But beyond the pressure she read in him, she had conceived a tightness of her own. She had thought of a gift herself, a restitution for which she wanted to ask. If the Elohim could give the entire race of Giants the gift of tongues, they could answer other needs as well.
Like Covenant-and Honninscrave-she did not know what to offer in exchange.
Then the First said, “It is enough.” Though she made no move to touch her sword, or the round shield at her back, or the battle-helm attached to her belt, she conveyed the impression that she was girding herself for combat. Her corselet, leggings, and greaves gleamed like readiness in the early light.
“We are forewarned. Do you counsel that Starfare's Gem be left at anchor here? Surely a longboat will bear us up this Raw if need be.”
Her question forced the Master to examine himself. When he replied, his voice was wary. “It boots nothing for the Search if Starfare's Gem is saved while you and Covenant Giantfriend and the Earth-Sight are lost.” And I do not wish to be left behind, his eyes added.
The First nodded decisively. Her gaze was fixed on the Rawedge Rim; and Linden suddenly realised that the Swordmain was incognisant of the yearning in Honninscrave. “Let us sail.”
For a moment, the Master appeared to hesitate. Conflicting emotions held him: the risk to his ship was tangled up in his other needs. But then he threw back his head as if he were baring his face to a wind of excitement; and commands like laughter sprang from his throat.
At once, the crew responded. The anchors were raised; the loosened sails were sheeted tight. As the wheel came to life, the prow dipped like a nod. Starfare's Gem began to gather headway toward the open mouth of the Raw.
Assigning Shipsheartthew to the Anchormaster, Honninscrave went forward so that he could keep watch over the dromond's safety from the foredeck. Impelled by his own tension, Covenant followed. Brinn, Hergrom, and Ceer joined him, accompanied by all the Giants who were not at work.
Instead of going after them, Linden turned to the First. Her health-sense was a special form of sight, and she felt responsible for what she saw. The Swordmain stood gazing into the Raw as if she were testing the iron of her decision against those cliffs. Without preamble, Linden said, “Honninscrave has something he wants to ask the Elohim.”
The statement took a moment to penetrate the First. But then her eyes shifted toward Linden. Sternly, she asked, “Have you knowledge of it?”
Linden shrugged with a tinge of asperity. She could not descry the content of Honninscrave's thoughts without violating his personal integrity. “I can see it in him. But I don't know what it is. I thought maybe you would.”
The First shook her head as she strove to assess the importance of Linden's words. “It is not my place to question the privacy of his heart.” Then she added, "Yet I thank you for this word. Whatever his desire, he must not barter himself to purchase it."
Linden nodded and left the matter to the First. Hurrying down to the afterdeck, she went forward.
As she reached the foredeck, she saw the Rawedge Rim vaulting into the sky on either side. Starfare's Gem rode swiftly before the wind, though it carried no more than half its sails; and the cliffs seemed to surge closer as if they were reaching out to engulf the dromond. Finding herself a place near the prow, she scanned the Raw as far ahead as she could see, looking for some hint of rocks or shoals; but the water appeared deep and clear until it disappeared beyond a bend. Since its rising, the sun had angled to the south over the range, leaving the channel in shadow. As a result, the water looked as gray and hard as the winterbourne of the mountains. The surface mirrored the granite cliffs rather than the high cerulean sky. It gave her the impression that Starfare's Gem was sailing into an abyss.
Steadily, the dromond slipped ahead. Honninscrave called for the sails to be shortened more. Still the vessel glided with a strange celerity, as if it were being inhaled by the Raw. Now Starfare's Gem was committed. With this wind behind it, it would never be able to turn and retreat. The Giantship went riding into shadow until only the highest sails and Horizonscan held the light. Then they, too, were extinguished, and the dromond seemed to go down into darkness.
As Linden's eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw the gray walls more clearly. The granite looked wounded and unforgiving, as if it had been unnaturally reft to provide this channel and were now waiting in rigid impatience for any upheaval which would allow it to close back over the water, sealing its dire heart from further intrusion. Studying them with her percipience, she knew that these mountains were angry. Affronted. Only the ancient slowness of their life prevented their umbrage from taking palpable form.
