The Wounded Land (18 page)

There to his great ire he saw that evil lay in the Earth: malice buried and abroad, banes and powers which had no part in his intent. For while he had labored over his creation, he had closed his eyes, and had not seen the Despiser, the bitter son or brother of his heart, laboring beside him—casting dross into the forge, adding malignancy to his intent.

Then the Creator’s wrath shook the heavens, and he grappled with the son or brother of his heart. He overthrew the Despiser and hurled him to the Earth, sealing him within the Arch of Time for his punishment. Thus it became for the inhabitants of the Earth as it was
with the Creator; for in that act he harmed the tiling he loved, and so all living hearts were taught the power of self-despite. The Despiser was abroad in the Earth, awakening ills, seeking to escape his prison. And the Creator could not hinder him, for the reach of any immortal hand through the Arch would topple Time, destroying the Earth and freeing the Despiser. This was the great grief of the Creator, and the unending flaw and sorrow of those who lived and strove upon the Earth.

Covenant fell silent. Telling this story, essentially as he had heard it ten years ago, brought back many things to him. He no longer felt blurred and ossified. Now he felt like the night, and his memories were stars: Mhoram, Foamfollower, Bannor, the Ranyhyn. While he still had blood in his veins, air in his lungs, he would not turn his back on the world which had given birth to such people.

Linden started to ask a question; but the rustling of the curtain interrupted her. Sunder entered the room carrying an oil lamp. He set it on the floor and seated himself cross-legged in front of it. Its dim, yellow light cast haggard shadows across his visage. When he spoke, his voice wore ashes, as if he had been bereaved.

“I, too, have heard that tale,” he said thickly. “It was told to me by Nassic my father. But the tale told in the Rede of the na-Mhoram is another altogether.”

Covenant and Linden waited. After a moment, the Graveler went on. “In the Rede it is told that the Earth was formed as a jail and tormenting-place for the Lord of wickedness—him whom we name a-Jeroth of the Seven Hells. And life was placed upon the Earth—men and women, and all other races—to wreak upon a-Jeroth his proper doom. But time and again, throughout the ages, the races of the Land failed their purpose. Rather than exacting pain from a-Jeroth, meting out upon him the Master’s just retribution, they formed alliances with the Lord, spared him in his weakness and bowed to him in his strength. And always”—Sunder shot a glance at Covenant, faltered momentarily—“the most heinous of these betrayals have been wrought by men born in the image of the First Betrayer, Berek, father of cowardice. Halfhanded men.

“Therefore in his wrath the Master turned his face from the Land. He sent the Sunbane upon us, as chastisement for treachery, so that we would remember our mortality, and become worthy again to serve his purpose. Only the intercession of the Clave enables us to endure.”

Protests thronged in Covenant. He knew from experience that this conception of the Land was false and cruel. But before he could try to reply, Linden climbed suddenly to her feet. Her eyes were feverish in the lamplight, afflicted by fear and outrage and waiting. Her lips trembled. “A Master like that isn’t worth believing in. But you probably have to do it anyway. How else can you justify killing people you don’t even know?”

The Graveler surged erect, faced her extremely. The conflict in him made him grind his teeth. “All the Land knows the truth which the Clave teaches. It is manifest at every rising of the sun. None deny it but Nassic my father, who died in mind before his body was slain, and you, who are ignorant!”

Covenant remained on the floor. While Linden and Sunder confronted each other, he drew all the strands of himself together, braided anger, empathy, determination, memory to make the cord on which all their lives depended. Part of him bled to think of the hurt he meant to inflict on Sunder, the choice he meant to extort; part raged at the brutality which had taught people like Sunder to think of their own lives as punishment for a crime they could not have committed; part
quavered in fear at the idea of failure, at the poverty of his grasp on power. When Linden began to retort to the Graveler, he stopped her with, a wrench of his head. I’ll do it, he thought silently to her. If it has to be done. Shifting his gaze to Sunder, he asked, “How’s your mother?”

A spasm contorted the Graveler’s face; his hands bunched into knots of pain and uselessness, “Her death is plain.” His eyes were dull, wounded, articulating the frank torment of his heart. “I must shed her blood with yours at the sun’s rising.”

