That night, Linden’s company and the Woodhelvennin ate a communal meal organised by Quilla and Karnis. The Heers were still too weak to haul supplies, firewood, and cook pots themselves, or to prepare viands. Nonetheless they worked doggedly to ensure that none of the needs of their people were neglected.
Earlier, Linden and Bhapa had washed as thoroughly as they could in the brook. With Pahni’s help, and Liand’s, they had bathed Mahrtiir. And when the Ranyhyn had moved out into the gathering twilight to help the Humbled stand watch, Branl, Galt, and Clyme had taken turns at the stream, cleansing their injuries and their tunics with equal impassivity.
Now Linden, Anele, Liand, and the Ramen shared food with the villagers, sitting around several large fires. Linden was regarded with wonder-and attended diligently. Liand and the Ramen were given care as though it were a form of obeisance. And Anele was gently prevented from leaving his plate of stone: a restriction which he accepted without protest.
Mahrtiir sat cross-legged between Bhapa and Linden, feeding himself by touch. Apart from the ruin of his eyes, he had made an extraordinary recovery, healed by amanibhavam, hurtloam, and the Staff’s flame. In the firelight, his scars seemed almost metaphysical. He sat as straight as a spear, fiercely refusing any assistance that was not absolutely necessary.
Beside him, Bhapa slumped uncharacteristically, shoulders bowed in dejection; but Linden could not tell whether he grieved for his Manethrall or for Whrany.
Later, the Heers spoke briefly. In quavering voices, they described their sorrow over their lost homes, their relief that they could seek sanctuary in Revelstone, and their astonished gratitude for all that Linden’s company had done. Then, almost timidly, they asked her to explain what had befallen them.
She had no heart for the task; but Liand took it from her unasked. Standing among the fires, he emanated dignity and openness as he told the hushed Woodhelvennin what he knew. His version of the causes of the battle, and of the nature of the Land’s foes, was not what Linden might have said in his place. It was simpler and more direct; unconflicted by inadequacy or bitterness. But it was also better suited to the limited comprehension of his audience, and the villagers received it as if it were an act of grace.
With every word, he violated the long prohibitions of the Masters. Yet neither Vernigil nor the Humbled interrupted him. In this, as in the use of hurtloam, the Masters seemed to take pity on the Woodhelvennin.
Linden knew better. When the tree-dwellers entered Lord’s Keep, they would never leave. If that were pity, she wanted no part of it.
At last, the villagers prepared to sleep on beds of gathered leaves and retrieved blankets. In spite of Bhapa’s urging, Mahrtiir refused rest. Harshly he proclaimed that he had lost only his eyes, not his ears and nose, or the use of his limbs. Alone, he walked away from the fires, clearly intending to help the Ranyhyn and the Masters keep watch. For a moment, the ruddy light of the flames seemed to cling to the pale swath of his bandaged head. Then the night took him, and he was gone.
With anguish in his eyes, Bhapa followed the Manethrall.
When Linden was offered a bed, she paused only to confirm that Stave warded Anele. Then she sank into the blankets, tucked the Staff of Law under her arm, and fell instantly asleep.
During the night, she was tormented by nightmares, not of fire and killing, but of violation. She lay like carrion, unable to move, while centipedes and venomous spiders crawled over her face, emerging from her mouth and nose. Molten worms circled her eyes: noisome things crept unhindered through the privacy of her clothes: pincers and fouled teeth gnawed her flesh. The knowledge that they had been hatched in the dank cesspit of her heart filled her with horror.
Whimpering weakly, she ached to awaken, and could not. Her dreams held her until Stave roused her with the dawn.
A sense of moral sickness clung to her as she arose, shivering, from her bed. A heavy dew had fallen, and its dampness had soaked through the blankets to her flannel shirt and jeans. Hoping to dispel her nightmares as well as the chill, she drew delicate tendrils of Earthpower from the Staff to meet the sunrise. Then she scanned the area to see how her friends and the Woodhelvennin fared.
