The Wounded Land (74 page)

Then his crisis broke over him at last, and he understood. The Dead had taken on definition as if it were the flesh of life, had drifted like a masque of distress to the places which had been their homes. And there, high on the southmost rampart of The Grieve, came the Giant-Raver to appall them.

He shone a lurid green, and his right fist clenched a steaming image of emerald, dead echo of the Illearth Stone. With a deliberate hunger which belied his swiftness, he approached the nearest Giant. She made no effort to escape or resist. The Raver’s fist and Stone passed into her skull, into her mind; and both were torn away with a flash of power.

In silence and rapine, the Giant-Raver moved to his next victim.

The Dead of The Grieve were reenacting their butchery. The flow of their movements, the Giant-Raver’s progress from victim to victim, was as stately as a gavotte; and the flash of each reiterated death glared across the waves without noise or end, punctuating heinously the ghost dance of the Unhomed. Damned by the way they had abandoned the meaning of their lives, they could do nothing in the city which was their one great grave except repeat their doom, utter it again and again across the ages whenever
Coercri
held any eyes to behold their misery.

From room to room the Giant-Raver went, meting out his ancient crime. Soon a string of emeralds covered the highest rampart as each new blast pierced Covenant’s eyes, impaled his vision and his mind like the nails of crucifixion.

And as the masque went on, multiplying its atrocity, the living Giants broke, as he had known they would. His anguish had foreseen it all.
Joy is in the ears that hear
. Yes, but some tales could not be redeemed by the simple courage of the listener, by the willingness of an open heart. Death such as this, death piled cruelly upon death, century after century, required another kind of answer. In their desperation, the living Giants accepted the reply Covenant had provided for them.

Pitchwife led the way. With a sharp wail of aggrievement, he rushed to the bonfire and plunged his arms to the shoulders in among the blazing firewood. Flames slapped his face, bent his head back in a mute howl against the angle of his crippled chest.

Linden cried out. But the
Haruchai
understood, and did not move.

The First joined Pitchwife. Kneeling on the stone, she clamped her hands around a raging log and held it.

Seadreamer did not stop at the edge of the flames. Surging as if the Earth-Sight had deprived him of all restraint, he hurled his whole body into the fire, stood there with the blaze writhing about him like the utterance of his agony.

Caamora
: the ritual fire of grief. Only in such savage physical hurt could the Giants find release and relief for the hurting of their souls.

Covenant had been waiting for this, anticipating and dreading it.
Caamora
. Fire. Foamfollower had walked selflessly into the magma of Hotash Slay and had emerged as the Pure One.

The prospect terrified him. But he had no other solution to the venom in his veins, to the power he could not master, had no other
answer to the long blame of the past. The Dead repeated their doom in The Grieve above him, damned to die that way forever unless he could find some grace for them. Foamfollower had given his life gladly so that Covenant and the Land could live. Covenant began moving, advancing toward the fire.

Brinn and Hergrom opposed him. But then they saw the hope and ruin in his eyes. They stepped aside.

“Covenant!”

Linden came running toward him. But Cail caught her, held her back.

Heat shouted against Covenant’s face like the voice of his destiny; but he did not stop. He could not stop. Entranced and compelled, he rode the mourning of the Sea forward.

Into the fire.

At once, he became wild magic and grief, burning with an intense white flame that no other blaze could touch. Shining like the gem of the
krill
, he strode among the logs and embers to Seadreamer’s side. The Giant did not see him, was too far gone in agony to see him. Remembering Foamfollower’s pain, Covenant thrust at Seadreamer. Wild magic blasted the Giant from the fire, sent him sprawling across the cold stone.

Slowly Covenant looked around at his companions. They were distorted by the flames, gazing at him as if he were a ghoul. Linden’s appalled stare hurt him. Because he could not reply to her in any other way, he turned to his purpose.

He took hold of the wild magic, shaped it according to his will, so that it became his own ritual, an articulation of compassion and rage for all torment, all loss.

Burning he opened himself to the surrounding flames.

They rushed to incinerate him; but he was ready. He mastered the bonfire with argence, bent it to his command. Flame and power were projected outward together, so that the blaze lashed tremendously into the night.

