One Tree (35 page)

She continued to hold Linden’s gaze straitly; and at last Linden dropped her eyes. She was moved by the First’s frank avowal, her stubborn integrity. All the Giants seemed to overtop Linden in more
than mere physical stature. Abruptly her insistence on making decisions in such company appeared insolent to her. Covenant had earned his place among the Giants—and among the
Haruchai
as well. But she had no right to it. She required the responsibility, the power to choose, for no other reason than to hold back her hunger for other kinds of power. Yet that exigency outweighed her unworth.

Striving to emulate Covenant, she said, “All right. I hear you.” With an effort of will, she raised her head, suppressing her conflicted heart so that she could meet the eyes of the Giants. “I think we’re too vulnerable the way we are. We won’t do the Land any good if we drown ourselves or starve to death. Let’s take our chances with this Harbor.”

For a moment, Honninscrave and the others stared at her as if they had expected a different response. Then, softly, Pitchwife began to chuckle. A twitch of joy started at the corners of his mouth, quickly spread over his face. “Witness me, Giants,” he said. “Have I not avowed that she is well Chosen?”

With a flourish, he caught hold of the First’s hand, kissed it hugely. Then he flung himself like glee out of the cabin.

An unfamiliar dampness filled the First’s eyes. She placed a brief touch of recognition or thanks on Linden’s shoulder. But she spoke to Honninscrave. In a husky tone, she said, “I desire to hear the song which is now in Pitchwife’s heart.” Turning brusquely to contain her emotion, she left the chamber.

Galewrath’s face showed a blunt glower of satisfaction. She seemed almost glad as she picked up one of the charts and went to take the
dromond
’s new course to Sevinhand.

Linden was left alone with the Master.

“Linden Avery. Chosen.” He appeared uncertain of how to address her. A smile of relief had momentarily set aside his misgivings. But almost at once his gravity returned. “There is much in the matter of this Search, and of the Earth’s peril, which I do not comprehend. The mystery of my brother’s vision appalls my heart. The alteration of the
Elohim
—and Findail’s presence among us—” He shrugged, lifting his hands as if they were full of uncomfortable ignorances. “But Covenant Giantfriend has made plain to all that he bears a great burden of blood for those whose lives are shed in the Land. And in his plight, you have accepted to support his burdens.

“Accepted and more,” he digressed wryly. “You have averred them as your own. In sooth, I had not known you to be formed of such stone.”

But then he returned to his point. “Chosen, I thank you that you are willing for this delay. I thank you in the name of Starfare’s Gem, that I love as dearly as life and yearn to see restored to wholeness.” An involuntary tremor knotted his hands as he remembered the blows he had struck against the midmast. “And I thank you also in the name of Cable Seadreamer my brother. I am eased that he will be granted some respite. Though I dread that his wound will never be healed, yet I covet any act or delay which may accord him rest.”

“Honninscrave—” Linden did not know what to say to him. She had not earned his thanks. And she had no answer for the vicarious suffering which linked him to his brother. As she looked at him, she thought that perhaps his misgivings had less to do with the unknown attitude of the
Bhrathair
than with the possible implications of any delay for the Search—for Seadreamer. He appeared to doubt the dictates of his concern for his ship, as if that instinct had been deprived of its purity by his apprehension for Seadreamer.

His inner disquiet silenced anything she might have said in support of her decision or in recognition of his thanks. Instead she gave him the little knowledge she possessed.

“He’s afraid of the One Tree. He thinks something terrible is going to happen there. I don’t know why.”

Honninscrave nodded slowly. He was no longer looking at her. He stared past her as though he were blinded by his lack of prescience. Quietly he murmured, “He is not mute because he has lost the capacity of voice. He is mute because the Earth-Sight cannot be given words. He is able to convey that there is peril. But for him that peril has no utterable name.”

Linden saw no way to ease him. Gently she let herself out of the cabin, leaving him his privacy because she had nothing else to offer.

Troubled by uncertain winds, Starfare’s Gem required two full days to come within sight of land; and the
dromond
did not near the mouth of
Bhrathairain
Harbor until the following morning.

