Linden obeyed as if Infelice’s gesture had bereft her of volition. But she was immediately relieved to see that her companions did not mean to leave her alone. Covenant placed himself at her side. The Giants shifted forward behind her. Together they passed among the Elohim and ascended the slope.
Near the crown of the eftmound, they stopped. Infelice’s height, and the extra elevation of her position, placed her eyes on a level with Honninscrave’s and Seadreamer’s; but she kept her attention chiefly on Linden. Linden felt naked under that eldritch gaze; but she clung to her resolve and remained erect.
“Sun-Sage,” began Infelice, “the Giant Grimmand Honninscrave has surely shared with you his knowledge of Elemesnedene. Thus it is known to you that the bestowal of our gifts is not done freely. We possess much which is greatly perilous, not to be given without care. And knowledge or power which is not truly purchased swiftly tarnishes. If it does not turn against the hand that holds it, it loses all value whatsoever. And lastly we have little cause to relish intrusion from the outskirts of the Earth. Here we have no need of them. Therefore it is our wont to exact a price for that which is besought from us—and to refuse the seeking if the seeker can meet no price which pleases us.
“But you are the Sun-Sage,” she went on, “and the urgency of your quest is plain. Therefore from you and your companions I will require no feoffment. If your needs lie within our reach, we will meet them without price.”
Without—? Linden stared up at Infelice. The belling intensified in her mind, tangling her thoughts. All the Elohim seemed to be concentrating toward her and Infelice.
“You may speak.” Infelice’s tone conveyed only the barest suggestion of impatience.
Linden groaned to herself. Dear Christ. She turned to her companions, groping for inspiration. She should have known what to say, should have been prepared for this. But she had been braced for threats, not gifts. Infelice’s offer and the bells confused everything.
The eagerness in Honninscrave’s face stopped her. All his doubt had vanished. At once, she seized the opportunity. She needed a little time to take hold of herself. Without looking at Infelice, she said as flatly as she could, “I’m a stranger here. Let Honninscrave speak first.”
Like the passing of a great weight, she felt Infelice’s gaze shift to the Master. “Speak, then, Grimmand Honninscrave,” the Elohim said in a timbre of graciousness.
At his side, the First stiffened as if she were unable to believe that he was truly in no danger. But she could not refuse him her nod of permission. Pitchwife watched the Master with anticipation. Seadreamer’s eyes were shrouded, as if some inward vision muffled his perception of his brother.
Hope echoed like stars from under Honninscrave’s massive brows as he stepped forward. “You honor me,” he said, and his voice was husky. “My desire is not for myself. It is for Cable Seadreamer my brother.”
At that, Seadreamer’s attention leaped outward.
“Surely his plight is plain to you,” Honninscrave went on. “The Earth-Sight torments him, and that anguish has riven him of his voice. Yet it is the Earth-Sight which pilots our Search, to oppose a great evil in the Earth. The gift I ask is the gift of his voice, so that he may better guide us—and so that some easement may be accorded to his pain.”
Abruptly he stopped, visibly restraining himself from supplication. His pulse labored in the clenched muscles of his neck as he forced his Giantish passion to silence while Infelice looked toward Seadreamer.
Seadreamer replied with an expression of helpless and unexpected yearning. His oaken form was poignant with the acuteness of his desire for words, for some way to relieve the extravagant aggrievement of the Earth-Sight—or of the examination he had been given. He looked like a man who had glimpsed a saving light in the pall of his doom.
But Infelice took only a moment to consider him. Then she addressed Honninscrave again. She sounded faintly uninterested as she said, “Surely the voice of your brother may be restored. But you know not what you ask. His muteness arises from this Earth-Sight as day arises from the sun. To grant the gift you ask, we must perforce blind the eyes of his vision. That we will not do. We would not slay him at your request. Neither will we do him this wrong.”
Honninscrave’s eyes flinched wide. Protests gathered in him, desire and dismay fighting for utterance. But Infelice said, “I have spoken,” with such finality that he staggered.
