The Wounded Land (43 page)

Then the passageway became a spiral stair which rose to a small round chamber. No egress was visible; but Hamako placed his hands against a section of the wall, barked several Waynhim words, and thrust outward. The stone divided along an unseen crack and opened.

Leaving the chamber, Covenant found himself under the stars. Along the eastern horizon, the heavens had begun to pale. Dawn was approaching. At the sight, he felt an unexpected reluctance to leave the safety and wonder of the Waynhim demesne. Grimly he tightened his resolve. He did not look back when Hamako sealed the entrance behind him.

Vague in the darkness, Hamako led him through an impression of large, crouching shapes to a relatively open area. There he sat down, facing the east. As he joined Hamako, Covenant discovered that they were on a flat expanse of rock—protection against the first touch of the Sunbane.

Vain stood off to one side as if he neither knew nor cared about the need for such protection.

“Now I will speak,” Hamako said. His words went softly into the night. “Have no fear of the Sunbane-warped who sought your life. Never again will they enter this place. That much at least of mind and fear they retain.” His tone suggested that he held the area sacred to some private and inextinguishable sorrow.

Covenant settled himself to listen; and after a deep pause Hamako began.

“A vast gulf,” he breathed, a darker shape amid the dark crouching of the night, “lies between creatures that are born and those that are made. Born creatures, such as we are, do not suffer torment at the simple fact of physical form. Perhaps you desire keener sight, greater might of arm, but the embodiment of eyes and limbs is not anguish to you. You are born by Law to be as you are. Only a madman loathes the nature of his birth.

“It is far otherwise with the Waynhim. They were made—as the ur-viles were made—by deliberate act in the breeding dens of the Demondim. And the Demondim were themselves formed by lore rather than blood from the Viles who went before them. Thus the Waynhim are not creatures of law. They are entirely alien in the world. And they are unnaturally long of life. Some among this
rhysh
remember the Lords and the ancient glory of Revelstone. Some tell the tale of the five
rhysh
which fought before the gates of Revelstone in the great siege—and of the blue Lord who rode to their aid in folly and valor. But let that pass.

“The numbers of the Waynhim are only replenished because the ur-viles continue the work of their Demondim makers. Much breeding is yet done in the deeps of the Earth, and some are ur-viles, some Waynhim—and some are altogether new, enfleshed visions of lore and power. Such a one is your companion. A conscious making to accomplish a chosen aim.”

In the east, the sky slowly blanched. The last stars were fading. The shapes around Covenant and Hamako grew more distinct, modulating toward revelation.

“That is the Weird of all Demondim-spawn. Each Waynhim and ur-vile beholds itself and sees that it need not have been what it is. It is the fruit of choices it did not make. From this fact both Waynhim and ur-viles draw their divergent spirits. It has inspired in the ur-viles a quenchless loathing for their own forms and an overweening lust for
perfection, for the power to create what they are not. Their passion is extreme, careless of costs. Therefore they have given millennia of service to the Despiser, for Lord Foul repays them with both knowledge and material for their breedings. Thus comes your companion.

“And therefore the Waynhim have been greatly astonished to find no ill in him. He is an—an apotheosis. In him, it appears that the ur-viles have at last transcended their unscrupuling violence and achieved perfection. He is the Weird of the ur-viles incarnate. More of him I may not say.

“But the spirit of the Waynhim is different entirely. They are not reckless of costs; from the great Desecration which Kevin Landwaster and Lord Foul conceived upon the Land, they learned a horror of such passions. They foresaw clearly the price the ur-viles paid, and will ever pay, for self-loathing, and they turned in another way. Sharing the Weird, they chose to meet it differently. To seek self-justification.”

Hamako shifted his position, turned more squarely toward the east.

“In the Waynhim tongue, Weird has several meanings. It is fate or destiny—but it is also choice, and is used to signify council or decision-making. It is a contradiction—fate and choice. A man may be fated to die, but no fate can determine whether he will die in courage or cowardice. The Waynhim choose the manner in which they meet their doom.

