Weak, ringless, and miserable though he was, Covenant still heard Triock, heard the whelming passion with which Triock told him that even now he did not know the worst, had not faced the worst. And that communication made a difference to him. It pushed him deep into his fear, down to a place in him which had not been touched by either capture or horror. It drove him back to the calm which had been given to him in Morinmoss. He seemed to remember a part of himself that had been hidden from him. Something had been changed for him in the Forest, something which could not be taken away. He caught hold of it, immersed himself in the gift.
A moment later, he raised his head as if he had come through a dark gulf of panic. He was too weak to fight Triock; he had lost his ring; blood streamed from his damaged forehead into his eyes. But he was no longer at the mercy of fear.
Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he gasped up at Triock, “What’s happened to them?”
“You have not seen!” Triock roared. Once more, he raised his fist to hammer the Unbeliever’s face. But before he could strike, a low voice commanded simply, “Stop.”
Triock jerked, struggling to complete his blow.
“I have given you time. Now I desire him to know what I do.”
The command held Triock; he could not strike. Trembling, he wrenched away from Covenant, then spun back to point lividly toward the stone column and shout, “There!”
Covenant lurched to his feet, wiped his eyes.
Midway between him and the upreared fist of stone stood Elena!
She was robed in radiant green velure, and she bore herself proudly, like a queen. She seemed swathed in an aura of emeralds; her presence sparkled like gems when she smiled. At once, without effort of assertion, she showed that she was the master of the situation. The Ravers and Triock waited before her like subjects before their liege.
In her right hand she held a long staff. It was metal-shod at both ends, and between its heels it was intricately carved with the runes and symbols of theurgy.
The Staff of Law.
But the wonder of its appearance there meant nothing to Covenant compared with the miracle of Elena’s return. He had loved her, lost her. Her death at the hands of dead Kevin Landwaster had brought his second sojourn in the Land to an end. Yet she stood now scarcely thirty feet from him. She was smiling.
A thrill of joy shot through him. The love which had tormented his heart since her fall rushed up in him until he felt he was about to burst with it. Blood streamed from his eyes like tears. Joy choked him so that he could not speak. Half blinded, half weeping, he shrugged off his travail and started toward her as if he meant to throw himself down before her, kiss her feet.
Before he had crossed half the distance, she made a short gesture with the Staff, and at once a jolt of force hit him. It drove the air from his lungs, pitched him to his hands and knees on the hard ground.
“No,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “All your questions will be answered before I slay you, Thomas Covenant, ur-Lord and Unbeliever-beloved.” On her cold lips, the word beloved impugned him. “But you will not touch me. You will come no closer.”
A great weight leaned against his shoulders, held him to the ground. He retched for air, but when he gasped it into his lungs, it hurt him as if he were inhaling disease. The atmosphere around him reeked with her presence. She pervaded the air like rot. On a scale that dwarfed him, she smelled as he did-smelled like-leprosy.
He forced up his head, gaped gasping at her from under the streaming spike of his wound.
With a smile like a smirk or leer, she extended her left hand toward him and opened it, so that he could see lying in her palm his white gold wedding band.
Elena! he retched voicelessly. Elena! He felt that he was being crushed under a burden of impenetrable circumstance. In supplication and futility, he reached toward her, but she only laughed at him quietly, as if he were a masque of impotence enacted for her pleasure.
A moment passed before his anguish permitted him to see her clearly, and while he grovelled without comprehension, she shone defiantly before him like a soul of purest emerald. But slowly he recovered his vision. Like a reborn phoenix, she flourished in green loveliness. Yet in some way she reminded him of the spectre of Kevin Landwaster-a spirit dredged out of its uneasy grave by commands of irrefusable cruelty. Her expression was as placid as power could make it; she radiated triumph and decay. But her eyes were completely lightless, dark. It was as if the strange bifurcation, the dualness, of her sight had gone completely to its other pole, away from the tangible things around her. She seemed not to see where or who she was, what she did; her gaze was focused elsewhere, on the secret which compelled her.