The brief light turned to ashes in Seadreamer’s face. He caught at his brother’s shoulder for support. But Honninscrave did not respond. He was a Giant: he seemed unable to comprehend how a hope he had been nurturing with such determination could be denied in so few words. He made no effort to conceal the grief which knuckled his features.
At the sight, Linden trembled in sudden anger. Apparently the graciousness of the Elohim masked an unpity like arrogance. She did not believe Infelice. These people were Earthpower incarnate. How could they be unable—?
No. They were not unable. They were unwilling.
Now she did not hesitate to face Infelice. Covenant tried to say something to her. She ignored him. Glaring upward, she spat out the gift she had meant to request.
“If that’s true, then you’re probably going to tell me you can’t do anything about Covenant’s venom.”
At her back, she felt her companions freeze in surprise and apprehension—taken aback by her unexpected demand, disturbed by her frank ire. But she ignored that as well, focused her shivering against Infelice’s gaze.
“I don’t ask you to do anything about his leprosy. That has too many implications. But the venom! It’s killing him. It’s making him dangerous to himself and everyone around him. It’s probably the worst thing Foul has ever done to him. Are you going to tell me you can’t do anything about that?”
The bells rang as if they were offended or concerned. One of them said:
—She transgresses incondignly upon our welcome.
Another replied:
—With good reason. Our welcome has not been kindly.
But a third said:
—Our path is too strait for kindness. He must not be permitted to destroy the Earth.
Linden did not listen to them. All her wrath was fixed on Infelice, waiting for the tall woman to meet or deny her implicit accusation.
“Sun-Sage.” Infelice’s tone had hardened like a warning. “I see this venom of which you speak. It is plain in him—as is the wrong which you name leprosy. But we have no unction for this hurt. It is power—apt for good or ill—and too deeply entwined in his being for any disentanglement. Would you have us rip out the roots of his life? Power is life, and for him its roots are venom and leprosy. The price of such aid would be the loss of all power forever.”
Linden confronted Infelice. Rage set all her old abhorrence of futility afire. She could not endure to be rendered so useless. Behind her, Covenant was repeating her name, trying to distract her, warn or restrain her. But she had had enough of subterfuge and defalcation. The ready violence which lurked beneath the surface of Elemesnedene coursed through her.
“All right!” she flamed, daring Infelice to respond in kind, though she knew the Elohim had the might to snuff her like a candle. “Forget it. You can’t do anything about the venom.” A sneer twisted her mouth. “You can’t give Seadreamer back his voice. All right. If you say so. Here’s something you goddamn well can do.”
“Chosen!” cautioned the First. But Linden did not stop.
“You can fight the Despiser for us.”
Her demand stunned the Giants into silence. Covenant swore softly as if he had never conceived of such a request. But her moiling passion would not let her halt.
Infelice had not moved. She, too, seemed taken aback.
“You sit here in your clachan,” Linden went on, choosing words like items of accusation, “letting time go by as if no evil or danger in all the world has any claim on your hieratic self-contemplation, when you could be doing something! You’re Earthpower! You’r
e all made out of Earthpower. You could stop the Sunbane—restore the Law—defeat Lord Foul—just by making the effort!
“Look at you!” she insisted. “You stand up there so you can be sure of looking down on us. And maybe you’ve got the right. Maybe Earthpower incarnate is so powerful we just naturally seem puny and pointless to you. But we’re trying!” Honninscrave and Seadreamer had been hurt. Covenant had been denied. The whole quest was being betrayed. She flung out her sentences like jerrids, trying to strike some point of vulnerability or conscience in Infelice. “Foul is trying to destroy the Land. And if he succeeds, he won’t stop there. He wants the whole Earth. Right now, his only enemies are puny, pointless mortals like us. In the name of simple shame if nothing else, you should be willing to stop him!”
As she ran out of words, lurched into silence, voices rose around the eftmound—expostulations of anger, concern, displeasure. Among them, Chant’s shout stood out stridently. “Infelice, this is intolerable!”
