The One Tree t2cotc-2

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Covenant followed because Brinn's grasp on his arm compelled him to place one foot in front of the other reflexively, as if he were capable of choosing to commit such an act.

  Rire Grist took them down to the Second Circinate. In the depths of that level behind the immense forecourt or ballroom, he guided them along complex and gaily lit passages, among bright halls and chambers-sculleries and kitchens, music rooms, ateliers, and galleries-where the company encountered many of the Chatelaine who now contrived to mask their fear. At last he brought the questers to a long corridor marked at intervals by doors which opened into a series of comfortable bedrooms. One room had been set aside for each member of the company. Across the hall was a larger chamber richly furnished with settees and cushions. There the companions were invited to a repast displayed on tables intricately formed of bronze and mahogany.

  But at the doorway of each bedroom stood one of the hustin, armed with its spear and broadsword; and two more waited near the tables of food like attendants or assassins. Rire Grist himself made no move to leave. This was insignificant to Covenant. Like the piquant aromas of the food, the unwashed musk of the Guards, it was a fact devoid of content. But it tightened the muscles of Honninscrave's arms, called a glint of ready ire from the First's eyes, compressed Linden's mouth into a white line. After a moment, the Chosen addressed Rire Grist with a scowl.

  “Is this another sample of the gaddhi's welcome? Guards all over the place?”

  “Chosen, you miscomprehend.” The Caitiffin had recovered his equilibrium. “The hustin are creatures of duty, and these have been given the duty of serving you. If you desire them to depart, they will do so. But they will remain within command, so that they may answer to your wants.”

  Linden confronted the two Guards in the chamber. “Get out of here.”

  Their bestial faces betrayed no reaction; but together they marched out into the hall.

  She followed them. To all the hustin, she shouted, “Go away! Leave us alone!”

  Their compliance appeased some of her hostility. When she returned, her weariness was apparent. Again, the emotion she aroused made Covenant speak. But his companions had become accustomed to his litany and gave it no heed.

  “I also will depart,” the Caitiffin said, making a virtue of necessity. “As occasion requires, I will bring you word of the gaddhi's will, or his Kemper's. Should you have any need of me, summon the Guard and speak my name. I will welcome any opportunity to serve you.”

  Linden dismissed him with a tired shrug; but the First said, “Hold yet a moment, Caitiffin.” The expression in her eyes caused his mien to tense warily. “We have seen much which we do not comprehend, and thereby we are disquieted. Ease me with one answer.” Her tone suggested that he would be wise to comply. “You have spoken of fourscore hundred Guards-of fifteenscore Horse. Battleremes we have seen aplenty. Yet the Sandgorgons are gone to their Doom. And the Kemper's arts are surely proof against any insurgence. What need has Rant Absolain for such might of arms?”

  At that, Rire Grist permitted himself a slight relaxation, as if the question were a safe one. “First of the Search,” he replied, “the answer lies in the wealth of Bhrathairealm. No small part of that wealth has been gained in payment from other rulers or peoples for the service of our arms and ships. Our puissance earns much revenue and treasure. But it is a precarious holding, for our wealth teaches other lands and monarchs to view us jealously. Therefore our strength serves also to preserve what we have garnered since the formation of Sandgorgons Doom.”

  The First appeared to accept the plausibility of this response. When no one else spoke, the Caitiffin bowed his farewell and departed. At once, Honninscrave closed the door; and the room was filled with terse, hushed voices.

  The First and Honninscrave expressed their misgivings. Linden described the power of the Kemper's ocular, the unnatural birth of the hustin. Brinn urged that the company return immediately to Starfare's Gem. But Honninscrave countered that such an act might cause the gaddhi to rescind his welcome before the dromond was sufficiently supplied or repaired. Linden cautioned her companions that they must not trust Rire Grist. Vain and Findail stood aloof together.

  With signs and gestures, Seadreamer made Honninscrave understand what he wanted to know; and the Master asked

  Brinn how the Haruchai had withstood Kasreyn's geas. Brinn discounted that power in a flat tone. “He spoke to me with his gaze. I heard, but did not choose to listen.” For a moment, he gave Linden a look as straight as an accusation. She bit her lower lip as if she were ashamed of her vulnerability. Covenant witnessed it all. It passed by him as if he were insensate.