During that time, the quest left behind the last hints of the northern autumn and passed into a hot dry clime unsoftened by any suggestion of approaching winter. The direct sun seemed to parch Linden’s skin, leaving her always thirsty; and the normally cool stone of the decks radiated heat through her shoes. The weather-worn sails looked gray and tarnished against the acute sunlight and the brilliant sea. Occasional suspirations of humidity breathed past her cheek; but they came from virga scudding overhead—isolated clouds shedding rain which evaporated before it could reach the sea or the ship—and did not relieve the heat.

Her first view of the coast some leagues east of
Bhrathairealm
was a vision of rocks and bare dirt. The stony littoral had been bleached and battered by so many arid millennia that the boulders appeared sun-stricken and somnolent, as if they were only prevented from vanishing into haze by the quality of their stupefaction. All life had been squeezed or beaten out of the pale soil long ago. Sunset stained the shore with ochre and pink, transfiguring the desolation, but could not bring back what had been lost.

That night, as the
dromond
tacked slowly along the coast, the terrain modulated into a region of low cliffs which fronted the sea like a frown of perpetual vexation. When dawn came, Starfare’s Gem was moving past buttes the height of its yards. Standing beside Pitchwife at the port rail of the afterdeck, Linden saw a gap in the cliffs ahead like the opening of a narrow canyon or the mouth of a river. But along the edges of the gap stood walls which appeared to be thirty or forty feet high. The walls were formed of the same pale stone which composed the bluffs. At their ends—at the two points of the gap—they arose into watchtowers. These fortifications tapered so that they looked like fangs against the dusty horizon.

“Is that the Harbor?” Linden asked uncertainly. The space between the cliffs appeared too narrow to accommodate any kind of anchorage.

“
Bhrathairain
Harbor,” replied Pitchwife in a musing tone. “Yes. There begins the Sandwall which seals all the habitation of
Bhrathairealm—
both
Bhrathairain
itself and the mighty Sandhold behind it—against the Great Desert. Surely in all this region there is no ship that does not know the Spikes which identify and guard the entrance to
Bhrathairain
Harbor.”

Drifting forward in the slight breeze, the Giantship moved slowly abreast of the two towers which Pitchwife had named the Spikes. There Honninscrave turned the
dromond
to pass between them. The passage was
barely wide enough to admit Starfare’s Gem safely; but, beyond it, Linden saw that the channel opened into a huge cove a league or more broad. Protected from the vagaries of the sea, squadrons of ships could have staged maneuvers in that body of water. In the distance, she descried sails and masts clustered against the far curve of the Harbor.

Past the berths where those vessels rode, a dense town ascended a slope rising just west of south from the water. It ended at the Sandwall which enclosed the entire town and Harbor. And beyond that wall stood the massive stone pile of the Sandhold.

Erected above
Bhrathairain
in five stages, it dominated the vista like a brooding titan. Its fifth level was a straight high tower like a stone finger brandished in warning.

As Starfare’s Gem passed between the Spikes, Linden was conscious that the Harbor formed a cul-de-sac from which any escape might be extremely difficult.
Bhrathairealm
was well protected. Studying what she could see of the town and the Sandwall, she realized that if the occupants of the Sandhold chose to lock their gates the
Bhrathair
would have no egress from their own defenses.

The size of the Harbor, the immense clenched shape of the Sandhold, made her tense with wonder and apprehension. Quietly she murmured to Pitchwife, “Tell me about these people.” After her meeting with the
Elohim
, she felt she did not know what to expect from any strangers.

He responded as if he had been chewing over that tale himself. “They are a curious folk—much misused by this ungiving land, and by the chance or fate which pitted them in mortal combat against the most fearsome denizens of the Great Desert. Their history has made them hardy, stubborn, and mettlesome. Mayhap it has also made them somewhat blithe of scruple. But that is uncertain. The tales which we have heard vary greatly, according to the spirit of the telling.

“It is clear from the words of Covenant Giantfriend, as well as from the later voyagings of our people, that the Unhomed sojourned for a time in
Bhrathairealm
, giving what aid they could against the Sandgorgons. For that reason, Giants have been well greeted here. But we have had scant need of the commerce and warlike implements which the
Bhrathair
offer, and the visits of our people to
Bhrathairain
have been infrequent. Therefore my knowledge lacks the fullness which Giants love.”