“No!” Infelice shot back. Her denial stopped the protests of the Elohim, “She is the Sun-Sage, and I will tolerate her!”
This unexpected response cut the ground from under Linden. She wavered inwardly; surprise daunted her ire. The constant adumbration of the bells weakened her. She was barely able to hold Infelice’s gaze as the tall Elohim spoke.
“Sun-Sage,” she said with a note like sorrow or regret in her voice, “this thing which you name Earthpower is our Würd.” Like Daphin, she blurred the sound so that it could have been either Wyrd or Word. “You believe it to be a thing of suzerain might. In sooth, your belief is just. But have you come so far across the Earth without comprehending the helplessness of Power? We are what we are—and what we are not, we can never become. He whom you name the Despiser is a being of another kind entirely. We are effectless against him. That is our Würd.
“And also,” she added as an afterthought, “Elemesnedene is our center, as it is the center of the Earth. Beyond its bounds we do not care to go.”
Linden wanted to cry out, You’re lying! The protest was hot in her, burning to be shouted. But Covenant had come to her side. His half-hand gripped her shoulder like talons, digging inward as if to control her physically.
“She’s telling the truth.” He spoke to her; but he was facing Infelice as if at last he had found the path of his purpose. Linden felt from him an anger to match her own—an anger that made him as rigid as bone, “Earthpower is not the answer to Despite. Or Kevin would never have been driven to the Ritual of Desecration. He was a master of Law and Earthpower, but it wasn’t what he needed. He couldn’t save the Land that way.
“That’s why the Land needs us. Because of the wild magic. It conies from outside the Arch of Time. Like Foul. It can do things Earthpower can’t.”
“Then it comes to this.” Honninscrave lifted his voice over Covenant’s. The frank loss in his tone gave him a dignity to equal his stature; and he spoke as if he were passing judgment on the Elohim. “In all parts of the Earth are told the legends of Elemesnedene. The Elohim are bespoken as a people of sovereign faery puissance and wonder, the highest and most treasurable of all wonders. Among the Giants these tales are told gladly and often, and those who have been granted the fortune of a welcome here account themselves blessed.
“But we have not been given the welcome of which the world speaks with such yearning. Nor have we been granted the gifts which the world needs for its endurance. Rather we have been reft of the Haruchai our companions and demeaned in ourselves. And we have been misled in our asking of gifts. You offer giving with feoffment, but it is no boon, for it places refusal beyond appeal. Elemesnedene is sadly altered, and I have no wish to carry this tale to the world.”
Linden listened to him urgently. Covenant’s attitude appalled her. Did he think that Chant’s desire for his ring was gratuitous? Was he deaf to the bells?
One of them was saying:
—He speaks truly. We are altered from what we were.
A darker answer knelled:
—No. It is only that these mortals are more arrogant than any other.
But the first replied:
—No. It is we who are more arrogant. In time past, would we not have taken this cost upon ourselves? Yet now we require the price of him, that we will be spared it.
At once, a third chime interposed:
—You forget that he himself is the peril. We have chosen the only path which offers hope to him as well as to the Earth. The price may yet befall the Appointed.
But still the Elohimfest went on as if there were no bells. Stiffly Infelice said, “Grimmand Honninscrave, you have spoken freely. Now be silent.” However, his dignity was beyond the reach of her reproof. Directing her gaze at Linden, she asked, “Are you content?”
“Content?” Linden began. “Are you out of—?”
Covenant’s grip stopped her. His fingers gouged her shoulder, demanding restraint. Before she could fight free of him, shout his folly into his face, he said to Infelice, “No. All this is secondary. It’s not why we’re here.” He sounded like he had found another way to sacrifice himself.
“Continue, ring-wielder,” said Infelice evenly. The light in her hair and apparel seemed ready for anything he might say.
“It’s true that Earthpower is not the answer to Despite.” He spoke as incisively as ice. “But the Sunbane is another matter. That’s a question of Earthpower. If it isn’t stopped, it’s going to eat the heart out of the Earth.”
He paused. Calmly Infelice waited for him.
