At the same time, Honninscrave lifted his voice over the Giantship. “Hear me!” he cried—a shout of yearning and trepidation, as lorn and resonant as the wind. “Here we pass from the safe Sea into the demesne and ken of the Elohim. Be warned! They are lovely and perilous, and none can foretell them. If they so desire, the very Sea will rise against us.” Then he barked his commands, turning Starfare’s Gem so that it passed around Bareisle with its stern braced on the wind, running now straight into the northeast.
Linden’s foreboding tightened. The Elohim, she murmured. What kind of people marked the verge of their territory with so much black stone? As her view of the island changed from south to east, Bareisle came between her and the sunset and was silhouetted in red glory. Then the rock appeared to take on life, so that it looked like the stark straining fist of a drowner, upraised against the fatal Sea. But as the sun slipped past the horizon, Bareisle was lost in dusk.
That night, the Questsimoon faded into a succession of crosswinds which kept each watch in turn almost constantly aloft, fighting the sails from tack to tack. But the next day the breezes clarified, allowing Starfare’s Gem to make steady progress. And the following dawn, when Linden hurried from her cabin to learn why the dromond was riding at rest, she found that the Giants had dropped anchor off a jutting coast of mountains.
The ship stood with its prow aimed squarely toward a channel which lay like a fiord between rugged peaks. Bifurcated only by the inlet, these mountains spread away to the north and south as far as Linden could see, forming an impassable coast. In the distance on both sides, the littoral curved as if it were receding from the Sea. As a result, the cliffs directly facing the dromond appeared to be out-thrust like jaws to grab whatever approached their gullet.
The dawn was crisp; behind the salt breeze and the sunlight glittering along the channel, the air tasted like late fall. But the mountains looked too cold for autumn. Their dour cols and tors were cloaked with evergreens which seemed to take a gray hue from the granite around them, as if this land passed without transition and almost without change from summer into winter. Yet only the highest peaks cast any hints of snow.
The Giants had begun to gather near the wheeldeck. Linden went to join them. Honninscrave’s words, Lovely and perilous, were still with her. And she had heard other hints of strangeness concerning the Elohim.
Covenant and Brinn, Pitchwife and the First had preceded her, and Seadreamer followed her up to the wheeldeck almost on Cail’s heels. On the afterdeck, Sevinhand and the Storesmaster stood with the other Giants and Haruchai, all waiting to hear what would be said. Only Vain seemed oblivious to the imminence in the air. He remained motionless near Foodfendhall, with his back to the coast as if it meant nothing to him.
Linden expected the First to speak, but it was Honninscrave who addressed the gathering. “My friends,” he said with a wide gesture, “behold the land of the Elohim. Before us lies our path. This inlet is named the Raw. It arises from the River Callowwail, and the River Callowwail in turn arises from the place which the Elohim name their clachan—from the spring and fountainhead of Elemesnedene itself. These mountains are the Rawedge Rim, warding Elemesnedene from intrusion. Thus are the Elohim preserved in their peace, for no way lies inward except the way of the Raw. And from the Raw no being or vessel returns without the goodwill of those who hold the Raw and the Callowwail and Woodenwold in their mastery.
“I have spoken of the Elohim. They are gay and subtle, warm and cunning. If they are at all limited in lore or power, that limit is unknown. None who have emerged from the Raw have gained such knowledge. And of those who have not emerged, no tale remains. They have passed out of life, leaving no trace.”
Honninscrave paused. Into the silence, Covenant protested, “That’s not the way Foamfollower talked about them.” His tone was sharp with memory. “He called them ‘the sylvan faery Elohim. A laughing people.’ Before the Unhomed got to Seareach, a hundred of them decided to stay and live with the Elohim. How perilous can they be? Or have they changed too—?” His voice trailed off into uncertainty.
The Master faced Covenant squarely. “The Elohim are what they are. They do not alter. And Saltheart Foamfollower bespoke them truly.
