Linden sat across from him. Her arms angled behind her; her wrists, too, were bound. Yet she had managed to clean the pulp from her cheeks. Shreds of it clung to the shoulders of her shirt.
His own face wore the dried muck like a leper's numbness.
He shifted so that he could lean against the wall. The bonds cut into his wrists. He closed his eyes. A trap, he murmured. Nassic's death was a trap. He had been killed so that Covenant and Linden would blunder into Mithil Stonedown's defences and be captured. What's Foul trying to do? he asked the darkness behind his eyelids. Make us fight these people?
“Why did you do it?” Linden said. Her tone was level, as if she had already hammered all the emotion out of it. “Why did you tell me about that girl?”
His eyes jumped open to look at her. But in the dun light he was unable to discern her expression. He wanted to say, Leave it alone, we've got other things to worry about. But she had an absolute right to know the truth about him.
“I wanted to be honest with you.” His guts ached at the memory. “The things I did when I was here before are going to affect what happens to us now. Foul doesn5t forget. And I was afraid”- he faltered at the cost of his desire for rectitude — “you might trust me without knowing what you were trusting. I don't want to betray you — by not being what you think I am.”
She did not reply. Her eyes were shadows which told him nothing. Abruptly, the pressure of his unassuaged bitterness began to force words out of him like barbs.
“After my leprosy was diagnosed, and Joan divorced me, I was impotent for a year. Then I came here. Something I couldn't understand was happening. The Land was healing parts of me that had been dead so long I'd forgotten I had them. And Lena-” The pang of her stung him like an acid. “She was so beautiful I still have nightmares about it. The first night-It was too much for me. Lepers aren't supposed to be potent.”
He did not give Linden a chance to respond; he went on, reliving his old self-judgment. "Everybody paid for it. I couldn't get away from the consequences. Her mother ended up committing a kind of suicide. Her father's life was warped. The man who wanted to marry her lost everything. Her own mind came apart.
“But I didn't stop there. I caused her death, and the death of her daughter, Elena- my daughter. Because I kept trying to escape the consequences. Everybody refused to punish me. I was Berek reborn. They wanted me to save the Land. Lena”- oh, Lena! — “got butchered trying to save my life.”
Linden listened without moving. She looked like a figure of stone against the wall, blank and unforgiving, as if no mere recitation of guilt could touch her. But her knees were pressed tightly, defensively, to her chest. When he ceased, she said thickly, “You shouldn't have told me.”
“I had to.” What else could he say? “It's who I am.”
“No.” She protested as if an accusation of evil had been raised between them. “It isn't who you are. You didn't do it intentionally, did you? You saved the Land, didn't you?”
He faced her squarely. “Yes. Eventually.”
“Then it's over. Done with.” Her head dropped to her knees. She squeezed her forehead against them as if to restrain the pounding of her thoughts. “Leave me alone.”
Covenant studied the top of her head, the way her hair fell about her thighs, and sought to comprehend. He had expected her to denounce him for what he had done, not for having confessed it. Why was she so vulnerable to it? He knew too little about her. But how could he ask her to tell him things which she believed people should not know about each other?
“I don't understand.” His voice was gruff with uncertainty. “If that's the way you feel-why did you keep coming back? You went to a lot of trouble to find out what I was hiding.”
She kept her face concealed. “I said, leave me alone.”
“I can't.” A vibration of anger ran through him. “You wouldn't be here if you hadn't followed me. I need to know why you did it. So I can decide whether to trust you.”
Her head snapped up. “I'm a doctor.”
“That's not enough,” he said rigidly.
The light from the window was growing slowly. Now he could read parts of her countenance-her mouth clenched and severe, her eyes like dark gouges below her forehead. She regarded him as if he were trespassing on her essential privacy.