And Linden also waiting. Her distrust of the Elohim converged with an innominate dread. She was intuitively afraid of Covenant’s intent.
“I want to make a new Staff of Law.” His voice was fraught with risks. “A way to fight back. That’s why we’re here. We need to find the One Tree.” Slowly he unclenched Linden’s shoulder, released her and stepped aside as if to detach his peril from her. “I want you to tell us where it is.”
At once, the bells rang insistently. One of them struck out:
—Infelice, do not. Our hope will be lost.
The crystal answer came clearly from her:
—It is understood and agreed. I will not.
But her eyes gave no hint of her other conversations. They met Covenant squarely, almost with relish. “Ring-wielder,” she said carefully, “you have no need of that knowledge. It has already been placed in your mind.”
With matching care, matching readiness, he replied, “That’s true. Caer-Caveral gave it to me. He said, ‘The knowledge is within you, though you cannot see it. But when the time has come, you will find the means to unlock my gift.’ But I don’t know how to get at it.”
The chiming grew hushed, like bated breath. But Linden had caught the import of the bells. This was the moment for which they had been waiting.
In a rush of comprehension, she tried to fling herself at Covenant. Words too swift for utterance cried through her: They already know where the Tree is, this is what they want, don’t you understand, Foul got here ahead of us! But her movements were too slow, clogged by mortality. Her heart seemed frozen between beats; no breath expanded her lungs. She had barely turned toward him when he spoke as if he knew he was committing himself to disaster.
“I want you to unlock the knowledge for me. I want you to open my mind.”
At the top of the eftmound, Infelice smiled.
NINE: The Gift of the Forestal
The next moment, Linden reached Covenant so hard that he staggered several steps down the slope. Catching hold of his shirt, she jerked at him with all her strength. “Don’t do it!”
He fought to regain his balance. His eyes burned like precursors of wild magic. “What’s the matter with you?” he barked. “We have to know where it is.”
“Not that way!” She did not have enough strength, could not find enough force for her voice or her muscles. She wanted to coerce him physically; but even her passion was not enough. “You don’t have to do that! They can just
tell you! They already know where it is.”
Roughly he took hold of her wrists, wrenched himself out of her grip. The rising of venom and power in him made his grasp irrefusable. He held her wrists together near the cut in his shirt, and she could not break free. “I believe you.” His glare was extreme. “These people probably know everything. But they aren’t going to tell us. What do you want me to do? Beg until they change their minds?”
“Covenant.” She raged and pleaded simultaneously. “I can hear what they’re saying to each other.” The words tumbled out of her. “They’ve got some secret purpose. Foul got here ahead of us. Don’t let them possess you!”
That pierced him. He did not release her wrists; but his grip loosened as he jerked up his head to look at Infelice.
“Is this true?”
Infelice did not appear to be offended. Repeatedly she tolerated Linden. “The Sun-Sage suggests that the Despiser has come upon us and bent us to his own ends. That is untrue. But that we have also our own purpose in this matter—that is true.”
“Then,” he gritted, “tell me where the One Tree is.”
“It is not our custom to grant unnecessary gifts.” Her tone refused all contradiction, all suasion. “For reasons which appear good to us, we have made our choice. We are the Elohim, and our choices lie beyond your judgment. You have asked me to unlock the knowledge occulted within you. That gift I am willing to give—that and no other. You may accept or decline, according to the dictates of your doubt.
“If you desire another answer, seek it elsewhere. Inquire of the Sun-Sage why she does not enter your mind to gain this knowledge. The way is open to her.”
Linden recoiled. Enter—? Memories of Covenant’s last relapse flared through her. Suppressed dark hunger leaped up in her. Surely to have him from what the Elohim intended—! But she had nearly cost him his life. Peril came crowding around her. It flushed like shame across her skin. The contradiction threatened to trap her. This was why she had been chosen, why Gibbon had touched her. Twisting out of Covenant’s slackened grasp, she confronted Infelice and spat out the only answer she had—the only reply which enabled her to hold back the hunger.
The One Tree Page 17