“Those of our people whom you have named the Unhomed were known to us as the Lost. In their proud ships they ventured the Earth and did not return. In the generations which followed, search was made for them. The Lost we did not find, but signs of their sojourn were found. Among the Bhrathair still lived a handful of our people, descendants of those few Giants who remained to give aid against the Sandgorgons of the Great Desert. And among the Elohim were found tales of those five score Lost who chose to take their rest in Elemesnedene.
“But Saltheart Foamfollower spoke as one descended from those who emerged from the Raw, permitted by the goodwill of the Elohim. What of the five score who remained? Covenant Giantfriend, they were more surely lost than any of the Unhomed, for they were lost to themselves. Twice a hundred years later, naught remained of them but their tale in the mouths of the Elohim. In such a span, five score Giants would not have died of age—yet these were gone. And behind them they left no children. None, though our people love children and the making of children as dearly as life.
“No.” The Master straightened his shoulders, confronted the channel of the Raw. “I have said that the Elohim are perilous, I have not said that they desire hurt to any life, or to the Earth. But in their own tales they are portrayed as the bastion of the last truth, and that truth they preserve in ways which baffle all who behold them. On Starfare’s Gem, I alone have once entered the Raw and emerged. As a youth on another dromond, I came to this place with my companions. We returned scatheless, having won no boon from the Elohim by all our gifts and bargaining but the benison of their goodwill. I speak from knowledge.
“I do not anticipate harm. In the name of the white ring—of the Earth-Sight”—he glanced intently at Seadreamer, betraying a glimpse of the pressure which had been driving him—“and of our need for the One Tree—I trust we will be well received. But such surpassing power is ever perilous. And this power is both squandered and withheld for purposes which the Elohim do not deign to reveal. They are occult beyond the grasp of any mortal.
“From time to time, their power is given in gift. Such is the gift of tongues, won for our people in a time many and many generations past, yet still unwaning and untainted. And such a gift we now seek. But the Elohim grant no gifts unpurchased. Even their goodwill must be won in barter—and in this bartering we are blind, for the quality which gives a thing or a tale value in their sight is concealed. For precious stone and metal they have no need. Of knowledge they have no dearth. Many tales hold scant interest for them. Yet it was with a tale that the gift of tongues was won—the tale, much loved by Giants, of Bahgoon the Unbearable and Thelma Twofist who tamed him. And the goodwill of the Elohim for me and my companions was won by the teaching of a simple knot—a thing so common among us that we scarcely thought to offer it, yet it was deemed of worth to the Elohim.
“Therefore we emerged from Elemesnedene in wonder and bafflement. And in conviction of peril, for a people of power who find such delight in a knot for which they have no use are surely perilous. If we give them offense, the Raw will never yield up our bones.”
As he spoke, tension mounted in Linden. Some of it grew from Covenant; his aggravated aura was palpable to her. Perplexity and fear emphasized the gauntness of his eyes, compressed the strictness which lined his face. He had based his urgent hope on what Foamfollower had told him about the Elohim. Now he was asking himself how he could possibly barter with them for the knowledge he needed. What did he have that they might want?
But beyond the pressure she read in him, she had conceived a tightness of her own. She had thought of a gift herself, a restitution for which she wanted to ask. If the Elohim could give the entire race of Giants the gift of tongues, they could answer other needs as well.
Like Covenant—a
nd Honninscrave—she did not know what to offer in exchange.
Then the First said, “It is enough.” Though she made no move to touch her sword, or the round shield at her back, or the battle-helm attached to her belt, she conveyed the impression that she was girding herself for combat. Her corselet, leggings, and greaves gleamed like readiness in the early light. “We are forewarned. Do you counsel that Starfare’s Gem be left at anchor here? Surely a longboat will bear us up this Raw if need be.”
Her question forced the Master to examine himself. When he replied, his voice was wary. “It boots nothing for the Search if Starfare’s Gem is saved while you and Covenant Giantfriend and the Earth-Sight are lost.” And I do not wish to be left behind, his eyes added.
The First nodded decisively. Her gaze was fixed on the Rawedge Rim; and Linden suddenly realized that the Swordmain was uncognizant of the yearning in Honninscrave. “Let us sail.”
