The Wounded Land t2cotc-1

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Honninscrave spoke the deformed Giant's name: “Pitchwife.”

  Pitchwife? Covenant's old empathy for the destitute and the crippled made him wonder, Doesn't he even rate two names?

  “Pitchwife, in good sooth,” the short Giant replied as if he could read Covenant's heart. His chuckle sounded like the running of a clear spring. “Other names have I been offered in plenty, but none pleased me half so well.” His eyes sparkled with secret mirth. “Think on it, and you will comprehend.”

  “We comprehend.” The First of the Search spoke like annealed iron. “Our need now is for flight or defence.”

  Covenant brimmed with questions. He wanted to know where these Giants had come from, why they were here. But the First's tone brought him back to his peril. In the distance, he caught glimpses of green, a line forming like a noose,

  “Flight is doubtful,” Brinn said dispassionately. “The creatures of this pursuit are a great many.”

  “The skest, yes,” rumbled Honninscrave. “They seek to herd us like cattle.”

  “Then,” the First said, “we must prepare to make defence.”

  “Wait a minute.” Covenant grasped at his reeling thoughts. “These skest. You know them. What do you know about them?”

  Honninscrave glanced at the First, then shrugged. “Knowledge is a tenuous matter. We know nothing of this place or of its life. We have heard the speech of these beings. They name themselves skest. It is their purpose to gather sacrifices for another being, which they worship. This being they do not name.”

  “To us”- Brinn's tone hinted at repugnance — “it is known as the lurker of the Sarangrave.”

  “It is the Sarangrave.” Linden sounded raw, over-wrought. Days of intimate vulnerability had left her febrile and defenceless. “This whole place is alive somehow.”

  “But how do you even know that much?” Covenant demanded of Honninscrave. “How can you understand their language?”

  “That also,” the Giant responded, “is not knowledge. We possess a gift of tongues, for which we bargained most acutely with the Elohim. But what we have heard offers us no present aid.”

  Elohim. Covenant recognized that name. He had first heard it from Foamfollower. But such memories only exacerbated his sense of danger. He had hoped that Honninscrave's knowledge would provide an escape; but that hope had failed. With a wrench, he pulled himself into focus.

  “Defence isn't going to do you any good either.” He tried to put force into his gaze. “You've got to escape.” Foamfollower died because of me. “If you break through the lines, they'll ignore you. I'm the one they want.” His hands made urging gestures he could not restrain. “Take my friends with you.”

  “Covenant!” Linden protested, as if he had announced an intention to commit suicide.

  “It appears,” Pitchwife chuckled, “that Thomas Covenant's knowledge of Giants is not so great as he believes.”

  Brinn did not move; his voice held no inflection. “The ur-Lord knows that his life is in the care of the Haruchai. We will not leave him. The Giants of old also would not depart a companion in peril. But there is no bond upon you. It would sadden us to see harm come upon you. You must flee.”

  “Yes!” Covenant insisted.

  Frowning, Honninscrave asked Brinn, “Why does the ur-Lord believe that the skest gather against him?”

  Briefly, Brinn explained that the company knew about the lurker of the Sarangrave.

  At once, the First said, “It is decided.” Deftly, she unbound her helm from her belt, settled it on her head. “This the Search must witness. We will find a place to make defence.”

  Brinn nodded toward the light in the northeast. The First glanced in that direction. “It is good.” At once, she turned on her heel and strode away.

  The Haruchai promptly tugged Covenant, Linden, and the Stonedownors into motion. Flanked by Honninscrave and Seadreamer, with Pitchwife at their backs, the company followed the First.

  Covenant could not resist. He was paralyzed with dread. The lurker knew of him, wanted him; he was doomed to fight or die. But his companions-the Giants-Foamfollower had walked into the agony of Hotash Slay for his sake. They must not-!

  If he hurt any of his friends, he felt sure he would go quickly insane.

  The skest came in pursuit. They thronged out of the depths of the Flat, forming an unbroken wall against escape. The lines on either side tightened steadily. Honninscrave had described it accurately: the questors were being herded toward the light,

  Oh, hell!