Covenant bowed his head for a moment in tacit acknowledgment. Then, deliberately, he created a space of clarity within himself, set his questions and fears aside. All right, he murmured. Leper. It has to be done.

Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet, faced the Stonedownor.

“Sunder,” he said softly, “do you have a knife?”

The Graveler nodded as if the question had no meaning.

“Take it out.”

Slowly Sunder obeyed. He reached to his back, slipped a long iron poniard out of his belt. His fingers held it as if they had no idea how to use it.

“I want you to see that you’re safe,” Covenant said. “You have a knife. My hands are tied. I can’t hurt you.”

Sunder stared back at Covenant, transfixed by incomprehension.

All right, Covenant breathed. Leper. Do it now. His heartbeat seemed to fill his chest, leaving no room for air. But he did not waver.

“Get out that piece of
orcrest
. The Sunstone.”

Again Sunder obeyed. Covenant’s will held him.

Covenant did not permit himself to glance down at the stone. He was marginally aware that Linden regarded him as if he were no longer sane. A shudder of apprehension threatened his clarity. He had to grit his teeth to keep his voice steady, “Touch me with it.”

“Touch—?” Sunder murmured blankly.

“Touch my forehead.”

Doubt pinched the corners of Sunder’s eyes. His shoulders hunched as he tightened his grip on the knife, the Sunstone.

Do it
.

The Graveler’s hand seemed to move without volition. The
orcrest
passed Covenant’s face, came to rest cool and possible against his tense brow.

His attention dropped through him to his ring, seeking for the link between
orcrest
and white gold. He remembered standing in sunlight and desperation on the slopes of Mount Thunder; he saw Bannor take his hand, place his ring in contact with the Staff of Law. A trigger. He felt the detonation of power.

You are the white gold
.

The silence in the room vibrated. His lips stretched back from his teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut against the strain.

A trigger.

He did not want to die, did not want the Land to die. Lord Foul abhorred all life.

Fiercely he brought the
orcrest
and the white gold together in his mind, chose power.

A burst of argent sprang off his forehead.

Linden let out a stricken gasp. Sunder snatched back the
orcrest
. A gust of force blew out the lamp.

Then Covenant’s hands were free. Ignoring the sudden magma of renewed circulation, he raised his arms in front of him, opened his eyes.

His hands blazed the color of the full moon. He could feel the passion of the fire, but it did him no harm.

The flames on his left swiftly faded, died. But his right hand grew brighter as the blaze focused on his ring, burning without a sound.

Linden stared at him whitely, wildly. Sunder’s eyes echoed the argent fire like a revelation too acute to bear.

You are stubborn yet
. Yes! Covenant panted. You don’t begin to know how stubborn.

With a thought, he struck the bonds from Linden’s wrists. Then he reached for the Sunstone.

As he took it from Sunder’s stunned fingers, a piercing white light exploded from the stone. It shone like a sun in the small room. Linden ducked her head. Sunder covered his eyes with his free arm, waved his poniard uncertainly.

“Wild magic,” Covenant said. His voice felt like flame in his mouth. The return of blood to his arms raked his nerves like claws. “Your knife means nothing. I have the wild magic. I’m not threatening you. I don’t want to hurt anybody.” The night had become cold, yet sweat streamed down his face. “That’s not why I’m here. But I won’t let you kill us.”

“Father!” Sunder cried in dismay. “Was it true? Was every, word that you spoke a word of truth?”

Covenant sagged. He felt that he had accomplished his purpose; and at once a wave of fatigue broke through him. “Here.” His voice was hoarse with strain. “Take it.”

“Take—?”

“The Sunstone. It’s yours.”

Torn by this vision of power as if it turned the world he had always known to chaos, Sunder stretched out his hand, touched the bright
orcrest
. When its light did not burn him, he closed his fingers on it as if it were an anchor.

With a groan, Covenant released the wild magic. Instantly the fire went out as if he had severed it from his hand. The Sunstone was extinguished; the room plunged into midnight.