For a moment, the Master appeared to hesitate. Conflicting emotions held him: the risk to his ship was tangled up in his other needs. But then he threw back his head as if he were baring his face to a wind of excitement; and commands like laughter sprang from his throat.
At once, the crew responded. The anchors were raised; the loosened sails were sheeted tight. As the wheel came to life, the prow dipped like a nod. Starfare’s Gem began to gather headway toward the open mouth of the Raw.
Assigning Shipsheartthew to the Anchormaster, Honninscrave went forward so that he could keep watch over the dromond’s safety from the foredeck. Impelled by his own tension, Covenant followed. Brinn, Hergrom, and Ceer joined him, accompanied by all the Giants who were not at work.
Instead of going after them, Linden turned to the First. Her health-sense was a special form of sight, and she felt responsible for what she saw. The Swordmain stood gazing into the Raw as if she were testing the iron of her decision against those cliffs. Without preamble, Linden said, “Honninscrave has something he wants to ask the Elohim.”
The statement took a moment to penetrate the First. But then her eyes shifted toward Linden. Sternly she asked, “Have you knowledge of it?”
Linden shrugged with a tinge of asperity. She could not descry the content of Honninscrave’s thoughts without violating his personal integrity. “I can see it in him. But I don’t know what it is. I thought maybe you would.”
The First shook her head as she strove to assess the importance of Linden’s words. “It is not my place to question the privacy of his heart.” Then she added, “Yet I thank you for this word. Whatever his desire, he must not barter himself to purchase it.”
Linden nodded and left the matter to the First. Hurrying down to the afterdeck, she went forward.
As she reached the foredeck, she saw the Rawedge Rim vaulting into the sky on either side. Starfare’s Gem rode swiftly before the wind, though it carried no more than half its sails; and the cliffs seemed to surge closer as if they were reaching out to engulf the dromond. Finding herself a place near the prow, she scanned the Raw as far ahead as she could see, looking for some hint of rocks or shoals; but the water appeared deep and clear until it disappeared beyond a bend. Since its rising, the sun had angled to the south over the range, leaving the channel in shadow. As a result, the water looked as gray and hard as the winterbourne of the mountains. The surface mirrored the granite cliffs rather than the high cerulean sky. It gave her the impression that Starfare’s Gem was sailing into an abyss.
Steadily the dromond slipped ahead. Honninscrave called for the sails to be shortened more. Still the vessel glided with a strange celerity, as if it were being inhaled by the Raw. Now Starfare’s Gem was committed. With this wind behind it, it would never be able to turn and retreat. The Giantship went riding into shadow until only the highest sails and Horizonscan held the light. Then they, too, were extinguished, and the dromond seemed to go down into darkness.
As Linden’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw the gray walls more clearly. The granite looked wounded and unforgiving, as if it had been unnaturally reft to provide this channel and were now waiting in rigid impatience for any upheaval which would allow it to close back over the water, sealing its dire heart from further intrusion. Studying them with her percipience, she knew that these mountains were angry. Affronted. Only the ancient slowness of their life prevented their umbrage from taking palpable form.
And still the dromond moved with eerie quickness. The cliffs gathered the wind at the Giantship’s back, and as the Raw narrowed the force of the blow grew. Honninscrave responded by steadily loosening and shortening the canvas. Yet when Linden looked back toward the open Sea, she saw the maw of the channel shrink into the distance. Soon it disappeared altogether as Starfare’s Gem passed a bend in the Raw.
But in spite of the bends and narrowing of the channel, Honninscrave and Sevinhand were able to keep their vessel in the center, where the water was deepest.
Apart from the giving of commands—shouts which resounded off the walls and chased in the wake of the dromond like bitter warnings, helpless wrath—the Giants were hushed. Even Pitchwife’s native volubility was rapt in the concentration of the ship. Linden’s legs and back grew stiff with tension. The cliffs had risen a thousand feet above her head, and as the channel narrowed they loomed over the Giantship as if they were listening for the one sound which would release them from their ancient paresis, bring them crashing down in fury and vindication.