  It blazed up in front of them now, chasing the night with nacre, the colour of his ring. He guessed that the water glowed as it did precisely because his ring was present. They were nearing the confluence of the streams. On the left, the jungle retreated up a long hillside, leaving the ground tilted and clear as far ahead as he could see; but the footing was complicated by tangled ground creepers and protruding roots. On the right, the waters formed a lake the length of the hillside. Silver hung like a preternatural vapour above the surface. Thus concentrated, the light gave the surrounding darkness a ghoul-begotten timbre, as if such glowing were the peculiar dirge and lamentation of the accursed. It was altogether lovely and heinous.

  A short way along the hillside, the company was blocked by a barrier of skest Viscid green fire ran in close-packed child forms from the water's edge up the hillside to curve around behind the quest.

  The First stopped and scanned the area. “We must cross this water.”

  “No!” Linden yelped at once. “We'll be killed.”

  The First cocked a stern eyebrow. “Then it would appear,” she said after a moment of consideration, “that the place of our defence has been chosen for us.”

  A deformed silence replied. Pitchwife's breathing whistled faintly in and out of his cramped lungs. Sunder hugged Hollian against the pain in his chest. The faces of the Haruchai looked like death masks. Linden was unravelling visibly toward panic.

  Softly, invidiously, the atmosphere began to sweat under the ululation of the lurker.

  It mounted like water in Covenant's throat, scaled slowly upward in volume and pitch. The skest poured interminably through the thick scream. Perspiration crawled his skin like formication. Venom beat in him like a fever.

  Cable Seadreamer clamped his hands over his ears, then dropped them when he found he could not shut out the howl. A mute snarl bared his teeth.

  Calmly, as if they felt no need for haste, the Haruchai unpacked their few remaining bundles of firewood. They meted out several brands apiece among themselves, offering the rest to the Giants. Seadreamer glared at the wood incomprehendingly; but Pitchwife took several faggots and handed the rest to Honninscrave. The wood looked like mere twigs in the Giants' hands.

  Linden's mouth moved as if she were whimpering; but the yammer and shriek of the lurker smothered every other cry.

  The skest advanced, as green as corruption.

  Defying the sheen of suffocation on his face, Brinn said, “Must we abide this? Let us attempt these skest.”

  The First looked at him, then looked around her. Without warning, her broadsword leaped into her hands, seemed to ring against the howl as she whirled it about her head. “Stone and Sea!” she coughed-a strangled battle cry.

  And Covenant, who had known Giants, responded:

  "Stone and Sea are deep in life,

  two unalterable symbols of the world."

  He forced the words through his anoxia and vertigo as he had learned them from Foamfollower.

  “Permanence at rest, and permanence in motion;

  participants in the Power that remains.”

  Though the effort threatened to burst his eyeballs, he spoke so that the First would hear him and understand.

  Her eyes searched him narrowly. “You have known Giants indeed,” she rasped. The howling thickened in her throat. “I name you Giantfriend. We are comrades, for good or ill.”

  Giantfriend. Covenant almost gagged on the name. The Seareach Giants ha
d given that title to Damelon father of Loric. To Damelon, who had foretold their destruction. But he had no time to protest. The skest were coming. He broke into a fit of coughing. Emeralds dizzied him as he struggled for breath. The howl tore at the marrow of his bones. His mind spun. Giantfriend, Damelon, Kevin; names in gyres. Linden Marid venom.

  Venomvenomvenom.

  Holding brands ready, Brinn and Ceer went out along the edge of the lake to meet the skest.

  The other Haruchai moved the company in that direction.

  Sweat running into Pitchwife's eyes made him wink and squint like a madman. The First gripped her sword in both fists.

  Reft by vertigo, Covenant followed only because Hergrom impelled him.

  Marid. Fangs.

  Leper outcast unclean.

  They were near the burning children now. Too near.

  Suddenly, Seadreamer leaped past Brinn like a berserker to charge the skest.

  Brinn croaked, “Giant!” and followed.

  With one massive foot, Seadreamer stamped down on a creature. It ruptured, squirting acid and flame.

