The Wounded Land (35 page)

Hope? Covenant cried. Mhoram! Don’t you know I’m going to fail?

The next moment, Caer-Caveral’s song came down firmly on the back of his neck, and he was asleep in the thick grass.

When he awoke, his face itched as if the grass had grown into his beard, and his back was warm with midmorning sun.

He raised his head. He was still atop the knoll where he had met Caer-Caveral and the Dead. Andelain lay around him, unfolded like a flower to the sun. But he observed the trees and sky abstractly; the Hills had temporarily lost their power over him. He was too full of ashes to be moved.

He remembered the previous night clearly. He remembered everything about it except the conviction of its reality.

But that lasted for only a moment. When he sat up, changed his range of sight, he saw Vain.

The Demondim-spawn made everything else certain.

He stood just as he had the night before, lightly poised and oblivious. Covenant was struck once again by Vain’s physical perfection. His limbs were smooth and strong; his flesh bore no blemish; he might have been an idealized piece of statuary. He gave no sign that he was aware of Covenant’s awakening, that he was cognizant of Covenant at all. His arms hung relaxed, with the elbows slightly crooked, as if he had been made for readiness but had not yet been brought to life. No respiration stirred his chest; his eyes neither blinked nor shifted.

Slowly Covenant reviewed the other gifts he had been given. They were all obscure to him. But Vain’s solidity conveyed a kind of reassurance. Covenant took his companion as a promise that the other gifts would prove to be equally substantial.

Seeking relief from his sense of loss, he rose to his feet, faced Vain. He considered the dark form briefly, then said, “Foamfollower says you don’t talk. Is that true?”

Vain did not react. An ambiguous smile hung on his lips, but no expression altered the fathomless ebony of his orbs. He might as well have been blind.

“All right,” Covenant muttered. “You don’t speak. I hope the other things he said are true, too, I don’t want to test it. I’m going to put off commanding you as long as I can. If those ur-viles lied—” He frowned, trying to penetrate the mystery of his companion; but no intuition came to his aid. “Maybe Linden can tell me something about you.” Vain’s black gaze did not shift. After a moment, Covenant growled, “I also hope I don’t get in the habit of talking to you. This is ridiculous.”

Feeling vaguely foolish, he glanced at the sun to ascertain his directions, then started down the knoll to begin the journey back to his Mends.

The Demondim-spawn followed a few paces behind him. Vain moved as if he had memorized his surroundings long ago, and no longer needed to take notice of them. In spite of his physical solidity, his steps made no sound, left no impression in the grass.

Covenant shrugged, and set off southwestward through the Hills of Andelain.

By noon, he had eaten enough
aliantha
to comprise a feast, and had begun to recover his joy. Andelain did far more for him than give
comfort to his eyes and ears or provide solace for his loss. Lord Foul had deprived him of the most exquisite pleasure of his previous visit here—the ability to
feel
health like a palpable cynosure in every green and living thing about him. But the Hills seemed to understand his plight, and adjust their appeal to offer him what he could enjoy. The air was refulgent with gay birds. The grass cushioned his feet, so that his knees and thighs felt exuberant at every stride.
Aliantha
nourished him until all his muscles were suffused with vitality.

Thus Andelain transformed his grief, melded it into a granitic sense of purpose. He considered the hazards ahead of him without dread, and swore an implacable oath without fear or fury, an oath that Andelain would not fall while he still had breath or pulse to defend it.

In the middle of the afternoon, he came upon a stream running placidly over a bed of fine sand, and stopped to give himself a bath. He knew that he would not be able to rejoin his companions by nightfall, so he did not begrudge the time. Stripping off his clothes, he scrubbed himself from head to foot with sand until he began to feel clean for the first time in many days.

Vain stood beside the stream as if he had been rooted to that spot all his life. A mischievous impulse came over Covenant; without warning, he slapped a spray of water at the Demondim-spawn. Droplets gleamed on Vain’s obsidian flesh and dripped away, but he betrayed no flicker of consciousness.

Hellfire, Covenant muttered. A touch of prescience darkened his mood. He began almost grimly to wash his clothes.

Soon he was on his way again, with Vain trailing behind him.