“In their loneness, they have chosen to serve the Law of which they do not partake. Each
rhysh
performs its own devoir. Thus the garden and the animals. In defiance of the Sunbane and all Lord Foul’s ill, this
rhysh
seeks to preserve things which grow by Law from natural seed, in the form which they were born to hold. Should the end of Sunbane ever come, the Land’s future will be assured of its natural life.”

Covenant listened with a tightness in his throat. He was moved by both the scantness and the nobility of what the Waynhim were doing. In the myriad square leagues which comprised the vast ruin of the Sunbane, one cavern of healthy plants was a paltry thing. And yet that cavern represented such commitment, such faith in the Land, that it became grandeur. He wanted to express his appreciation, but could find no adequate words. Nothing could ever be adequate except the repeal of the Sunbane, allowing the Waynhim to have the future they served. The fear that their self-consecration might prove futile in the end blurred his vision, made him cover his eyes with his hands.

When he looked up again, the sun was rising.

It came in pale brown across the Plains, a desert sun. Land features were lifted out of darkness as the night bled away. When he glanced about him, he saw that he was sitting in the center of a wrecked Stonedown.

Houses lay in rubble; lone walls stood without ceilings to support; architraves sprawled like corpses; slabs of stone containing windows canted against each other. At first, he guessed that the village had been hit by an earthquake. But as the light grew stronger, he saw more clearly.

Ragged holes the size of his palm riddled all the stone as if a hail of vitriol had fallen on the village, chewing through the ceilings until they collapsed, tearing the walls into broken chunks, burning divots out of the hard ground. The place where he sat was pocked with acid marks. Every piece of rock in the area which had ever stood upright had been sieved into ruin.

“Hellfire!” he murmured weakly. “What happened here?”

Hamako had not moved; but his head was bowed. When he spoke, his tone said plainly that he was acutely familiar with the scene. “This also I desire to tell,” he sighed. “For this purpose I brought you here.”

Behind him, a hillock cracked and opened, revealing within it the chamber from which he and Covenant had left the underground corridors. Eight Waynhim filed into the sunrise, closing the entrance after them. But Hamako seemed unaware of them.

“This is During Stonedown, home of the Sunbane-warped who sought your life. They are my people.”

The Waynhim ranged themselves in a circle around Hamako and Covenant. After an initial glance, Covenant concentrated on Hamako. He wanted to hear what the man was saying.

“My people,” the former Stonedownor repeated. “A proud people—all of us. A score of turnings of the moon ago, we were hale and bold. Proud. It was a matter of great pride to us that we had chosen to defy the Clave.

“Mayhap you have heard of the way in which the Clave acquires blood. All submit to this annexation, as did we for many generations. But it was gall and abhorrence to us, and at last we arose in refusal. Ah, pride. The Rider departed from us, and During Stonedown fell under the na-Mhoram’s
Grim
.”

His voice shuddered. “It may be that you have no knowledge of such abominations. A fertile sun was upon us, and we were abroad from our homes, planting and reaping our sustenance—recking little of our peril. Then of a sudden the green of the sun became black—blackest ill—and a fell cloud ran from Revelstone toward During Stonedown, crossing against the wind.”

He clenched his hand over his face, gripping his forehead in an effort to control the pain of memory.

“Those who remained in their homes—infants, mothers, the injured and the infirm—perished as During Stonedown perished, in agony. All the rest were rendered homeless.”

The events he described were vivid to him, but he did not permit himself to dwell on them. With an effort of will, he continued, “Then despair came upon us. For a day and a night, we wandered the brokenness of our minds, heeding nothing. We had not the heart to heed. Thus the Sunbane took my people unprotected. They became as you have seen them.

“Yet I was spared. Stumbling alone in my loss—bemoaning the death of wife and daughter—I came by chance upon three of the Waynhim ere the sun rose. Seeing my plight, they compelled me to shelter.”

He raised his head, made an attempt to clear his throat of grief. “From that time, I have lived and worked among the
rhysh
, learning the tongue and lore and Weird of the Waynhim. In heart and will, I have become one of them as much as a man may. But if that were the extent of my tale”—he glanced painfully at Covenant—“I would not have told it. I have another purpose.”