A league passed as if Starfare’s Gem were being drawn inward involuntarily by the dark water. The only light came from the sun’s reflection on the northern peaks. For a few moments, the wet, gray silence acquired an undertone as Covenant muttered abstract curses to himself, venting his trepidation. But soon he lapsed as if he were humbled by the way the granite listened to him. The walls continued to crowd ponderously together.
In another league, the channel had become so strait that Starfare’s Gem could not have turned to retreat even if the wind had changed. Linden felt that she was having trouble breathing in the gloom. It raised echoes of the other darkness, hints of crisis. The omen of Bareisle came back to her. Powerless, she was being borne with or without volition into a place of power.
Then, unexpectedly, the dromond navigated another bend; and the Raw opened into a wide lagoon like a natural harbor among the mountains. Beyond the lagoon, the Rawedge Rim tried to close, but did not, leaving a wedge of low ground between the cliffs. From the mouth of this valley came a brisk river which fed the lagoon: the Callowwail. Its banks were thickly grown with trees. And on the trees beyond the mouth of the valley, the sun shone.
Yet the lagoon itself was strangely still, All ardor was absorbed into the black depths of the mountain-roots, imposing mansuetude on the confluence of the waters.
And the air, too, seemed peaceful now. Linden found herself breathing the pellucid and crackling scents of autumn as if her lungs were eager for the odd way in which the atmosphere here tasted telic, deliberate—wrested from the dour Rim and the Raw by powers she could not begin to comprehend.
At a shout from Honninscrave, Sevinhand spun the wheel, turning Starfare’s Gem so that its prow faced the channel again, ready for retreat if the wind shifted. Then all the anchors were lowered. Promptly several Giants moved to detach one of the longboats from its mooring below the rail of the wheeldeck. Like the dromond, the longboat was formed of stone, moire-marked and lithe. After readying its oars, the Giants set the craft into the water.
With a cumulative sigh like a release of shared suspense, the rest of the crew began to move as if they had awakened into a trance. The irenic air seemed to amaze and relieve them. Linden felt vaguely spellbound as she followed Covenant aft. Tasting the atmosphere, she knew that the woods beyond the mouth of the valley were rife with color. After the passage of the Raw, she wanted to see those trees.
The First scented the air keenly. Pitchwife was on the verge of laughing aloud, Seadreamer’s visage had cleared as if the cloud of Earth-Sight had been temporarily blown from his soul. E
ven Covenant appeared to have forgotten peril: his eyes burned like fanned coals of hope. Only the Haruchai betrayed no reaction to the ambience. They bore themselves as if they could not be touched. Or as if they saw the effect of the air on their companions—and did not trust it.
Honninscrave faced the valley with his hands knotted. “Have I not said it?” he breathed softly. “Lovely and perilous.” Then, with an effort, he turned to the First. “Let us not delay. It ill becomes us to belate our purpose in this place.”
“Speak of yourself, Master,” Pitchwife replied like a gleam. “I am very well become to stand and savor such air as this.”
The First nodded as if she were agreeing with her husband. But then she addressed Honninscrave. “It is as you have said. We four, with Covenant Giantfriend, the Chosen, and their Haruchai, will go in search of these Elohim. Caution Sevinhand Anchormaster to give no offense to any being who may chance upon him here.”
The Master bowed in acknowledgment, started toward the wheeldeck. But the First stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“You also I will caution,” she said quietly. “We must be wary of what we attempt to buy and sell with these folk. I will have no offers made, or gifts asked, without my consent.”
At once, Honninscrave’s mien hardened. Linden thought that he would refuse to understand. But he chose a different denial. “This life is mine. I will barter with it as I desire.”
Covenant looked at the Giants with guesses leaping in his gaze. In a tone of studied nonchalance, he said, “Hile Troy felt the same way. So far, it’s cost him more than three thousand years.”
“No.” The First ignored Covenant, met Honninscrave squarely. “It is not yours. You are the Master of Starfare’s Gem, sworn and dedicate to the Search. I will not lose you.”
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