbling along the current, lost himself in turbulence and suffocation. An instant of panic made his brain as dark as the water. He flailed about him without knowing how to find the surface.
Then a bush still clinched to its roots struck his leg a stinging blow. It righted him. He clawed upward.
With a gasp that made no sound, he broke water.
Amid the tumult of the rain, he was deaf to everything except air and fear, the current shoving at his face, and the gelid fire of the water. The cold stunned his mind.
But a frantic voice was howling, “Covenant!”
The urgency of Linden’s cry reached him. Fighting the drag of his boots, he surged head and shoulders out of the racing boil, scanned the darkness.
Before he plunged underwater again, he caught a glimpse of the raft.
It was nearby, ten feet farther downriver. As he regained the surface, he struck out along the current.
An arm groped for him. He kicked forward, grabbed at Linden’s wrist with his half-hand. His numb fingers could not hold. Water closed over his head.
Her hand clamped onto his forearm, heaved him toward the raft. He grappled for one of the branches and managed to fasten himself to the rough bark.
His weight upset Sunder’s control of the raft. The bundle began to spin. Covenant had an impression of perilous speed. The riverbanks were only a
vague looming; they seethed past him as he hurtled along the watercourse.
“Are you all right?” Linden shouted.
“Yes!”
Together they battled the cold water, helped Sunder right the raft’s plunging.
The rain deluged them, rendered them blind and mute. The current wrestled constantly for mastery of the raft. Repeatedly they had to thrash their way out of vicious backwaters and fend off trees which came beating down the River like triremes. Only the width of the Mithil prevented logjams from developing at every bend.
And the water was cold. It seemed to suck at their muscles, draining their strength and warmth. Covenant felt as if his bones were being filled with ice. Soon he could hardly keep his head above water, hardly hold onto the wood.
But as the River rose, its surface gradually grew less turbulent. The current did not slow; but the increase of water blunted the moiling effect of the uneven bottom and banks. The raft became easier to manage. Then, at Sunder’s instructions, the companions began to take turns riding prone on the raft while the other two steered, striving to delay the crisis of their exhaustion.
Later the water became drinkable. It still left a layer of grit on Covenant’s teeth; but rain and runoff slowly macerated the mud, clarifying the Mithil.
He began to hear an occasional dull booming like the sounds of battle. It was not thunder; no lightning accompanied it. Yet it broke through the loud water-sizzle of the rain.
Without warning, a sharp splintering rent the air. A monstrous shadow hove above him. At the last instant, the current rushed the raft out from under the fall of an immense tree. Too tall for its roots, overburdened by the weight of the storm, the tree had riven its moorings and toppled across the River.
Now Covenant heard the same rending everywhere, near and far. The Mithil traversed a region of megalithic trees; the clamor of their destruction broke and boomed incessantly.
He feared that one of them would strike the raft or dam the River. But that did not happen. The trees which landed in the Mithil occluded the current without blocking it. And then the noise of their ruin receded as the River left that region behind.
The Wounded Land Page 20