  Seadreamer staggered as agony screamed up his leg. His jaws stretched, but no sound came from his throat. In an inchoate flash of perception, Covenant realized that the Giant was mute. Hideously, Seadreamer toppled toward the skest.

  The lurker's voice bubbled and frothed like the lust of quicksand.

  Brinn dropped his brands, caught Seadreamer's wrist. Planting his strength against the Giant's weight, he pivoted Seadreamer away from the creatures.

  The next instant, Pitchwife reached them. With prodigious ease, the cripple swept his injured comrade onto his shoulders. Pain glared across Seadreamer's face; but he clung to Pitchwife's shoulders and let Pitchwife carry him away from the skest.

  At the same time, Ceer began to strike. He splattered one of the acid-children with a back-handed blow of a brand. Conflagration tore half the wood to splinters. He hurled the remains at the next creature. As this skest burst, he was already snatching up another faggot, already striking again.

  Stell and Brinn joined him. Roaring, Honninscrave slashed at the line with a double handful of wood, scattering five skest before the brands became fire and kindling in his grasp.

  Together, they opened a gap in the lurker's noose.

  The howl tightened in fury, raked the lungs of the company like claws.

  Hergrom picked up Covenant and dashed through the breach. Cail followed, carrying Linden. Brinn and Ceer kept the gap open with the last of the firewood while Honninscrave and the First strode past the flames, relying on their Giantish immunity to fire. Pitchwife waded after them, with Seadreamer on his back.

  Then the Haruchai had no more wood. Skest surged to close the breach, driven by the lurker's unfaltering shriek.

  Stell leaped the gap. Harn threw Hollian bodily to Stell, then did the same with Sunder.

  As one, Brinn, Ceer, and Harn dove over the creatures.

  Already, the skest had turned in pursuit. The lurker gibbered with rage.

  “Come!” shouted the First, almost retching to drive her voice through the howl. The Giants raced along the lakeshore, Pitchwife bearing Seadreamer with the agility of a Haruchai.

  The company fled. Sunder and Hollian sprinted together, flanked by Harn and Stell. Covenant stumbled over the roots and vines between Brinn and Hergrom.

  Linden did not move. Her face was alabaster with suffocation and horror. Covenant wrenched his gaze toward her to see the same look which had stunned her mien when she had first seen Joan, The look of paralysis.

  Cail and Ceer took her arms and started to drag her forward.

  She fought; her mouth opened to scream.

  Urgently, the First gasped, “Ware!”

  A wail ripped Hollian's throat.

  Brinn and Hergrom leaped to a stop, whirled toward the lake.

  Covenant staggered at the sight and would have fallen if the Haruchai had not upheld him.

  The surface of the lake was rising. The water became an arm like a concatenation of ghost-shine- a tentacle with scores of fingers. It mounted and grew, reaching into the air like the howling of the lurker incarnate.

  Uncoiling like a serpent, it struck at the company, at the people who were nearest.

  At Linden.

  Her mouth formed helpless mewling shapes. She struggled to escape. Cail and Ceer pulled at her. Unconsciously, she fought them.

  As vividly as nightmare, Covenant saw her left foot catch in the fork of a root. The Haruchai hauled at her. In a spasm of pain, her ankle shattered. It seemed to make no sound through the rage of the lurker.

  The arm lashed phosphorescence at her. Cail met the blow, tried to block it. The arm swatted him out of the way. He tumbled headlong toward the advancing skest.

  They came slowly, rising forward like a tide.

  Linden fought to scream, and could not.

  The arm swung back again, slamming Ceer aside.

  Then Honninscrave passed Covenant, charging toward Linden.

  Covenant strove with all his strength to follow the Giant. But Brinn and Hergrom did not release him.

  Instantly, he was livid with fury. A flush of venom pounded through him. Wild magic burned.

  His power hurled the Haruchai away as if they had been kicked aside by an explosion.

  The arm of the lurker struck. Honninscrave dove against it, deflected it. His weight bore it to the ground in a chiaroscuro of white sparks. But he could not master it. It coiled about him, heaved him into the air. The pain of its clutch seemed to shatter his face. Viciously, the arm hammered him down. He hit the hard dirt, bounced, and lay still.

