The Wounded Land t2cotc-1

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  But while I can I heed the call

  Of green and tree; and for their worth,

  I hold the glaive of Law against the Earth.

  The mourning of that music brought back grief and old rage. Was he not Thomas Covenant, who had beaten the Despiser and cast Foul's Creche into the Sea? “If it is,” he answered to the tone of dirges, poisons, “I'm going to tear that bastard's heart out.”

  Distantly, the Graveller asked, “Is hate such a good thing? Should we not then have remained at Revelstone, and given battle to the Clave?”

  Covenant's tongue groped for a reply; but it was blocked by recollections. Unexpectedly, he saw turiya Raver in the body of Triock, a Stonedownor who had loved Lena. The Raver was saying, Only those who hate are immortal. His ire hesitated. Hate? With an effort, he took hold of himself. “No. Whatever else happens, I've already got too much innocent blood on my hands.”

  “I hear you,” Sunder breathed. His wife and son were in his eyes; he had reason to understand Covenant's denial.

  Sunlight had begun to angle into the clearing through the trees, painting streaks across the damp air. A sunrise free of the Sunbane. Covenant stared at it for a moment, but it was indecipherable to him.

  The sun roused Linden and Hollian. Soon the company began to prepare for travel. No one spoke Vain's name, but the loss of him cast a pall over the camp. Covenant had been trying not to think about it. The Demondim-spawn was unscrupulous and lethal. He smiled at unreined power. But he was also a gift from Saltheart Foamfollower. And Covenant felt irrationally shamed by the thought that he had let a companion, any companion, sink into that quagmire, even though Linden had said that Vain was not alive.

  A short time later, the Haruchai shouldered the supplies, and the quest set off. Now no one spoke at all. They were afoot in Sarangrave Flat, surrounded by hazards and by the ears of the lurker. Betrayals seemed to wait for them behind every tree, in every stream. None of them had the heart to speak.

  Brian and Cail led the way, with Linden between them. Turning slightly north of east, they crossed the clearing, and made their way back into the jungle.

  For a while, the morning was white and luminous with sun-gilt mist. It shrouded the trees in evanescence. The company seemed to be alone in the Flat, as if every other form of life had fled. But as the mist frayed into wisps of humidity and faded, the marsh began to stir. Birds rose in brown flocks or individual blurs of colour; secretive beasts scurried away from the travellers. At one point, the quest encountered a group of large grey monkeys, feeding at a thicket of berries as scarlet as poison. The monkeys had canine faces and snarled menacingly. But Brinn walked straight toward them with no expression in his flat eyes. The monkeys broke for the trees, barking like hyenas.

  For most of the morning, the company edged through a stretch of jungle with solid ground underfoot. But during the afternoon, they had to creep across a wide bog, where hillocks of sodden and mangy grass were interspersed with obscure pools and splotches of quicksand. Some of the pools were clear; others, gravid and mephitic. At sudden intervals, one or another of them was disturbed, as if something vile lay on its bottom. Linden and the Haruchai were hard pressed to find a safe path through the region.

  In the distance behind them, the sun passed over Landsdrop and took on the blue aura of rain. But the sky over Sarangrave Flat stayed deep cerulean, untainted and unscathed.

  By sunset, they had travelled little more than five leagues.

  It would have been better, Covenant thought as he chewed his disconsolate supper, if we'd ridden around. But he knew that such regrets had no meaning. It would have been better if he had never harmed Lena or Elena-never lost Joan-never contracted leprosy. The past was as indefeasible as an amputation. But he could have borne his slow progress more lightly if so many lives, so much of the Land, had not been at stake.

  That night came rain. It filled the dark, drenched the dawn, and did not lift until the company had been slogging through mud for half the morning.

  In the afternoon, they had to wade a wetland of weeds and bulrushes. The water covered Covenant's thighs; the rushes grew higher than his head. A preterite fear of hidden pits and predators scraped at his nerves. But the company had no choice; this swamp blocked their way as far as the Haruchai could see.

  The density of the rushes forced them to move in single file. Brinn led, followed immediately by Linden and Cail; then went Harn, Hollian, Stell, Sunder, Covenant, Ceer, and Hergrom. The water was dark and oily; Covenant's legs vanished as if they had been cut off at the waterline. The air was clouded with mosquitoes; and the marsh stank faintly, as if its bottom were littered with carcasses. The sack perched high on Stell's shoulders blocked Covenant's view ahead; he did not know how far he would have to go like this. Instinctively, he tried to hurry, but his boots could not keep their footing in the mud, and the water was as heavy as blood.