  The company decided to remain in the Sandhold as long as they could, so that Pitchwife and Sevinhand would have as much time as possible to complete their work. Then the Giants turned to the food. When Linden had examined it, pronounced it safe, the questers ate. Covenant ate when Brinn put food in his mouth; but behind his emptiness he continued to watch and listen. Dangerous spots of colour accentuated Linden's cheeks, and her eyes were full of potential panic, as if she knew that she was being cornered. Covenant had to articulate Ms warning several times to keep the trouble at bay.

  After that, the time wore away slowly, eroded in small increments by the tension of the company; but it made no impression on Covenant. He might have forgotten that time existed. The toll of days held no more meaning for him than a string of beads-although perhaps it was a preterite memory of bloodshed, rising like blame from the distance of the Land, which caused his vague uneasinesses; rising thicker every day as people he should have been able to save were butchered. Certainly, he had no more need for the One Tree. He was safe as he was.

  His companions alternately rested, waited, stirred restlessly, spoke or argued quietly with each other. Linden could not dissuade Brinn from sending Ceer or Hergrom out to explore the Sandhold. The Haruchai no longer heeded her. But when the First supported Linden, they acceded, approving her insistence that the company should stay together.

  Vain was as detached as Covenant. But the long pain did not leave Findail's face; and he studied Covenant as if he foresaw some crucial test for the Unbeliever.

  Later, Rire Grist returned, bearing an invitation for the company to attend the Chatelaine in banquet. Linden did not respond. The attitude of the Haruchai had drained some essential determination out of her. But the First accepted; and the company followed the Caitiffin to a high bright dining-hall where bedizened ladies and smirking gallants talked and riposted, vied and feasted, to the accompaniment of soft music. The plain attire of the questers contrasted with the self-conscious display around them; but the Chatelaine reacted as though the company were thereby made more sapid and attractive-or as though the gaddhi's court feared to behave otherwise.

  Men surrounded Linden with opportunities for dalliance, blind to the possible hysteria in her mien. Women plied the impassive Haruchai determinedly. The Giants were treated to brittle roulades of wit. Neither the gaddhi nor his Kemper appeared; but hustin stood against the walls like listening-posts, and even Honninscrave's most subtle questions gleaned no useful information. The foods were savoury; the wines, copious. As the evening progressed, the interchanges of the Chatelaine became more burlesque and corybantic. Seadreamer stared about him with glazed eyes, and the First's visage was a thunderhead. At intervals, Covenant spoke his ritual repudiation.

  His companions bore the situation as long as they could, then asked Rire Grist to return them to their quarters. He complied with diplomatic ease. When he had departed, the company confronted the necessity for sleep.

  Bedrooms had been provided for them all; and each contained only a single bed. But the questers made their own arrangements. Honninscrave and Seadreamer took one room together; the First and Ceer shared another. Linden cast one last searching look at Covenant, then went to her rest with Cail to watch over her. Brinn drew Covenant into the next chamber and put him to bed, leaving Hergrom on guard in the hall with Vain and Findail.
When Brinn doused the light, Covenant reflexively closed his eyes.

  The light returned, and he opened his eyes. But it was not the same light. It came from a small gilt cruse in the hand of a woman. She wore filmy draperies as suggestive as mist; her lush yellow hair spilled about her shoulders. The light spread hints of welcome around her figure.

  She was the Lady Alif, one of the gaddhi's Favoured.

  Raising a playful finger to her lips, she spoke softly to Brinn. "You need not summon your companions. Kasreyn of the Gyre desires speech with Thomas Covenant. Your accompaniment is welcome. Indeed, all your companions are welcome, should you think it meet to rouse them. The Kemper has repented of his earlier haste. But wherefore should they be deprived of rest? Surely you suffice to ward Thomas Covenant's safety."

  Brinn's countenance betrayed no reaction. He measured the risk and the opportunity of this new ploy impassively.