  The arm was already reaching toward Linden.

  Blazing like a torch, Covenant covered half the distance to her. But his mind was a chaos of visions and vertigo. He saw Brinn and Hergrom blasted, perhaps hurt, perhaps killed. He saw fangs crucifying his forearm, felt venom committing murders he could not control.

  The shining arm sprang on its fingers at Linden.

  For one lurching beat of his heart, horror overcame him. All his dreads became the dread of venom, of wild magic he could not master, of himself. If he struck at the arm now, he would hit Linden. The power ran out of him like a doused flame.

  The lurker's fingers knotted in her hair. They yanked her toward the lake. Her broken ankle remained caught in the root fork. The arm pulled, excruciating her bones. Then her foot twisted free.

  Linden!

  Covenant surged forward again. The howling had broken his lungs. He could not breathe.

  As he ran, he snatched out Loric's krill, cast aside the cloth, and locked his fingers around the haft. Bounding to the attack, he drove the blade like a spike of white fire into the arm.

  The air became a detonation of pain. The arm released Linden, wrenched itself backward, almost tore the krill out of his grasp. Argent poured from the wound like moon flame, casting arcs of anguish across the dark sky.

  In hurt and fury, the arm coiled about him, whipping him from the ground. For an instant, he was held aloft in a crushing grip; the lurker clenched him savagely at the heavens. Then it punched him into the water.

  It drove him down as if the lake had no bottom and no end. Cold burned his skin, plugged his mouth; pressure erupted in his ears like nails pounding into his skull; darkness drowned his mind. The lurker was tearing him in half.

  But the gem of the krill shone bright and potent before him. Loric's krill, forged as a weapon against ill. A weapon.

  With both hands, Covenant slammed the blade into the coil across his chest.

  A convulsion loosened the grip. Lurker blood scoured his face.

  He was still being dragged downward, forever deeper into the abysm of the lurker's demesne. The need for air shredded his vitals. Water and cold threatened to burst his bones. Pressure spots marked his eyes like scars of mortality and failure, failure, the Sunbane, Lord Foul laughing in absolute triumph.

  No!

  Linden in her agony.
>
  No!

  He twisted around before the lurker's grasp could tighten again, faced in the direction of the arm. Downward forever. The krill blazed indomitably against his sight.

  With all the passion of his screaming heart-with everything he knew of the krill, wild magic, rage, venom-he slashed at the lurker's arm.

  His hot blade severed the flesh, passed through the appendage like water.

  Instantly, all the deep burned. Water flashed and flared; white coruscations flamed like screams throughout the lake. The lurker became tinder in the blaze. Suddenly, its arm was gone, its presence was gone.

  Though he still held the krill, Covenant could see nothing. The lurker's pain had blinded him. He floated alone in depths so dark that they could never have held any light.

  He was dying for air.

  Twenty Five: “In the name of the Pure One”

  MISERABLY, stubbornly, he locked his teeth against the water and began to struggle upward. He felt power-seared and impotent, could not seem to move through the rank depths. His limbs were dead for lack of air. Nothing remained to him except the last convulsion of his chest which would rip his mouth open-nothing except death, and the memory of Linden with her ankle shattered, fighting to scream.

  In mute refusal, he went on jerking his arms, his legs, like a prayer for the surface.

  Then out of the darkness, a hand snagged him, turned him. Hard palms took hold of his face. A mouth clamped over his. The hands forced his jaws open; the mouth expelled breath into him. That scant taste of air kept him alive.

  The hands drew him upward.

  He broke the surface and exploded into gasping. The arms upheld him while he sobbed for air. Time blurred as he was pounded in and out of consciousness by his intransigent heart.

  In the distance, a voice-Hollian's? — called out fearfully, “Brinn? Brinn?”

  Brinn answered behind Covenant's head. “The ur-Lord lives.”

  Another voice said, “Praise to the Haruchai” It sounded like the First of the Search. “Surely that name was one of great honour among the Giants your people have known.”