  The mirk dragged at his legs, stained his clothes. His hands clutched the reeds involuntarily, though they could not have saved him if he fell. His mind cursed at thoughts of Vain. The Demondim-spawn had not even looked at the people who were trying to rescue him. Covenant's pulse laboured in his temples.

  Without warning, the rushes beside him thrashed. The water seethed. A coil as thick as his thigh broke the surface.

  Instantly, Sunder was snatched out of sight.

  Twenty feet away, he heaved up again, with a massive serpent body locked around his hips and neck. Gleaming scales covered strength enough to snap his back like a dry stick.

  All the celerity of the Haruchai seemed insignificant to Covenant. He saw Stell release his sack, crouch, start a long dive forward, as if each piece of the action were discrete, time-consuming. Ceer carried no sack; he was one fraction of a heartbeat ahead of Stell. Hollian's mouth stretched toward a scream. Every one of the reeds was distinct and terrible. The water had the texture of filthy wool. Covenant saw it all: wet scales; coils knotted to kill; Ceer and Stell in the first reach of their dives; Hollian's mouth-

  Marid! A man with no mouth, agony in his eyes, snakes for arms. Fangs agape for Linden's face. Sunder. Marid. Fangs fixed like nails of crucifixion in Covenant's right forearm.

  Venom.

  In that instant, he became a blaze of fury.

  Before Ceer and Stell covered half the distance, Covenant fried the coils straining Sunder's back. Wild magic burned the flesh transparent, lit spine, ribs, entrails with incandescence.

  Linden let out a cry of dismay.

  The serpent's death throes wrenched Sunder underwater.

  Ceer and Stell dove into the convulsions. They disappeared, then regained their feet, with the Graveller held, gasping, between them. Dead coils thudded against their backs as they bore Sunder out of danger.

  All Covenant's power was gone, snuffed by Linden's outcry. Cold gripped the marrow of his bones. Visions of green children and suffocation. Bloody hell.

  His companions gaped at him. Linden's hands squeezed the sides of her head, fighting to contain her fear. Covenant expected her to shout abuse at him. But she did not. “It's my fault.” Her voice was a low rasp. “I should have seen that thing.”

  “No.” Stell spoke as if he were immune to contradiction. "It came when you had passed. The fault is mine. The Graveller was in my care."

  Hellfire, Covenant groaned uselessly. Hell and damnation.

  With an effort, Linden jerked down her hands and forced herself to the Graveller's side. He breathed in short gasps over the pain in his chest. She examined him for a moment, scowling at what she perceived. Then she muttered, “You'll live.” Outrage and helplessness made her voice as bitter as bile.

  The Haruchai began to move. Stell retrieved his sack. Brinn reformed the line of the company. Holding herself rigid, Linden took her place. They went on through the swamp.

  They tried to hurry. But the water became deeper, holding them back. Its cold rank touch shamed Covenant's skin. Hollian could not keep her feet; she had to cling to Ham's sack and le
t him pull her. Sunder's injury made him wheeze as if he were expiring.

  But finally the reeds gave way to an open channel; and a short distance beyond it lay a sloping bank of marshgrass. The bottom dropped away. The company had to swim.

  When they gained solid ground, they saw that all their apparel was covered with a slick brown slime. It stank in Covenant's nostrils. Linden could not keep the nausea off her mien.

  With characteristic dispassion, the Haruchai ignored their uncleanliness. Brinn stood on the bank, studying the west. Hergrom moved away until he reached a tree he could climb. When he returned, he reported flatly that none of the green acid-creatures were in sight.

  Still the company hurried. Beyond the slope, they dropped into a chaos of stunted copses and small poisonous creeks which appeared to run everywhere without moving. Twilight came upon them while they were still winding through the area, obeying Linden's strident command to let no drop of the water touch them.

  In the dusk, they saw the first sign of pursuit. Far behind them among the copses was a glimpse of emerald. It disappeared at once. But no one doubted its meaning. “Jesus God,” Linden moaned. “I can't stand it.”

  Covenant cast an intent look at her. But the gloaming obscured her face. The darkness seemed to gnaw at her features.

  In silence, the quest ate a meal and tried to prepare to flee throughout the night.