Most of the camp was stirring. Stave had left Anele to the care of the Heers, and the old man seemed compliant in their company. Joined by Liand and Pahni, one group of villagers brought more wood from the banyans to build up the fires. Other people had begun to prepare a fresh meal. The Ranyhyn were nowhere in sight: they must have ranged far to find more grass, and to search for intimations of danger. Lit by the dawn, the Humbled and Vernigil kept a closer watch. But Mahrtiir and Bhapa had returned during the night. Now they stood at one of the fires, apparently arguing-if the Cord’s diffident replies to his Manethrall’s assertions could be called argument.
Bhapa urged Mahrtiir to remove the bandage from his eyes. The Cord suggested that open air and sunlight would speed Mahrtiir’s healing. But the Manethrall refused to expose his ravaged face. With suppressed fury, he insisted that doing so would encourage pity. Also he averred that he required the binding around his head to remind him that he could not see. If his other senses caused him to forget his blindness, he might make some hazardous mistake.
When Linden had absorbed enough of the Staff’s strength to collect her thoughts, she nodded toward the two Ramen. “Bhapa is taking this personally.”
To her ears, she sounded callous. Her tone falsified what she felt. But remnants of dreams clung to her like revenants. Vile scurrying seemed to lurk beneath the surface of her attention. When she had restored Joan’s wedding band, she had made possible atrocities like the destruction of First Woodhelven.
“The Ramen are prideful,” Stave observed with implied compassion. “I have learned to see that this is both strength and weakness. The Cord and the Manethrall have lost much. Uncertain of himself, the Cord fears to acknowledge that he is no longer certain of the Manethrall. Dreading the outcome of his blindness, the Manethrall is guided by anger.
“For such reasons, the Haruchai strive to set aside passion. Yet it rules us. I am no less its servant than are the Masters.”
Nightmares had left Linden ripe for shame. She, too, had lost much, and was ruled by fears and passions which she did not know how to bear. Frowning uselessly, she went to break her fast.
With her friends, she joined the villagers around cook pots of steaming cereal sweetened with fruit.
The new sun leaned past the higher ground to the east, blunting the chill of night and dew. The air should have tasted as clean as the light, full of spring and the scents of cooking. But the ground had been ploughed to chaos by the caesure, charred with power and malice, steeped in blood. And the ashen reek of Esmer’s pyre lingered over the slopes, irreparable as Kevin’s Dirt.
Fretting at the residue of her dreams, Linden wanted to hurry. She had abundant reasons for haste, among them the chance that her presence might endanger the villagers further. Their shy greetings and thanks she brushed aside. She ate quickly; quenched her thirst at the bourn, grateful that the current had washed itself clear of killing; prepared herself to ride.
The Ramen followed her example. And Stave was always ready. Even the Humbled seemed determined to resume their journey in spite of their long, stiff scabs and damaged bones.
But Anele sat with Karnis and Quilla, devouring his meal voraciously, and making incoherent remarks which the Heers kindly elected to interpret as jests. And Liand ate with slow gravity, as if he were mustering his strength for a severe task.
Linden was tempted to prod him, but his air of purpose silenced her. She could see that he had reached a decision of some kind-and that some aspect of his intent troubled him. However, her percipience showed her only the nature of his emotions: she could not discern his thoughts.
While the Stonedownor took his time, Linden looked to Pahni and asked uncomfortably, “Do you know what’s going on? He has something in mind, but I can’t tell what it is.”
The young Cord shook he
r head. Her soft brown eyes were dark with worry. “I have felt his resolve. It swelled within him throughout the night, and he slept little. But he has not spoken of it. And I-” Pahni faltered. Almost whispering, she said. “I feared to inquire. I fear for him.”
Through Anele, Thomas Covenant had told Liand, I wish I could spare you. Surely the Stonedownor had not decided to sacrifice himself in some extreme fashion, responding to a need which Linden as well as the Ramen and Stave had failed to perceive?
Before long, however, Liand appeared to resolve an internal debate. Nodding to himself, he gathered his bundles of supplies. Then he signalled his readiness to Linden and Stave.
Finally. “All right,” Linden muttered. “Let’s get going.”
At once, Stave raised his fingers to his mouth and began the series of whistles which summoned the Ranyhyn.