He had planned to continue walking until he reached the Mithil valley and his companions. But this night was the dark of the moon, and the stars did not give much light. As the last illumination of evening faded from the air, he decided to stop.

For a time, he had trouble sleeping. An innominate anxiety disturbed his rest. Vain held himself like an effigy of darkness, hinting at dangers. An ur-vile, Covenant growled. He could not trust an ur-vile. They, the Demondim-spawn, were one of the ancient races of the Land; and they had served Lord Foul for millennia. Covenant had been attacked time and again by the roynish creatures. Eyeless and bloodthirsty, they had devoured scores of Wraiths at a time when he had been empty of power. Now he could not believe that the ur-viles which had given Vain to Foamfollower had told the truth.

But the air and grass of Andelain were an elixir that answered his vague distress; and eventually he slept.

He was awake and traveling in the exultation of sunrise. Regret clouded his mood now; he did not want to leave Andelain. But he did not let that slow him. He was concerned for his companions.

Well before noon, he crested the last line of hills above the Mithil River.

He had reached the valley too far east; the old oak at the corner of Andelain was half a league or more away to his right. He moved briskly toward it along the crests, watching intently for a glimpse of his friends.

But when he neared the majestic tree, he could see no sign of Linden, Sunder, or Hollian.

He stopped, scanned the barren region across the Mithil for some sign of his companions. It was larger than he had realized. In his eagerness to enter Andelain, he had paid little attention to the area.
Now he saw that the wrecked rock and dead shale spread some distance south through the hills, and perhaps a league west into the Plains. Nothing grew anywhere in that blasted region; it lay opposite him like a corpse of stone. But its edges were choked by the teeming verdure of the fertile sun. Two periods of fertility without a desert interval between them to clear the ground made the area look like a dead island under green siege.

But of Linden and the two Stonedownors there was no trace.

Covenant pelted down the hillside. He hit the water in a shallow dive, clawed the surface of the Mithil to the south bank. In moments, he stood on the spot where he had said farewell to Linden.

He remembered the place exactly, all the details matched his recollection, it was here, here—! “Linden!” His shout sounded small against the desolation of the rocks, disappeared without echo into the surrounding jungle. “
Linden!
”

He could find no evidence that she had been here, that he had ever had any companions at all.

The sun wore its green carcanet like a smirk of disdain. His mind went blank with dread for a moment. Curses he could not utter beat against his stupefaction. His companions were gone. He had left them, and in his absence something had happened to them. Another Rider? Without him to defend them—! What have I done? Pounding his fists dumbly at each other, he found himself staring into Vain’s unreachable eyes.

The sight jarred him. “They were
here
!” he spat as if the Demondim-spawn had contradicted him. A shudder ran through him, became cold fury. He began to search the region, “They didn’t abandon me. Something chased them off. Or they were captured. They weren’t killed—or badly hurt. There’s no blood.”

He picked a tall pile of boulders and scrambled up it, regardless of his vertigo. Standing precariously atop the rocks, he looked across the River toward the Plains bordering Andelain. But the tangle of the monstrous vegetation was impenetrable; his companions could have been within hailing distance, and he would not have been able to see them. He turned, studied the wreckage south and west of him. That wilderland was rock-littered and chaotic enough to conceal a myriad perils.

“Linden!” he yelled. “Sunder! Hollian!”

His voice fell stricken to the ground. There was no answer.

He did not hesitate. A
geas
was upon him. He descended from the boulders, returned to the place where he had last seen Linden. As he moved, he gathered small stones. With them, he made an arrow on the rock, pointing toward the interior of the wilderland, so that, if his companions returned for him, they would know where he had gone. Then he set off along the line of his arrow.

Vain followed him like an embodied shadow.

Covenant moved rapidly, urgently. His gaze hunted the terrain like a VSE. He wanted to locate or fall prey to whatever was responsible for the disappearance of his Mends. When he knew the nature of the peril, he would know how to respond. So he made no attempt at stealth. He only kept his eyes alert, and went scuttling across the rocks and shale like a man bent on his own destruction.