He leaned back against the wall, hugged his pounding arms across his chest. Flares danced along his sight, turning slowly from white to orange and red. He felt exhausted; but he could not rest. He had silenced his power so that the Graveler would have a chance to refuse him. Now he had to meet the cost of his risk. Roughly, he forced out words. “I want to get away from here. Before anything else happens. Before that Raver tries something worse. But we need help. A guide. Somebody who knows the Sunbane. We can’t survive alone. I want you.”

From out of the darkness, Sunder answered as if he were foundering, “I am the Graveler of Mithil Stonedown. My people hold me in their faith. How shall I betray my home to aid you?”

“Sunder,” Covenant replied, striving to convey the extremity of his conviction, “I want to help the Land. I want to save it all. Including Mithil Stonedown.”

For a long moment, the Graveler was silent. Covenant clinched his chest, did not allow himself to beg for Sunder’s aid; but his heart beat over and over again, Please; I need you.

Abruptly Linden spoke in a tone of startling passion. “You shouldn’t have to kill your own mother.”

Sunder took a deep quivering breath. “I do not wish to shed her blood. Or yours. May my people forgive me.”

Covenant’s head swam with relief. He hardly heard himself say, “Then let’s get started.”

For a moment, there was silence in the small room. Sunder remained still, as if he could not force his reluctant bones to act on his decision. Out of the darkness, he breathed thickly, “Thomas Covenant, do not betray me.”

Before Covenant could try to reply, the Graveler turned, eased the curtain aside.

Through the entryway, Covenant saw moonlight in the open center of the Stonedown. Quietly he asked, “What about guards?”

“There are none here.” Sunder’s voice was a rigid whisper. “Lives to be shed are left in the charge of the Graveler. It is fitting that one who will commit sacrifice should keep vigil with those whose blood will be shed. The Stonedown sleeps.”

Covenant clenched himself against his fatigue and the Graveler’s tone. “What about outside the village?”

“Those guards we must evade.”

Grimly Sunder slipped out of the room.

Linden began to follow the Stonedownor. But at Covenant’s side she stopped, said softly, “Do you trust him? He already regrets this.”

“I know,” Covenant responded. In the back of his mind, he cursed the acuity of her hearing. “I wouldn’t trust anybody who didn’t regret a decision like this.”

She hesitated for a moment. She said bitterly, “I don’t think regret is such a virtue.” Then she let herself out into the night.

He stood still, blinking wearily at the dark. He felt wan with hunger; and the thought of what lay ahead sapped the little strength remaining to him. Linden’s severity hurt him. Where had she learned to deny herself the simple humanity of regret?

But he had no time for such things. His need to escape was absolute. Woodenly he followed his companions out of the room.

After the blackness behind him, the moon seemed bright. Sunder and Linden were distinct and vulnerable against the pale walls of the houses, waiting for him. When he joined them, the Graveler turned northward immediately, began moving with barefoot silence between the dwellings. Linden shadowed him; and Covenant stayed within arm’s reach of her back.

As they neared the outer houses, Sunder stopped. He signed for Covenant and Linden to remain where they were. When Covenant nodded, Sunder crept away back into the Stonedown.

Covenant tried to muffle his respiration. At his side, Linden stood with her fists clenched. Her lips moved soundlessly as if she were arguing with her fear. The night was chilly; Covenant’s anxiety left a cold trail down the small of his back.

Shortly Sunder returned, bearing a dark oblong the size of a papaya.
“Mirkfruit,”
he whispered. At once, he moved off again.

Like spectres, the three of them left Mithil Stonedown.

From the last houses, Sunder picked his way toward the valley bottom. He traveled in a hah5 crouch, reducing his silhouette as much as possible. Linden followed his example; she seemed to flit through the moonlight as if she had been born sure-footed. But

Covenant’s toes were numb, and his legs were tired. He stumbled over the uneven ground.

Abruptly Sunder braced his hands on a rock, vaulted down into the long hollow of the riverbed.

Linden jumped after him. Sand absorbed her landing. Swiftly, she joined Sunder in the shadow under the bank.

Covenant hesitated on the edge. Looking downward, he became suddenly queasy with vertigo. He turned his head away. The barren length of the watercourse stretched serpentine out of the mountains on his left toward the South Plains on his right.

Last night, the Mithil River had been full to overflowing.

“Come!” whispered Sunder. “You will be seen.”