When they heard the sound, Mahrtiir and Bhapa came toward Linden, Pahni, and Stave. Vernigil and the Humbled left their posts. Even Anele jerked up his head, scanning the area with his moonstone eyes as if he were eager.
Soon the Ranyhyn swept into sight from the southeast. As they drew near, Linden counted ten of the star-browed horses.
Ten, she thought, distracted by wonder. Of course. She had been told that the fidelity of the Ranyhyn did not end in death. Whrany had fallen: therefore another of the great horses had come to bear Bhapa.
With glad homage, the Ramen greeted the Ranyhyn. Stave and the Humbled bowed gravely, honouring their mounts as the Bloodguard had done millennia ago; and Vernigil did the same, although he had not been chosen. Hrama trotted among the villagers toward Anele while Narunal offered his muzzle to Mahrtiir’s uncertain hands. And Bhapa had tears of gratitude and rue in his eyes as he knelt before the tall bayard that had answered in Whrany’s place.
When he stood again, he proclaimed as steadily as he could, This mighty stallion is Rohnhyn. I pray of all the Ranyhyn, and of revered Kelenbhrabanal, Father of Horses, that I may prove worthy to serve such a sovereign.”
Hyn nudged Linden affectionately. Hynyn flared his nostrils, snorting his impatience. Relieved by the prospect of departure, Linden mounted without delay, as did Stave and Mahrtiir. After a moment, Bhapa joined them. Flinging an anxious glance at Liand, Pahni followed the older Cord’s example.
To Linden, the Humbled did not look hale enough to ride. Nevertheless they contrived to leap astride their horses. There they sat, rigid as stone, although the exertion had torn open some of their wounds, and fresh blood seeped into their tunics.
When two of the tree-dwellers had helped Anele onto Hrama, only Liand remained unmounted.
Briefly Liand hugged Rhohm’s neck. Setting his bundles on Rhohm’s back, he vaulted onto the Ranyhyn. But he did not move toward Linden and the rest of her companions. Instead he rode into the centre of the encampment.
Most of the villagers were engaged in a confusion of tasks: cooking and eating; tending their children and their injured; searching their stricken homes for blankets, food, and raiment. But Liand was limned in sunlight. His high seat on his mount, and the youthful gravity of his demeanour, gradually drew the attention of the tree-dwellers. Silence spread across the camp as more and more people stopped what they were doing to gaze at him.
When he began to speak, he did not shout. In that way, he gathered his audience around him. Linden herself rode closer, accompanied by the Ramen and Stave. She needed Liand. Until she knew what he intended, she wanted to be near enough to intervene.
“Woodhelvennin, hear me,” he called quietly. “We are scantly acquainted, yet you know me well. You have beheld me in the nature of my deeds, as you have in the valour of my companions. And you have heard me speak of the reasons for our presence among you. We must now part. The needs which compel Linden Avery the Chosen are many and urgent. But I am loath to ride from you without sharing the greatest of the benisons which I have gained in her company.”
Sighing, Linden let herself relax. When she touched Pahni’s shoulder, she found that the young Cord also felt relieved. Liand did not mean to offer up his life. He was simply too sensitive and generous to leave the villagers as they were.
“It has been given to me,” he explained. “to discern a Land which lies unseen within the lives that we have known.” To Linden, his voice sounded like the rising of the sun. His sincerity was as nourishing as sunshine. “In its unshrouded form, the Land is a place of marvels beyond imagining, and I have been enabled to partake in its mysteries. This gift, which Linden Avery names “health-sense”, I would grant to you, as it has been granted to me, if you will honour me with its acceptance.
“But it is not a gentle gift,” he warned the villagers, “and its cost is pain and loss, anger and sorrow. Some of you have felt the healing of hurtloam and know the gift of which I speak. Others know it because you have been brought back from death by fire. When you touched the eldritch sand, or were laved in flames, your eyes were opened. All of your senses were opened as they have not been opened before. You became able to see truly, and all that you beheld was transformed.”
Karnis, Quilla, and a number of the Woodhelvennin nodded. The rest regarded Liand with perplexed frowns.