  While he considered, the Lady Alif stepped to his side. Her movements were too soft and unwily to be dangerous. Tiny silver bells tinkled around her ankles. Then her free hand opened, exposing a small mound of fulvous powder. With a sudden breath, she blew the powder into Brinn's face.

  One involuntary inhalation of surprise undid him. His knees folded, and he sank in a slow circle to the floor.

  At once, the Lady swept toward Covenant, smiling with desire. When she pulled him by the arm, he rose automatically from the bed. “Don't touch me,” he said; but she only smiled and smiled, and drew him toward the door.

  In the corridor, he saw that Hergrom lay on the stone like Brinn. Vain faced Linden's chamber, observing nothing. But Findail watched the Lady Alif and Covenant with an assaying look.

  The gaddhi's Favoured took Covenant away from the bedrooms.

  As they moved, he heard a door open, heard bare feet running almost silently as one of the Haruchai came in pursuit. Ceer or Cail must have sensed the sopor of Brinn and Hergrom and realised that something was wrong.

  But beyond the last door, the stone of the walls altered, became mirrors. The Lady led Covenant between the mirrors. In an instant, their images were exactly reflected against them from both sides. Image and image and flesh met, fused. Before the Haruchai could catch them, Covenant and his guide were translated to an altogether different part of the Sandhold.

  Stepping between two mirrors poised near the walls, they entered a large round chamber. It was comfortably lit by three or four braziers, seductively appointed like a disporting-place. The fathomless blue rugs asked for the pressure of bare feet; the velvet and satin cushions and couches urged abandon. A patina of incense thickened the air. Tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes like echoes of lust. Only the two armed hustin, standing opposite each other against the walls, marred the ambience. But they made no impression on Covenant. They were like the spiralling ironwork stairway which rose from the centre of the chamber. He looked at them and thought nothing.

  “Now at last,” said the Lady with a sigh like a shiver of relish, “at last we are alone.” She turned to face him. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips. “Thomas Covenant, my heart is mad with desire for you.” Her eyes were as vivid as kohl could make them. “I have brought you here, not for the Kemper's purpose, but for my own. This night will be beyond all forgetting for you. Every dream of your life I will awaken and fulfil.”

  She studied him for some response. When none came, she hesitated momentarily. A flicker of distaste crossed her face. But then she replaced it with passion and spun away. Crying softly, “Behold!” as if every line of her form were an ache of need, she began to dance.

  Swaying and whirling to the rhythm of her anklets, she performed her body before him with all the art of a proud odalisque. Portraying the self-loss of hunger for him, she danced closer to him, and away, and closer again; and her hands caressed her thighs, her belly, her breasts as if she were summoning the fire in her flesh. At wily intervals, pieces of her raiment wafted in perfume and gauze to settle like an appeal among the cushions. Her skin had the texture of silk. The nipples of her breasts were painted and hardened like announcements of desire; the muscles within her thighs were smooth and flowing invitations.

  But when she flung her arms around Covenant, pressed her body to his, kissed his mouth, his lips remained slack. He did not need to utter his refrain. He saw her as if she did not exist.

  His lack of reply startled her; and the surprise allowed a pure fear to show in her eyes. “Do you not desire me?” She bit her lips, groping for some recourse. “You must desire me!”

  She tried to conceal her desperation with brazenness; but every new attempt to arouse him only exposed her dread of failure more plainly. She did everything which experience or training could suggest. She stopped at no prostration or appeal which might conceivably have attracted a man. But she could not penetrate his Elohim-wrought emptiness. He was as impervious as if their purpose had been to defend rather than harm him.

  Abruptly, she wailed in panic. Her fingers made small creeping movements against her face like spiders. Her loveliness had betrayed her. “Ah, Kemper,” she moaned. “Have mercy! He is no man. How could a man refuse what I have done?”

  The effort of articulation pulled Covenant's countenance together for a moment. “Don't touch me.”

  At that, humiliation gave her the strength of anger. “Fool!” she retorted. “You destroy me, and it will avail you nothing. The Kemper will reduce me to beggary among the public houses of Bhrathairain for this failure, but he will not therefore spare you. You he will rend limb from limb to gain his ends. Were you man enough to answer me, then at least would you have lived. And I would have given you pleasure.” She struck out at him blindly, lashing her hand across his bearded cheek. “Pleasure.”