She had become a servant of the Despiser. Even while she stood there with the Staff and the ring in her hands, Lord Foul’s eyes held her like the eyes of a serpent.
In her violated beauty, Covenant beheld the doom of the Land. It would be kept fair, so that Lord Foul could more keenly relish its ravishment-and it would be diseased to the marrow.
“Elena,” he panted, then paused, gagging at the reek of her. “Elena. Look at me.”
With a disdainful toss of her head, she turned away from him, moved a step or two closer to the stone pillar. ‘ Triock,” she commanded lightly, “answer the Unbeliever’s questions. I do not wish him to be in ignorance. His despair will make a pretty present for the master.”
At once, Triock strode stiffly forward, and stood so that Covenant could see him without fighting the pressure which held him to the ground. The Stonedownor’s scowl had not changed, not abated one muscle or line of its vehemence, but his voice carried an odd undertow of grief. He began roughly, as if he were reading an indictment: “You have asked where you are. You are at Landsdrop. Behind you lies the Fall of the River Landrider and the northmost reach of the Southron Range. Before you stands the Colossus of the Fall.”
Covenant panted at this information as if it interfered with his ragged efforts to breathe.
“Perhaps the Lords”-Triock hissed the word Lords in rage or desperation-“have spoken to you of the Colossus. In ages long past, it uttered the power of the One Forest to interdict its enemies the three Ravers from the Upper Land. The Colossus has been silent for millennia-silent since men broke the spirit of the Forest. Yet you may observe that turiya and moksha do not approach the stone. While one Forestal still lives in the remnants of the Forest, the Colossus may not be altogether undone. Thus it remains a thorn in the Despiser’s mastery.
“It is now Elena’s purpose to destroy this stone.”
Behind Covenant, both Ravers growled with pleasure at the thought.
“This has not been possible until now. Since this war began, Elena has stood here with the Staff of Law in support of the master’s armies. With the Staff’s power, she has held this winter upon the Land, thus freeing the master for other war work. This place was chosen for her so that she would be ready if the Colossus awoke-and so that she could destroy it if it did not awaken. But it has resisted her.” The hardness in his voice sounded almost like rage at Elena. “There is Earthpower in it yet.
“But with the Staff and the wild magic, she will be capable. She will throw the rubble of the Colossus from its cliff. And when you have seen that no ancient bastion, however Earthpowerful and incorruptible, can stand against a servant of the master-then Elena Foul-wife will slay you where you kneel in your despair. She will slay us all.” With a jerk of his head, he included Bannor and Foamfollower.
In horrific unison, the Ravers laughed.
Covenant writhed under the pressure which held him. “How?”
His question could have meant many things, but Triock understood him. “Because the Law of Death has been broken!” he rasped. Fury flamed in his voice; he could no longer contain it. He watched Elena as she moved gracefully toward the Colossus, preparing herself to challenge it, and his voice blared after her as if he were striving in spite of her coercion to find some way to restrain her. Clearly, he knew ho
w he was being compelled, what was being done to him, and the knowledge filled him with torment. “Broken!” he repeated, almost shouting. “When she employed the Power of Command to bring Kevin Landwaster back from his grave, she broke the Law which separates life from death. She made it possible for the master to call her back in her turn-and with her the Staff of Law. Therefore she is his servant. And in her hands, the Staff serves him-though he would not use it himself, lest he share the fate of Drool Rockworm. Thus all Law is warped to his will!
“Behold her, Thomas Covenant! She is unchanged. Within her still lives the spirit of the daughter of Lena. Even as she readies herself for this destruction, she remembers what she was and hates what she is.” His chest heaved as if he were strangling on bitterness. “That is the master’s way. She is resurrected so that she may participate in the ruin of the Land-the Land she loves!”