“For a time,” he said in sunlight, “you recognised the transcendence of that which you had deemed commonplace. Yet now your awareness of transcendence is gone. The Land has become what it was. You have become what you were. And you are no longer content.
“Others among you know nothing of this. If you inquire of those who comprehend my words, you will find them bewildered, unable to convey what they have witnessed, or what they have lost. They cannot name the cause of their sadness and ire.”
Again the healed, the Heers, and those who had carried hurtloam nodded, grateful to hear their innominate grief described.
Now Liand raised his voice. Still he did not shout; but he spoke in bright tones that sent a shiver through Linden’s heart. Pahni’s eyes shone, and Mahrtiir heard the Stonedownor with his chin raised as though Liand had made him proud.
“Nevertheless I say to you that what they have tasted and lost is your birthright. It is the essential spirit of the Land, inherent to all that lives, and you have been made blind to it. For many generations, you have been deprived of the deepest truth of who and what and where you are.
“It is my wish to grant unto you, all of you, the gift that I have been given. I wish to share my vision of your birthright.”
There the Humbled or Vernigil might have interrupted him. But none of them betrayed any reaction. Perhaps their silence acknowledged an irreducible truth: whether Linden succeeded or failed, nothing in the Land would remain unchanged.
She had accomplished that much, at least, Linden thought grimly. Liand could speak without fear. For the present, at least, the service of the Masters had ceased to be a general prohibition. Now it was focused almost exclusively on her.
You hold great powers. Yet if we determine that we must wrest them from you, do you truly doubt that we will prevail?
If the day ever came when the Humbled decided to oppose her, every Master in the Land would become her enemy.
“But in all sooth,” the Stonedownor continued, “it is not a gentle gift, and you will not bless me for it. In itself, it is wondrous beyond telling. While it remains to you, you will be exalted. But it will be fleeting. And when it drains away, you will be left in sorrow. Nor will you be able to regain any portion of what you have lost.
“Why, then, do I offer this increase of woe? Your destination is Revelstone, the seat and habitation of the Masters. There you will find some small safety in a world which has become perilous beyond your knowledge. And there, if you desire it, you may reclaim my gift. Above Revelstone lies a plateau, and the plateau holds Glimmermere, a lake munificent to restore your birthright. It is a theriac for the bane which has made both you and the Land appear to be less than you are.
“Yet Revelstone is distant,” he said as if he were arguing against himself, “and your path will be arduous
. You will not soon know my gift again.
“It is here.” Reaching into the pouch at his waist, Liand drew out the orcrest and held it high. In his grasp, it shone like a beacon, as white as refined daylight, and as clear as the purest gem. “If you desire to know the savour and bereavement of your birthright, approach me. If you do not, withdraw.
“Yet hear me nonetheless. Your losses have been cruel. They may worsen in your journey, or within Revelstone. Still I believe that you will not regret my gift. To know your birthright is precious, even when that birthright is denied. And if Linden Avery the Chosen does not fail in her quest, your birthright will one day be restored to all the folk of the Land.”
Linden was not surprised when most of the Woodhelvennin surged forward, crowding into the brightness around Rhohm and Liand as though the Sunstone’s radiance offered meaning to their lives. She would have done the same in their place, if Liand’s generosity could have eased her irreconciled heart.
With tears in her eyes, Pahni murmured. “For this he has become my love.”
Nodding, Mahrtiir announced, “He reveals a greater heritage than he comprehends. In the tales of the Ramen, the ancient Lords had such stature, humble in their glory, and open-hearted to every need. Yet he is more. He has touched the lore of the rhadhamaerl. After uncounted generations of diminishment, he is the first true Stonedownor among his kind.”
“Aye,” assented Bhapa gruffly. “I am Ramen, and do not lightly avow that he has surpassed me.”
But Stave said without inflection. That is his peril. Corruption delights in the ruin of such innocence.”
Linden turned away. She could feel health-sense and excitement effloresce among the Woodhelvennin as the hindering brume of Kevin’s Dirt was swept aside by Earthpower and Liand’s courage. Like Pahni and the Manethrall, she was proud of him. Like Stave, she feared for him. But she was also ashamed.
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