He spread his arms to the city, stretched himself as if he yearned to embrace the whole of The Grieve.

In wild magic, white puissance without sound, he shouted: Come! This is the
caamora
! Come and be healed!

And they came. His might and his will interrupted the masque, broke the
geas
which locked the Dead in their weird damnation. Hearing him, they turned as if they had been waiting through all the long ages of their anguish for his call. In throngs and eagerness, they began flowing down the passages of
Coercri
.

Like a river, they swept out onto the headrock of the piers.

Toward the fire.

The Giant-Raver tried to pursue them. But the breaking of their eternal round seemed to break also his hold over them, break the spell of his maleficent glee. His form frayed as he moved, blurred until he was only a tingling green smear of memory across The Grieve—until he faded into the night, and was lost.

And the Dead continued toward the fire.

The
Haruchai
drew back, taking Linden and the Stonedownors with them. Pitchwife and the First went with aching bones to tend Seadreamer.

Vain did not move. He stood in the path of the Dead and watched Covenant’s immolation with gaiety in his eyes.

But the Dead passed around him, streamed forward. Need and hope shone through their pearl faces.

Reaching out to them as if they were all one, as if they were only Foamfollower in multiform guise, Covenant took them into his embrace, and wept white fire.

The wild magic struck pain into them, seared them the way a physical conflagration would have seared their bodies. Their forms went rigid, jaws stretched, eyes stared—specters screaming in soul-anguish. But the screaming was also laughter.

And the laughter prevailed.

Covenant could not hold them. They came into his arms, but they had no bodies that he could hug. Nothing filled his embrace; no contact or benison restored him to himself. He might have been alone in the fire.

Yet the laughter stayed with him. It was glad mirth, joy and restitution which Foamfollower would have known how to share. It ran in his ears like the Sea and sustained him until everything else was gone—until his power was spent against the heavens, and the night closed over him like all the waters of the world.

The next morning, the
dromond
Starfare’s Gem arrived in a gleam of white sails, as if it had been newly created from the sun’s reflection on the blue Sea. It hove into sight like a stone castle riding gallantly before the wind, beautifully both, swift and massive, matching the grace and strength of the Giants.

Covenant watched its approach from the cliff above
Coercri
. He sat far enough back from the edge to appease his fear of heights, but close enough to have a good view. Linden, Sunder, and Hollian were with him, though he had only asked for the company of the two Stonedownors. Brinn and Cail, Stell and Harn were there also. And Vain had followed Covenant or Linden up through The Grieve, though his blackness offered no explanation of why he had done so. Only Hergrom and Ceer remained below with the Giants.

Earlier Sunder had told Covenant how he had been saved when his power failed. Linden had watched him amid the blaze, reading his wild magic, gauging the limits of his endurance. One moment before the white flame had guttered and gone out, she had shouted a warning. Seadreamer had dashed into the bonfire and had emerged on the far side with Covenant in his arms, unharmed. Even Covenant’s clothing had not been singed.

In the dawn, he had awakened as if from the first irenic sleep of his life. Sunrise had lain across the headrock of the city, lighting the faces of Linden and the First as they sat regarding him. The First had worn her iron beauty as if behind it lay a deep gentleness. But Linden’s gaze was ambiguous, undecided.

In a severe tone, she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do?”

“I didn’t dare,” he replied, giving her the truth. “I was too afraid of it. I couldn’t even admit it to myself.”

She shifted her position, drawing somewhat away from him. “I thought you’d gone crazy.”

He sighed, allowed himself to express at least that much of his loneliness. “Maybe I did. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”

She frowned and fell silent, looking away toward the Sunbirth Sea. After a moment, the First roused herself to speak.

“Thomas Covenant,” she said, “I know not whether in truth the path of the Search lies with you. I have not seen with my own eyes the Sunbane, nor met in my own person the malice of him whom you name the Despiser, nor felt in my own heart the nature of what must be done. But Pitchwife urges that I trust you. Cable Seadreamer has beheld a vision of healing, when he had learned to believe that no healing remained in all the world. And for myself—” She swallowed thickly. “I would gladly follow a man who can so give peace to the damned.