He no longer made any pretence of speaking to Covenant; he hurled his voice at Elena as if his tone were the only part of him still able to resist her. “Elena Foul-wife”- he uttered the name with horror- “now holds the white gold. She is more the master’s servant than any Raver. In the hands of turiya or moksha, that power would breed rebellion. With wild magic, any Raver would throw down the master if he could, and take a new seat in the thronehall of Ridjeck Thome. But Elena will not rebel. She will not use the wild magic to free herself. She has been commanded from the dead, and her service is pure!”
He raged the word pure at her as if it were the worst affront he could utter. But she was impervious to him, secure in power and triumph. She only smiled faintly, amused by his ranting, and continued to make her preparations.
With her back to Covenant and Triock, she faced the monolith. It towered over her as if it were about to fall and crush her, but her stance admitted to no possibility of danger. With the Staff and the ring, she was superior to every power in the Land. In radiance and might, she raised her hands, holding up the Staff of Law and the white gold. Her sleeves fell from her arms. Exulting and exalted, she began to sing her attack on the Colossus of the Fall.
Her song hurt Covenant’s ears, exacerbating his raw helplessness. He could not bear her intent, and could not oppose it; her interdict kept him on his knees like fetters of humiliation. Though he was only a dozen yards from her, he could not reach her, could not interfere with her purpose.
His thoughts raced madly, scrambled for alternatives. He could not abide the destruction of the Colossus. He had to find another answer.
“Foamfollower!” he croaked in desperation. “I don’t know what’s happening to you-I don’t know what’s being done to you. But you’ve got to fight it! You’re a Giant! You’ve got to stop her! Try to stop her! Foamfollower! Bannor!”
The Ravers met his plea with sardonic jeers, and Triock rasped without taking his eyes off Elena, “You are a fool, Thomas Covenant. They cannot help you. They are too strong to be mastered-as I have been mastered-and too weak to be masters. Therefore she has imprisoned them by the power of the Staff. The Staff crushes all resistance. Thus it is proven that Law does not oppose Despite. We are all mastered beyond redemption.”
“Not you!” Covenant responded urgently. He fought the pressure until he feared his lungs would break, but he could not free himself. Without his ring, he felt as crippled as if his arms had been amputated. Without it, he weighed less than nothing in the scales of the Land’s fate. “Not you!” he gasped again. “I can hear you, Triock! You! She isn’t afraid of you-she isn’t holding you. Triock! Stop her!”
Again the Ravers laughed. But this time Covenant heard the strain in their voices. Heaving against his captivity, he managed to wrench his head around far enough to look at Whane and Lal.
They still stood a safe distance from the Colossus. Neither made any move to help Covenant or oppose Elena. Both went on chuckling as if they could not help themselves. Yet their exertion was unmistakable. They were white-lipped and rigid; beads of effort ran down their faces. With all the long pride of their people, the Ramen were struggling to break free.
And behind them, Foamfollower and Bannor strove for freedom also. Somehow, both of them had found the strength to move slightly. Foamfollower’s head was bowed, and he clenched his face with one hand as if he were trying to alter the shape of his skull. Banner’s fingers clawed at his sides; his face grew taut, baring his teeth. Urgently, desperately, they fought Elena’s power.
Their ordeal felt terrible to Covenant-terrible and hopeless. Like the Ramen, they were beyond the limits of what they could do. Pressure mounted in them, radiated from them. It was so acute that Covenant feared their hearts would rupture. And they had no chance of success. The power of the Staff increased to crush every extravagance of their self-expenditure.
Their futility hurt Covenant more than his own. He was accustomed to impotence, inured to it, but Bannor and Foamfollower were not. The stark vision of their defeat almost made him cry out in anguish. He wanted to shout to them, beg them to stop before they drove themselves soul-mad.
But the next instant a surge of new hope shot through him as he suddenly understood what they were doing. They knew they could not escape, were not trying to escape. They fought toward another goal. Elena was paying no attention to them; she concentrated on preparing for the destruction of the Colossus. So she was not actively exerting herself to imprison them. She had simply left her compulsion in the air and turned her back.