And still the dromond moved with eerie quickness. The cliffs gathered the wind at the Giantship's back, and as the Raw narrowed the force of the blow grew. Honninscrave responded by steadily loosening and shortening the canvas. Yet when Linden looked back toward the open Sea, she saw the maw of the channel shrink into the distance. Soon it disappeared altogether as Starfare's Gem passed a bend in the Raw.
But in spite of the bends and narrowing of the channel, Honninscrave and Sevinhand were able to keep their vessel in the centre, where the water was deepest.
Apart from the giving of commands-shouts which resounded off the walls and chased in the wake of the dromond like bitter warnings, helpless wrath-the Giants were hushed. Even Pitchwife's native volubility was rapt in the concentration of the ship. Linden's legs and back grew stiff with tension. The cliffs had risen a thousand feet above her head, and as the channel narrowed they loomed over the Giantship as if they were listening for the one sound which would release them from their ancient paresis, bring them crashing down in fury and vindication.
A league passed as if Starfare's Gem were being drawn inward involuntarily by the dark water. The only light came from the sun's reflection on the northern peaks. For a few moments, the wet, gray silence acquired an undertone as Covenant muttered abstract curses to himself, venting his trepidation. But soon he lapsed as if he were humbled by the way the granite listened to him. The walls continued to crowd ponderously together.
In another league, the channel had become so strait that Starfare's Gem could not have turned to retreat even if the wind had changed. Linden felt that she was having trouble breathing in the gloom. It raised echoes of the other darkness, hints of crisis. The omen of Bareisle came back to her, Powerless, she was being borne with or without volition into a place of power.
Then, unexpectedly, the dromond navigated another bend; and the Raw opened into a wide lagoon like a natural harbour among the mountains. Beyond the lagoon, the Rawedge Rim tried to close, but did not, leaving a wedge of low ground between the cliffs. From the mouth of this valley came a brisk river which fed the lagoon: the Callowwail. Its banks were thickly grown with trees. And on the trees beyond the mouth of the valley, the sun shone.
Yet the lagoon itself was strangely still, All ardour was absorbed into the black depths of the mountain-roots, imposing mansuetude on the confluence of the waters.
And the air, too, seemed peaceful now. Linden found herself breathing the pellucid and crackling scents of autumn as if her lungs were eager for the odd way in which the atmosphere here tasted telic, deliberate-wrested from the dour
Rim and the Raw by powers she could not begin to comprehend.
At a shout from Honninscrave, Sevinhand spun the wheel, turning Starfare's Gem so that its prow faced the channel again, ready for retreat if the wind shifted. Then all the anchors were lowered. Promptly, several Giants moved to detach one of the longboats from its mooring below the rail of the wheeldeck. Like the dromond, the longboat was formed of stone, moire-marked and lithe. After readying its oars, the Giants set the craft into the water.
With a cumulative sigh like a release of shared suspense, the rest of the crew began to move as if they had awakened into a trance. The irenic air seemed to amaze and relieve them. Linden felt vaguely spellbound as she followed Covenant aft. Tasting the atmosphere, she knew that the woods be
yond the mouth of the valley were rife with colour. After the passage of the Raw, she wanted to see those trees.
The First scented the air keenly. Pitchwife was on the verge of laughing aloud, Seadreamer's visage had cleared as if the cloud of Earth-Sight had been temporarily blown from his soul. Even Covenant appeared to have forgotten peril: his eyes burned like fanned coals of hope. Only the Haruchai betrayed no reaction to the ambience. They bore themselves as if they could not be touched. Or as if they saw the effect of the air on their companions-and did not trust it.
Honninscrave faced the valley with his hands knotted. “Have I not said it?” he breathed softly. “Lovely and perilous.” Then, with an effort, he turned to the First. “Let us not delay. It ill becomes us to relate our purpose in this place.”
“Speak of yourself, Master,” Pitchwife replied like a gleam. “I am very well become to stand and savour such air as this.”
The First nodded as if she were agreeing with her husband. But then she addressed Honninscrave. “It is as you have said. We four, with Covenant Giantfriend, the Chosen, and their Haruchai, will go in search of these Elohim. Caution Sevinhand Anchormaster to give no offense to any being who may chance upon him here.”