Abruptly he stood and gazed around the gathered Waynhim. When Covenant joined him, he said, “Thomas Covenant, I say to you that I have become of the Waynhim. And they have welcomed me as kindred. More. They have made my loss a part of their Weird. The Sunbane-warped live dire lives, committing all possible harm ere they die. In my name, this
rhysh
has taken upon itself the burden of my people. They are watched and warded—preserved from hurt, sustained in life—prevented from wreaking the damage of their wildness. For my sake, they are kept much as the animals are kept, both aided and controlled. Therefore they remain alive in such numbers. Therefore the
rhysh
was unwilling to
redeem
dhraga
. And therefore”—he looked squarely at Covenant—“both
rhysh
and I are to blame for the harm you suffered.”

“No,” Covenant protested. “It wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for things you can’t foresee.”

Hamako brushed this objection aside. “The Waynhim did not foresee their own creation. Yet the Weird remains.” But then, somehow, he managed a smile. “Ah, Covenant,” he said, “I do not speak for any love of blame. I desire only your comprehension.” He gestured around him. “The Waynhim have come to offer their aid in pursuit of your companions. I wish you to know what lies behind this offer, so that you may accept it in the spirit of its giving, and forgive us for what we have withheld from you.”

A surge of respect and empathy blurred Covenant’s responses again. Because he had no other way to express what he felt, he said formally, as Atiaran had taught him, “I thank you. The giving of this gift honors me. Accepting it, I return honor to the givers.” Then he added, “You’ve earned the right.”

Slowly the strain faded from Hamako’s smile. Without releasing Covenant’s gaze, he spoke to the Waynhim; and they answered in a tone of readiness. One of them stepped forward, placed something in his hand. When Hamako raised his hand, Covenant saw that the object was a stone dirk.

He winced inwardly. But Hamako’s smile was the smile of a friend. Seeing Covenant’s uncertainty, the man said, “There is no harm for you in this. May I have your hand?”

Consciously repressing a tremor, Covenant extended his right hand, palm downward.

Hamako grasped his wrist, looked for a moment at the scars left by Joan’s nails, then abruptly drew a cut across the veins.

Covenant flinched; but Hamako held him, did not permit him to withdraw.

His anxiety turned to amazement as he saw that the cut did not bleed. Its edges opened, but no blood came from the wound.

Dhraga
approached. Its broken arm hung in a splint, but its other wounds were healing.

It raised its uninjured hand. Carefully Hamako made an incision in the exposed palm. At once, dark blood swarmed down
dhraga
’s forearm.

Without hesitation, the Waynhim reached out, placed its cut directly on Covenant’s. Hot blood smeared the back of his hand.

At that instant, he became aware of the other Waynhim. They were chanting softly in the clear desert dawn. Simultaneously strength rushed up his arm, kicked his heart like a burst of elation. He felt suddenly taller, more muscular. His vision seemed to expand, encompassing more of the terrain. He could easily have wrested free of Hamako’s grasp. But he had no need to do so.

Dhraga
lifted its hand away.

The bleeding had stopped. Its blood was being sucked into his cut.

Dhraga
withdrew. Hamako gave the dirk to
durhisitar
. While d
urhisitar
cut its palm just as
dhraga
’s had been cut, Hamako said, “Soon the power will come to appear unbearable, but I ask you to bear it. Remain quiet until all the Waynhim have shared this giving. If the ritual is completed, you will have the strength you require for a day—perhaps two.”

Durhisitar
put its cut upon Covenant’s. More might surged into him. He felt abruptly giddy with energy, capable of anything, everything. His incision absorbed
durhisitar
’s blood. When the creature stepped back, he could hardly hold himself still for the next Waynhim.

Only after the third infusion did he realize that he was receiving something more than power.
Dhraga
he had recognized by its injuries—but how had he known
durhisitar
? He had never looked closely at that particular Waynhim. Yet he had known it by name, just as he knew the third Waynhim,
dhubha
, and the fourth,
vraith
. He felt ecstatic with knowledge.

Drhami
was fifth;
ghohritsar
, sixth. He was dancing with uncontainable might. Hamako’s knuckles whitened; but his grip had the weight of a feather. Covenant had to leash himself firmly to keep from exploding free and cavorting around the ruins like a wild man. The range of his hearing had become so wide that he could hardly distinguish words spoken nearby.