Foamfollower and Bannor were drawing on this compulsion, using it-using it up. As the Giant and the Bloodguard strained for freedom, strove with all their personal might, Triock jerked his head from side to side, quivered in a fever of passion, snapped his jaws as if he were trying to tear hunks of domination out of the air-and began to move toward Elena.
The Ravers made no attempt to stop him. They could not; the struggles of the Ramen gave them no leeway in which to act.
Triock strained as he moved as if his bones were being torn asunder, and he quavered imploringly again and again, “Elena? Elena?” But he moved; he advanced step by step toward her.
Covenant watched him in an agony of suspense.
Before he came within arm’s reach of her, she said severely, “Stop.”
Swaying in a gale of conflicting demands, Triock halted.
“If you resist me one more step,” she grated, “I will tear your heart from your pathetic old body and feed it to Herem and Jehannum while you observe them and beg me to let you die.”
Triock was weeping now, shaking with importunate sobs. “Elena? Elena?”
Without even glancing at him, she resumed her song.
But the next instant, something snatched at her attention, spun her away from the Colossus. Her face pointed lividly toward the west. Surprise and anger contorted her features. For a moment, she stared in speechless indignation at the intrusion.
Then she brandished the Staff of Law. “The Lords strike back!” she howled furiously. “Samadhi is threatened! They dare!”
Covenant gaped at the information, at her knowledge of the siege of Revelstone. But he had no time to assimilate it.
“Foul’s blood!” she raged. “Blast them, Raver!” Immense forces gathered in the Staff, mounting to be hurled across the distance to samadhi Sheol’s aid.
For that instant, she neglected her compulsion of the people around her.
The blindness lost its hold on Bannor and Foamfollower. They tottered, lurched, started into motion. The Ravers tried to react, but could not move quickly enough against the resistance of the Ramen.
Covenant felt the pressure on his back ease. At once, he rolled out from under it. Springing to his feet, he launched himself toward Elena.
But Triock was the only one close enough to her to take advantage of her lapse. With a wild cry, he chopped both fists down at her left hand.
His hands passed through her spectral flesh and struck the ring. The unexpectedness of the blow tore the solid band from her surprised fingers. It dropped free.
He dove after it, g
ot one hand on it, flicked it away toward Covenant as his body slapped the hard ground.
Elena’ s reaction came instantly. Before Triock could roll, try to evade her, she stabbed the Staff down at him, hit him in the centre of his back. Power flared through him, shattering his spine.
Almost in the same motion, she swung the Staff up again, caught it in a combat grip as she whirled to face Covenant.
His start toward her almost made him miss the ring. It went past him on one side, but he skidded and pounced on it, scooped it up before she could stop him. With his wedding band clenched in his fist, he braced himself to meet her attack.
She regarded him momentarily, then chose not to exert herself against him. With one wave of the Staff, she re-imprisoned Foamfollower and Bannor, quenched the rebellion of the Ramen. Then she dropped her guard as if she no longer needed it. Her voice shook with anger, but she was steady as she said, “It will not avail him. He knows not how to awaken its might. Herem, Jehannum-I leave him to you.”
In horrid unison, the two Ravers snarled their satisfaction, their hunger for him. Together, they moved slowly toward him.
He was caught between them and Elena.
So that he would not lose his ring again, he pushed it onto his wedding finger. He had lost weight; his fingers were gaunt, and the ring hung on him insecurely, as if it might fall off at any moment. Yet his need for it had never been greater. He clenched his fist around it and retreated before the advance of the Ravers.
In the back of his mind, he was sure that Triock was not dead. Triock was his summoner; he would disappear from the Land as soon as the Stonedownor died. But Triock surely had only moments of life left. Without knowing how to do it, Covenant wanted to make those moments count.
He backed away from the Ravers, toward Elena. She stood at rest near the Colossus, observing him. Glee and anger were balanced in her face. The Ravers came at him step by slow step, with their arms extended hungrily, sarcastically, inviting him to abandon resistance and rush into the oblivion of their grasp.
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