The Master bowed in acknowledgment, started toward the wheeldeck. But the First stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“You also I will caution,” she said quietly. “We must be wary of what we attempt to buy and sell with these folk. I will have no offers made, or gifts asked, without my consent.”
At once, Honninscrave’s mien hardened. Linden thought that he would refuse to understand. But he chose a different denial. “This life is mine. I will barter with it as I desire.”
Covenant looked at the Giants with guesses leaping in his gaze. In a tone of studied nonchalance, he said, “Hile Troy felt the same way. So far, it's cost him more than three thousand years.”
“No.” The First ignored Covenant, met Honninscrave squarely. “It is not yours. You are the Master of Starfare's Gem, sworn and dedicate to the Search. I will not lose you.”
Rebellions tautened Honninscrave's forehead, emphasizing the way his brows buttressed his eyes. But after a moment he acceded, “I hear you.” His voice was roughed by conflict. Turning, he went to give his commands to Sevinhand.
The First studied his back as he departed. When he was gone, she spoke to Linden. “Observe him well, Chosen. Inform me of what you see. I must not lose him.”
Not lose him, Linden echoed. Her answering nod had no meaning. If Honninscrave was in danger, then so was she.
While the Master conferred with Sevinhand, a rope-ladder was secured above the longboat. As soon as Honninscrave was ready, Ceer and Hergrom swarmed down to the craft to hold the ladder for the rest of the company. Seadreamer joined them, seated himself at the first set of oars. The First's blunt nod sent Pitchwife after Seadreamer. Then she turned to Covenant and Linden, waiting for them.
Linden felt a sharp emanation of abashment from Covenant. “I'm no good at ladders,” he muttered awkwardly. The fumbling of his hands indicated both their numbness and his old vertigo. But then he shrugged. “So what? Brinn can always catch me.” With his shoulders clenched, he moved to the railing.
Brinn went protectively ahead of the Unbeliever. Bracing his arms on either side of Covenant, he kept the ur-Lord as safe as a hammock. Vaguely, Linden wondered if there were any danger the Haruchai could not match. That they judged her for her weaknesses should have been no surprise.
When her turn came, she followed Cail downward. Pitchwife steadied her as she dropped into the bottom of the slightly rocking boat. Carefully, she seated herself opposite Covenant.
The next moment, a shout of surprise and warning echoed off the dromond. Vain came lightly over the side, descending the ladder as easily as a born sailor. Yet as soon as he was aboard the longboat he lapsed back into immobility.
The First and Honninscrave followed at once, anticipating trouble. But Vain did not react to them. She looked at Covenant: he answered with a shrug of disavowal. She frowned as if she wanted to heave Vain overboard; but instead she sat down dourly in the stern of the longboat.
Honninscrave took the other set of oars. Stroking together, the two brothers sent the craft skimming toward the shore near the mouth of the Callowwail.
As they rode, Linden tried to do something to ease or distract Covenant's knotted rigidity. Because she could think of nothing new to say about Vain, she commented instead, “You've talked about Hile Troy before. The Forestal of Andelain. But you never told me what happened to him.”
Covenant seemed unable to take his eyes away from the Rim. “I wasn't there.” Or perhaps he did not want to acknowledge the point of her question. "The story is that he and Mhoram tried to bargain with Caerroil Wildwood, the Forestal of Garroting Deep. Troy's army was caught between one of Foul's Giant-Ravers and Garroting Deep. In those days, the Forestal killed anyone who had the gall to set foot in his forest. Troy wanted to save his army by luring the Giant-Raver into the Deep. He and Mhoram were trying to bargain for a safe-conduct.
“Caerroil Wildwood said there was a price for his help. Troy didn't ask any questions. He just said he'd pay it.”
With a grimace, Covenant looked at Linden. He was glaring, but his ire was not directed toward her. “The price was Troy's life. He was transformed into some sort of apprentice Forestal. Ever since, he's been living the life Caerroil Wildwood chose for him.” Covenant's hot stare reminded her that he was a man who had already paid extravagant prices. He meant to pay them again, if he had to.