After a long moment, she said softly, “I followed you because I thought you were strong. Every time I saw you, you were practically prostrate on your feet. You were desperate for help. But you stood there acting as if even exhaustion couldn't touch you.” Her words were fraught with gall. “I thought you were strong. But now it turns out you were just running away from your guilt, like anybody else. Trying to make yourself innocent again, by selling yourself for Joan. What was I supposed to do?” Quiet fury whetted her tone. “Let you commit suicide?”
Before he could respond, she went on, “You use guilt the same way you use leprosy. You want people to reject you, stay away from you-make a victim out of you. So you can recapture your innocence.” Gradually, her intensity subsided into a dull rasp. “I've already seen more of it than I can stand. If you think I'm such a threat to you, at least leave me alone.”
Again she hid her face in her knees.
Covenant stared at her in silence. Her judgment hurt him like a demonstration of mendacity. Was that what he was doing-giving her a moral reason to repudiate him because she was unmoved by the physical reason of his leprosy? Was he so much afraid of being helped or trusted? Cared about? Gaping at this vision of himself, he heaved to his feet, lurched to the window as if he needed to defend his eyes by looking at something else.
But the view only gave credence to his memories. It verified that he and Linden were in Mithil Stonedown. The wall and roof of another stone dwelling stood directly in front of nun; and on either side of it he could see the corners of other buildings. Their walls were ancient, weathered and battered by centuries of use. They were made without mortar, formed of large slabs and chunks of rock held together by their own weight, topped by flat roofs. And beyond the roofs were the mountains.
Above them, the sky had a brown tinge, as if it were full of dust.
He had been here before, and could not deny the truth; he was " indeed afraid. Too many people who cared about him had already paid horrendously to give him help.
Linden's silence throbbed at his back like a bruise; but he remained still, and watched the sunrise flow down into the valley.? When the tension in him became insistent, he said without turning,' “I wonder what they're going to do with us.”
As if in answer, the room brightened suddenly as the curtain" was thrust aside. He swung around and found a man in the doorway.
The Stonedownor was about Linden's height, but broader and more muscular than Covenant. His black hair and dark skin were emphasized by the colour of his stiff leather jerkin and leggings. He wore nothing on his feet. In his right hand he held a long, wooden staff as if it articulated his authority.
He appeared to be about thirty. His features had a youthful cast; but they were contradicted by two deep frown lines above the bridge of his nose, and by the dullness of his eyes, which seemed to have been worn dim by too much accumulated and useless regret. The muscles at the corners of his jaw bulged as if he had been grinding his teeth for years.
His left arm hung at his side. From elbow to knuckle, it was intaglioed with fine white scars.
He did not speak; he stood facing Covenant and Linden as if he expected them to know why he had come.
Linden lurched to her feet. Covenant took two steps forward, so that they stood shoulder-to-shoulder before the Stonedownor.
The man hesitated, searched Covenant's face. Then he moved into the room. With his left hand, he reached out to Covenant's battered cheek.
Covenant winced slightly, then held himself still while the Stonedownor carefully brushed the dried pulp from his face.
He felt a pang of gratitude at the touch; it seemed to accord him more dignity than he deserved. He
studied the man's brown, strong mien closely, trying to decipher what lay behind it.
When he was done, the Stonedownor turned and left the room, holding the curtain open for Covenant and Linden.
Covenant looked toward her to see if she needed encouragement. But she did not meet his gaze. She was already moving. He took a deep breath, and followed her out of the hut.
He found himself on the edge of the broad, round, open centre of Mithil Stonedown. It matched his memory of it closely. All the houses faced inward; and the ones beyond the inner ring were positioned to give as many as possible direct access to the centre. But now he could see that several of them had fallen into serious disrepair, as if their occupants did not know how to mend them. If that were true- He snarled to himself. How could these people have forgotten their stone-lore?
The sun shone over the eastern ridge into his face. Squinting at it indirectly, he saw that the orb had lost its blue aurora. Now it wore pale brown like a translucent cymar.
The Stonedown appeared deserted. All the door-curtains were closed. Nothing moved-not in the village, not on the mountainsides or in the air. He could not even hear the river. The valley lay under the dry dawn as if it had been stricken dumb.