He drove himself for a league through the ruins before he paused to reconsider his choice of directions. He was badly winded by his exertions; yet Vain stood nearby as if he had never stood anywhere else—indefatigable as stone. Cursing Vain’s blankness or his own mortality, Covenant chose a leaning stone spire, and climbed it to gain a vantage on his surroundings.

From the spire, he saw the rims of a long canyon perhaps half a league due west of him. At once, he decided to turn toward it; it was the only prominent feature in the area.

He slid back down the spire too quickly. As he landed, he missed his balance and sprawled in front of Vain.

When he regained his feet, he and the Demondim-spawn were surrounded by four men.

They were taller than Stonedownors, slimmer. They wore rock-hued robes of a kind which Covenant had learned to associate with Woodhelvennin. But their raiment was ill-kempt. A fever of violence glazed their eyes. Three of them wielded long stone clubs; the fourth had a knife. They held their weapons menacingly, advanced together.

“Hellfire,” Covenant muttered. His hands made unconscious warding gestures. “Hell and blood.”

Vain gazed past the men as if they were trivial.

Malice knotted their faces. Covenant groaned. Did every human being in the Land want to kill him? But he was too angry to retreat. Hoping to take the Woodhelvennin by surprise, he snapped abruptly, “Where’s Linden?”

The man nearest him gave a glint of recognition.

The next instant, one of them charged. Covenant flinched; but the others did not attack. The man sprang toward Vain. With his club, he leveled a smashing blow at Vain’s skull.

The stone burst into slivers. The man cried out, backed away clutching his elbows.

Vain’s head shifted as if he were nodding. He did not acknowledge the strike with so much as a blink of his black eyes. He was uninjured and oblivious.

Amazed uncertainty frightened the other men. A moment later, they started forward with the vehemence of fear.

Covenant had no time for astonishment. He had a purpose of his own, and did not intend to see it fail like this. Before the men had advanced two steps, he spread his arms and shouted, “Stop!” with all the ferocity of his passion.

His cry made the air ring. The men halted.

“Listen!” he rasped. “I’m not your enemy, and I don’t intend to get beaten to death for my innocence!” The man with the knife waved it tentatively. Covenant jabbed a finger in his direction. “I mean it! If you want us, here we are. But you don’t have to kill us.” He was trembling; but the sharp authority in his voice leashed his attackers.

The man who had recognized Linden’s name hesitated, then revealed himself as the leader. “If you resist,” he said tautly, “all Stonemight Woodhelven will arise to slay you.”

Covenant let bitterness into his tone. “I wouldn’t dream of resisting. You’ve got Linden. I want to go wherever she is.”

Angry and suspicious, the man tried to meet Covenant’s glare, but could not. With his club, he pointed toward the canyon. “There.”

“There,” Covenant muttered. “Right.” Turning his back on the Woodhelvennin, he marched off in that direction.

The leader barked an order; and the man with the stunned arms hurried past Covenant. The man knew the rocks and nuns intimately; the path he chose was direct and well-worn. Sooner than he had expected, Covenant was led into a crevice which split the canyon-rim. The floor of the crevice descended steeply before it opened into its destination.

Covenant was surprised by the depth of the canyon. The place resembled a gullet; the rock of the upper edges looked like dark teeth silhouetted against the sky. Unforeseen dangers seemed to crouch,
waiting, in the shadows of the walls. For a moment, he faltered. But his need to find his companions impelled him. As he was steered toward the dwellings of the Woodhelven, he studied everything he could see, searching for information, hope.

He was struck initially by the resemblance between the village and the men who had captured him. Stonemight Woodhelven was slovenly; its inhabitants were the first careless people he had met in the Land. The canyon floor around the houses was strewn with refuse; and the people wore their robes as if they had no interest in the appearance or even the wholeness of their apparel. Many of them looked dirty and ill-used, despite the fact that they were obviously well-fed. And the houses were in a similar condition. The wooden structures were fundamentally sound. Each stood on massive stilts for protection against the force of water which ran through the canyon during a sun of rain; and all had frames of logs as heavy as vigas. But the construction of the walls was sloppy, leaving gaps on all sides; and many of the door-ladders had broken rungs and twisted runners.