Shortly, the longboat ground into the shingle which edged the lagoon. Ceer and Hergrom sprang out to hold the craft as the others disembarked. While Honninscrave and Seadreamer secured the longboat, Linden climbed to the first fringe of the grass which led away into the trees. The air felt stronger here-a crisp and tranquil exudation from the valley ahead. Her nose thrilled to the piquant scents of fall. A backward glance showed her the Giantship. It appeared small against the dark uprise of the Rawedge Rim. With its sails furled, its masts and spars stark in the half-light, it looked like a toy on the still surface of the lagoon.
Covenant stood near her. His stiff frown could not conceal the moiling within him; venom; power; people dying in the Land; doubt. They were a volatile mixture, crowding close to deflagration. She wondered if he were truly prepared to sell himself to gain access to the One Tree. Yes, she could see that he was. But if the Elohim were not to be trusted-?
Honninscrave interrupted her thoughts. With Pitchwife, the First, and Seadreamer, he came up the shingle in long Giantish strides. Then he gestured toward the trees. “Yonder lies Woodenwold,” he said in a tight voice. “Our way is there, along the Callowwail. I adjure you to touch nothing. Harm nothing! In this place, appearances deceive. Mayhap Woodenwold is another thorp of the Elohim, like unto Elemesnedene itself.”
Covenant scowled in that direction. "How much farther? When are we going to meet these Elohim?'
The Master's reply was sharp. “We will not meet them. Perchance they will elect to meet us. If we give them no offense.”
Covenant met Honninscrave's hard gaze. After a moment, the Unbeliever nodded, swallowing the bile of his thoughts.
No one stirred. The air seemed to hold them back, urging them to accept this gentleness and be content. But then Ceer and Hergrom started forward; and the stasis of the company was broken. The First and Honninscrave went after the two Haruchai, followed by Linden and Covenant, Cail and Brinn, Seadreamer and Pitchwife. And behind them came Vain, walking as if he were blind and deaf. In this formation, they approached the River Callowwail and the marge of Woodenwold.
As they neared the trees, Hergrom and Ceer found a natural way along the riverbank. Soon the quest was among the woods, moving toward sunlight. Woodenwold was dense with oak and sycamore, ash and maple punctuated by willow, old cottonwood, and young mimosa. In the shadow of the Rim, they shared the mood of the dour stone: their browns and greens wer
e underscored by gray and ire. But when the sun touched them, they sprang instantly into vibrant autumn blazonry. Crossing the shadowline, the companions passed from gray into glory. Woodenwold was an ignition of colour-flaming red and orange, sparkling yellow, russet and warm brown. And leaves danced about their feet as they walked, wreathing their legs in gay anadems so that they seemed to trail fire and loveliness at every step. Among them, Linden walked as if each stride carried her farther from her mortality.
The distance passed without effort as the mountains retreated on either hand to make room for the valley. The River Callowwail chuckled like the glee of leaves beside the company. It was not a wide river, but its depths were full of life and sun-spangles. Its waters shone like a new birth. The light of midday gleamed, clinquant and refulgent, on every tree bough and swath of grass.
Around her, Linden thought she heard the sound of bells. They rang delicately in the distance, enhancing the woods with music. But none of her companions appeared to notice the chiming; and she could not stop to question it. It felt like the language of the trees, tanging and changing until it formed words she almost understood, though the meaning slipped away into music whenever she tried to grasp it. The bells were as lovely as the leaves; and yet in a vague way they disquieted her. She was troubled by an intuitive sense that she needed to comprehend them.
Ahead of her, Woodenwold was thinning, opening, The trees spread north and south around the foothills of the Rim; but along the Callowwail, Woodenwold faded into a sun-yellow lea which filled the whole bottom of the valley. Between the company and the mountains, purple with distance, which closed the east lay one wide bowl of golden grass, marked only by the line of the Callowwail as it curved slowly northeastward toward its source.
Honninscrave halted among the last trees. Indicating the lea, he said, “This the Elohim name the maidan of Elemesnedene. At its centre lies the clachan itself, the spring and fountain of the Callowwail. But that clachan we will never find without the guidance of the Elohim. If they do not choose to meet us, we will wander the maidan as it were a maze, and there we will leave our bones to nourish the grass.”
The One Tree t2cotc-2 Page 12