A slow scraping of fear began to abrade his nerves.
The man with the staff strode out into the circle, beckoning for Covenant and Linden to follow him across the bare stone. As they did so, he gazed morosely around the village. He leaned on his staff as if the thews which held his life together were tired.
But after a moment he shook himself into action. Slowly, he raised the staff over his head. In a determined tone, he said, “This is the centre.”
At once, the curtains opened. Men and women stepped purposefully out of their homes.
They were all solid dark people, apparelled in leather garments. They formed a ring like a noose around the rim of the circle, and stared at Covenant and Linden. Their faces were wary, hostile, shrouded. Some of them bore blunt javelins like jerrids; but no other weapons were visible.
The man with the staff joined them. Together, the ring of Stonedownors sat down cross-legged on the ground.
Only one man remained standing. He stayed behind the others, leaning against the wall of a house with his arms folded negligently across his chest. His lips wore a rapacious smile like an anticipation of bloodshed.
Covenant guessed instinctively that this man was Mithil Stonedown's executioner.
The villagers made no sound. They watched Covenant and Linden without moving, almost without blinking. Their silence was loud in the air, like the cry of a throat that had no voice.
The sun began to draw sweat from Covenant's scalp.
“Somebody say something,” he muttered through his teeth.
Abruptly, Linden nudged his arm. “That's what they're waiting for. We're on trial. They want to hear what we've got to say for ourselves.”
“Terrific.” He accepted her intuitive explanation at once; she had eyes which he lacked. “What're we on trial for?”
Grimly, she replied, “Maybe they found Nassic.”
He groaned. That made sense. Perhaps Nassic had been killed precisely so that he and Linden would be blamed for the crime. And yet-He tugged at his bonds, wishing his hands were free so that he could wipe the sweat from his face. And yet it did not explain why they had been captured in the first place.
The silence was intolerable. The mountains and the houses cupped the centre of the village like an arena. The Stonedownors sat impassively, like icons of judgment. Covenant scanned them, mustered what little dignity he possessed. Then he began to speak.
“My name is ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and white gold wielder. My companion is Linden Avery.” Deliberately, he gave her a title. “The Chosen. She's a stranger to the Land.” The dark people returned his gaze blankly. The man leaning against the wall bared his teeth. “But I'm no stranger,” Covenant went on in sudden anger. “You threaten me at your peril.”
“Covenant,” Linden breathed, reproving him.
“I know,” he muttered. “I shouldn't say things like that.” Then he addressed the people again. “We were welcomed by Nassic son of Jous. He wasn't a friend of yours-or you weren't friends of his, because God knows he was harmless.” Nassic had looked so lorn in death- “But he said he had a son here. A man named Sunder. Is Sunder here? Sunder?” He searched the ring. No one responded. “Sunder,” he rasped, “whoever you are-do you know your father was murdered? We found him outside his house with an iron knife in his back. The knife was still hot.”
Someone in the circle gave a low moan; but Covenant did not see who it was. Linden shook her head; she also had not seen.
The sky had become pale brown from edge to edge. The heat of the sun was as arid as dust.
“I think the killer lives here. I think he's one of you. Or don't you even care about that?”
Nobody reacted. Every face regarded him as if he were some kind of ghoul. The silence was absolute.
“Hellfire.” He turned back to Linden. “I'm just making a fool out of myself. You got any ideas?”
Her gaze wore an aspect of supplication. “I don't know-I've never been here before.”
“Neither have I.” He could not suppress his ire. “Not to a place like this. Courtesy and hospitality used to be so important here that people who couldn't provide them were ashamed.” Remembering the way Trell and Atiaran, Lena's parents, had welcomed him to their home, he ground his teeth. With a silent curse, he confronted the Stonedownors. “Are the other villages like this?” he demanded. “Is the whole Land sick with suspicion? Or is this the only place where simple decency has been forgotten?”