“Giantfriend,” she said, containing her emotion with formality, “the Search will bear you to the land of the
Elohim
. There we believe that knowledge of the One Tree may be gained. If it lies within our doing, we will accompany you to the Tree, hoping for an answer to the peril of the Earth. This we will do in the name of our people, who have been redeemed from their doom.”

She passed a hand over her tears and moved away, leaving him eased, as if it were the outcome of his dreams.

But he arose, because there were still things he had to do, needs to be met, responsibilities to be considered. He spoke to the
Stonedownors, led them to the upper rim of
Coercri
with Linden, the
Haruchai
, and Vain behind him, sat facing the morning and the Sea and the unknown Earth.

Now he would have liked to be alone with the aftermath of his
caamora
. But he could see the time of his departure from the Land arriving. It sailed the same salt wind which ruffled his hair and beard, and he knew he had no choice. Every day, more lives were shed to feed the Sunbane. The Land’s need was a burden he could not carry alone.

For a time, he sat exchanging silence with his companions. But at last he found the will to speak. “Sunder. Hollian.” They sat attentively, as if he had become a figure of awe. He felt like a butcher as he said, “I don’t want you to come with me.”

The eh-Brand’s eyes widened as if he had slapped her without warning or cause. Surprise and pain made Sunder snap, “Ur-Lord?”

Covenant winced, fumbled to apologize. “I’m sorry. This is hard to say. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” He took hold of himself. “There’s something else I want you to do.”

Hollian frowned at him, echoing Sunder’s uncertainty.

“It’s the Sunbane,” he began. “I’m going to leave the Land—try to find the One Tree. So I can replace the Staff of Law. I don’t know what else to do. But the Clave—” He swallowed at the anger rising in his throat. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone, and every day they kill more people. Somebody has to stop them. I want you to do it.”

He stared out to Sea, went on speaking as if he feared the reaction of his friends. “I want you to go back to the Upper Land. To the villages—to every Stonedown or Woodhelven you can find. Tell them the truth about the Clave. Convince them. Make them stop surrendering to the Riders. So the Sunbane won’t destroy everything before I get back.”

“Thomas Covenant.” Sunder’s fists were clenched as if to hold off outrage. “Have you forgotten Mithil Stonedown? Have you forgotten Stonemight Woodhelven? The people of the Land shed strangers to answer their own need for blood. We will convince no one. We will be slain by the first Stonedown we dare to enter.”

“No.” Covenant shook his head flatly. He knew what he meant to do, and felt sure of it. “You’ll have something that will make them listen to you. And you can use it to defend yourselves if you have to.” With both hands, he removed the cloth-wrapped
krill
from under his belt, and extended it toward Sunder.

“Covenant?” The Graveler looked his astonishment at Linden, at Hollian, then back toward Covenant. Linden sat with her eyes downcast, watching the way her fingers touched the stone. But Hollian’s face brightened as if in recognition. “The
krill
is yours,” Sunder murmured, asking for comprehension. “I am a Graveler—nothing more. Of what use is such a periapt to me?”

Deliberately Covenant held out his hope. “I think you can attune yourself to it. The way you did to Memla’s
rukh
. I think you can use the
krill
the way you use the Sunstone. And if you put the two together, you won’t need to shed blood to have power. You can use the
krill
to rouse the
orcrest
. You’ll be able to raise water, grow plants, do it all. Without blood. Any village will listen to that. They won’t try to kill you. They’ll try to keep you.

“And that’s not all. This is power. Proof that the Sunbane isn’t the whole truth. It proves that they have a choice. They don’t have to obey the Clave, don’t have to let themselves be slaughtered.”

With a twitch of his hands, he flung off part of the cloth so that the
krill
shone into the faces of his companions. “Sunder,” he implored. “Hollian. Take it. Convince them. We’re all responsible—all of us who know the na-Mhoram is a Raver. Don’t let the Clave go on killing them.” The light of the
krill
filled his orbs; he could not see how his friends responded. “Give me a chance to save them.”