He paused for a moment to collect the pieces of his story, then continued, “There is an adage among the
Bhrathair
: ‘He who waits for the sword to fall upon his neck will surely lose his head.’ This is undisputed sooth.” Grim humor twisted his mouth. “Yet the manner in which a truth is phrased reveals much. Many generations of striving against the Sandgorgons have made of the
Bhrathair
a people who seek to strike before they are stricken.

“The Sandgorgons—so it is said—are beasts birthed by the immense violence of the storms which anguish the Great Desert. They are somewhat manlike in form and also in cunning. But the chief aspect of their nature is that they are horrendously savage and mighty beyond the strength of stone or iron. No aid of Giants could have saved the
Bhrathair
from loss of the land they deem their home—and perhaps from extinction as well—had the Sandgorgons been beasts of concerted action. But their savagery was random, like the storms which gave them life. Therefore the
Bhrathair
were able to fight, and to endure. Betimes they appeared to prevail, or were reduced to a remnant, as the violence of the Sandgorgons swelled and waned across the depths of the waste. But no peace was secured. During one era of lesser peril, the Sandwall was
built. As you see”—he gestured around him—“it is a doughty work. Yet it was not proof against the Sandgorgons. Often has it been rebuilt, and often have one or several of these creatures chanced upon it and torn spans of it to rubble.

“Such the lives of the
Bhrathair
might have remained until the day of World’s End. But at last—in a time several of our generations past—a man came from across the seas and presented himself to the
gaddhi
, the ruler of
Bhrathairealm
. Naming himself a thaumaturge of great prowess, he asked to be given the place of Kemper—the foremost counselor, and, under the
gaddhi
, suzerain of this land. To earn this place, he proposed to end the peril of the Sandgorgons.

“This he did—I know not how. Mayhap he alone knows. Yet the accomplishment remains. By his arts, he wove the storms of the Great Desert into a prodigious gyre so mighty that it destroys and remakes the ground at every turn. And into this storm—now named Sandgorgons Doom—he bound the beasts. There they travail yet, their violence cycled and mastered by greater violence. It is said that from the abutments of the Sandhold Sandgorgons Doom may be seen blasting its puissance forever without motion from its place of binding and without let. It is said that slowly across the centuries the Sandgorgons die, driven one by one into despair by the loss of freedom and open sand. And it is said also”—Pitchwife spoke softly—“that upon occasion the Kemper releases one or another of them to do his dark bidding.

“For the
gaddhi
’s Kemper, Kasreyn of the Gyre, remains in
Bhrathairealm
, prolonged in years far beyond even a Giant’s span, though he is said to be as mortal as any man. The
Bhrathair
are no longer-lived than people of your kind, Chosen. Of
gaddhis
they have had many since Kasreyn’s coming, for their rulership does not pass quietly from generation to generation. Yet Kasreyn of the Gyre remains. He it was who caused the building of the Sandhold. And because of his power, and his length of years, it is commonly said that he holds each
gaddhi
in turn as a puppet, ruling through the ruler that his hand may be concealed.

“The truth of this I do not know. But I give you witness.” With one long arm, he indicated the Sandhold. As Starfare’s Gem advanced down the Harbor, the edifice became more clear and dominant against the desert sky. “There stands his handiwork in its five levels, each far-famed as a perfect circle resting to one side within others. The Sandwall conceals the First Circinate, which provides a pediment to the Second. Then arises the Tier of Riches, and above it, The Majesty. There sits the
gaddhi
on his Auspice. But the fifth and highest part is the spire which you see, and it is named Kemper’s Pitch, for within it resides Kasreyn of the Gyre in all his arts. From that eminence I doubt not that he wields his will over the whole of
Bhrathairealm—
aye, and over the Great Desert itself.”

His tone was a blend of respect and misgiving; and he aroused mixed emotions in Linden. She admired the Sandhold—and distrusted what she heard about Kasreyn. A man with the power to bind the Sandgorgons also had the power to be an unconstrained tyrant. In addition, the plight of the Sandgorgons themselves disquieted her. In her world, dangerous animals were frequently exterminated; and the world was not improved thereby.