The man with the staff lowered his eyes. No one else moved.
“By God, if you can't at least tolerate us, let us go! We'll walk out of here, and never look back. Some other village will give us what we need.”
The man behind the circle gave a grin of malice and triumph.
“Damnation,” Covenant muttered to himself. The silence was maddening. His head was beginning to throb. The valley felt like a desert. “I wish Mhoram was here.”
Dully, Linden asked, “Who is Mhoram?” Her eyes were fixed on the standing man. He commanded her attention like an open wound.
“One of the Lords of Revelstone.” Covenant wondered what she was seeing. “Also a friend. He had a talent for dealing with impossible situations.”
She wrenched her gaze from the gloating man, glared at Covenant. Frustration and anxiety made her tone sedulous. “He's dead. All your friends are dead.” Her shoulders strained involuntarily at her bonds. “They've been dead for three thousand years. You're living in the past. How bad do things have to get before you give up thinking about the way they used to be?”
“I'm trying to understand what's happened!” Her attack shamed him. It was unjust-and yet he deserved it. Everything he said demonstrated his inadequacy. He swung away from her.
“Listen to me!” he beseeched the Stonedownors. "I've been here before-long ago, during the great war against the Grey Slayer. I fought him. So the Land could be healed. And men and women from Mithil Stonedown helped me. Your ancestors. The Land was saved by the courage of Stonedownors and Woodhelvennin and Lords and Giants and Bloodguard and Ranyhyn.
“But something's happened. There's something wrong in the Land. That's why we're here.” Remembering the old song of Kevin Landwaster, he said formally, “So that beauty and truth should not pass utterly from the Earth.”
With tone, face, posture, he begged for some kind of response, acknowledgment, from the circle. But the Stonedownors refused every appeal. His exertions had tightened the bonds on his wrists, aggravating the numbness of his hands. The sun began to raise heat-waves in the distance. He felt giddy, futile.
“I don't know what you want,” he breathed thickly. “I don't know what you think we're guilty of. But you're wrong about her.” He indicated Linden with his head. “She's never been here before. She's innocent.
”
A snort of derision stopped him.
He found himself staring at the man who stood behind the circle. Their eyes came together like a clash of weapons. The man had lost his grin; he glared scorn and denunciation at Covenant. He held violence folded in the crooks of his elbows. But Covenant did not falter. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, met the naked threat of the man's gaze.
After one taut moment, the man looked away.
Softly, Covenant said, “We're not on trial here. You are. The doom of the Land is in your hands, and you're blind to it.”
An instant of silence covered the village; the whole valley seemed to hold its breath. Then the lone man cried suddenly, “Must we hear more?” Contempt and fear collided in his tone. “He has uttered foulness enough to damn a score of strangers. Let us pass judgment now!”
At once, the man with the staff sprang to his feet. “Be still, Marid,” he said sternly. “I am the Graveller of Mithil Stonedown. The test of silence is mine to begin-and to end.”
“It is enough!” retorted Marid. “Can there be greater ill than that which he has already spoken?”
A dour crepitating of assent ran through the circle.
Linden moved closer to Covenant. Her eyes were locked to Marid as if he appalled her. Nausea twisted her mouth. Covenant looked at her, at Marid, trying to guess what lay between them.
“Very well.” The Graveller took a step forward. “It is enough.” He planted his staff on the stone. “Stonedownors, speak what you have heard.”
For a moment, the people were still. Then an old man rose slowly to his feet. He adjusted his jerkin, pulled his gravity about him. “I have heard the Rede of the na-Mhoram, as it is spoken by the Riders of the Clave. They have said that the coming of the man with the halfhand and the white ring bodes unending ruin for us all. They have said that it is better to slay such a man in his slumber, allowing the blood to fall wasted to the earth, than to permit him one free breath with which to utter evil. Only the ring must be preserved, and given to the Riders, so that all blasphemy may be averted from the Land.”
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