  “Enough, Alif.” The Kemper's voice froze her where she stood. He was watching her and Covenant from the stairs, had already come halfway down them. “It is not for you to harm him.” From that elevation, he appeared as tall as a Giant; yet his arms looked frail with leanness and age. The child cradled at his back did not stir “Return to the gaddhi.” His tone held no anger, but it cast glints of malice into the room. “I have done with you. From this time forth, you will prosper or wane according to his whim. Please him if you can.”

  His words condemned her; but this doom was less than the one she had feared, and she did not quail. With a last gauging look at Covenant, she drew herself erect and moved to the stairs, leaving her apparel behind with a disdain which bordered on dignity.

  When she was gone, Kasreyn told one of the Guards to bring Covenant. Then he returned upward.

  The husta closed a clawed hand around Covenant's upper arm. A prescient tremor forced him to repeat his litany several times before he found ease. The stairs rose like the gyre of Sandgorgons Doom, bearing him high into the seclusion of Kemper's Pitch. When they ended, he was in the lucubrium where Kasreyn practiced his arts.

  Long tables held theurgical apparatus of every kind. Periapts and vials of arcane powders lined the walls. Contrivances of mirrors made candles appear incandescent. Kasreyn moved among them, preparing implements. His hands clenched and unclosed repeatedly to vent his eagerness. His rheum-clouded eyes flickered from place to place. But at his back, his putative son slept. His golden robe rustled along the floor like a scurry of small animals. When he spoke, his voice was calm, faintly tinged with a weariness which hinted at the burden of his years.

  “In truth, I did not expect her to succeed.” He addressed Covenant as if he knew that the Unbeliever could not reply. “Better for you if she had-but you are clearly beyond her. Yet for her failure I should perhaps have punished her as men have ever punished women. She is a tasty wench withal, and knowledgeable. But that is no longer in me.” His tone suggested a sigh. “In time past, it was otherwise. Then the gaddhi drew his Favoured from those who had first sated me. But latterly that pleasure comes to me solely through observation of the depraved ruttings of others in the chamber below. Therefore almost I hoped that you woul
d succumb. For the unction it would have given me.”

  A chair covered with bindings and apparatus stood to one side of the lucubrium. While Kasreyn spoke, the husta guided Covenant to the chair, seated him there. The Kemper set his implements on the nearest table, then began immobilizing Covenant's arms and legs with straps.

  “But that is a juiceless pleasure,” he went on after a brief pause, “and does not content me. Age does not content me. Therefore you are here.” He lashed Covenant's chest securely to the back of the chair. With a neck-strap he ensured that the Unbeliever would sit upright. Covenant could still have moved his head from side to side if he had been capable of conceiving a desire to do so; but Kasreyn appeared confident that Covenant had lost all such desires. A faint sense of trouble floated up out of the emptiness, but Covenant dispelled it with his refrain.

  Next Kasreyn began to attach his implements to the apparatus of the chair. These resembled lenses of great variety and complexity. The apparatus held them ready near Covenant's face.

  “You have seen,” the Kemper continued as he worked, "that I possess an ocular of gold. Purest gold-a rare and puissant metal in such hands as mine. With such aids, my arts work great wonders, of which Sandgorgons Doom is not the greatest. But my arts are also pure, as a circle is pure, and in a flawed world purity cannot endure. Thus within each of my works I must perforce place one small flaw, else there would be no work at all.“ He stepped back for a moment to survey his preparations. Then he leaned his face close to Covenant's as if he wished the Unbeliever to understand him. ”Even within the work of my longevity there lies a flaw, and through that flaw my life leaks from me drop by drop. Knowing perfection-possessing perfect implements-I have of necessity wrought imperfection upon myself.

  “Thomas Covenant, I am going to die.” Once again, he withdrew, muttering half to himself. “That is intolerable.”

  He was gone for several moments. When he returned, he set a stool before the chair and sat on it. His eyes were level with Covenant's. With one skeletal finger, he tapped Covenant's half-hand.