  Dark tensed about them as the sunset was cut off by Landsdrop. But then, strangely, the streams began to emit light. A nacreous glow, ghostly and febrile, shone out of the waters like diseased phosphorescence. And this light, haunting the copses with lines of pearly filigree, seemed to flow, though the water had appeared stagnant. The glow ran through the region, commingling and then separating again like a web of moonlight, but tending always toward the northeast.

  In that direction, some distance away, Sarangrave Flat shone brightly. Eldritch light marked the presence of a wide radiance.

  Covenant touched Brinn's arm, nodding toward the fire. Brinn organized the company, then carefully led the way forward.

  Darkness made the distance deceptive; the light was farther away than it appeared to be. Before the questers covered half the intervening ground, tiny emerald fires began to gather behind them. Shifting in and out of sight as they passed among the copses, the acid-creatures stole after the company.

  Covenant closed his mind to the pursuit, locked his gaze on the silver ahead. He could not endure to think about the coining attack-the attack which he had made inevitable.

  Tracking the glow lines of the streams as if they were a map, Brinn guided the quest forward as swiftly as his caution permitted.

  Abruptly, he stopped.

  Pearl-limned, he pointed ahead. For a moment, Covenant saw nothing. Then he caught his breath between his teeth to keep himself still.

  Stealthy, dark shapes were silhouetted between the company and the light. At least two of them, as large as saplings.

  Firmly, Hergrom pressed Covenant down into a crouch. His companions hid against the ground. Covenant saw Brinn gliding away, a shadow in the ghost-shine. Then the Haruchai was absorbed by the copses and the dark.

  Covenant lost sight of the moving shapes. He stared toward where he had last seen them. How long would Brinn take to investigate and return?

  He heard a sound like a violent expulsion of breath.

  Instinctively, he tried to jump to his feet. Hergrom restrained him.

  Something heavy fell through underbrush. Blows were struck. The distance muffled them; but he could hear their strength.

  He struggled against Hergrom. An instant later, the Haruchai released him. The company rose from hiding. Cail and Ceer moved forward. Stell and Harn followed with the Stonedownors.

  Covenant took Linden's hand and pulled her with him after Sunder.

  They crossed two streams diagonally, and then all the glowing rills lay on their right. The flow of silver gathered into three channels, which ran crookedly toward the main light. But the quest had come to firm ground. The brush between the trees was heavy. Only the Haruchai were able to move silently.

  Near the bank of the closest stream, they found Brinn. He stood with his fists on his hips. Nacre reflected out of his flat eyes like joy-He confronted a figure twice as tall as himself. A figure like a reincarnation in the eldritch glow. A dream come to life. Or one of the Dead.

  A Giant!

  “The old tellers spoke truly,” Brinn said. “I am gladdened.” The Giant folded his thick arms over his chest, which was as deep and solid as the trunk of an oak. He wore a sark of mail, formed of interlocking granite discs, and heavy leather leggings. Across his back, he bore a huge bundle of supplies. He had a beard like a fist. His eyes shone warily from under massive brows. The blunt distrust of his stance showed that he and Brinn had exchanged blows-and that he did not share Brinn's gladness.

  “Then you have knowledge which I lack.” His voice rumbled like stones in a subterranean vault. “You and your companions.” He glanced over the company. “And your gladness”- he touched the side of his jaw with one hand — “is a weighty matter.”

  Suddenly, Covenant's eyes were full of tears. They blinded him; he could not blink away visions of Saltheart Foamfollower-Foamfollower, whose laughter and pure heart had done more to defeat Lord Foul and heal the Land than any other power, despite the fact that his people had been butchered to the last child by a Giant-Raver wielding a fragment of the Illearth Stone, thus fulfilling the unconscious prophecy of their home in Seareach, which they had named Coercri, The Grieve.

  All killed, all the Unhomed. They sprang from a sea-faring race, and in their wandering they had lost their way back to their people. Therefore they had made a new place for themselves in Seareach where they had lived for centuries, until three of their proud sons had been made into Giant-Ravers, servants of the Despiser. Then they had let themselves be slain, rather than perpetuate a people who could become the thing they hated.

  Covenant wept for them, for the loss of so much love and fealty. He wept for Foamfollower, whose death had been gallant beyond any hope of emulation. He wept because the Giant standing before him now could not be one of the Unhomed, not one of the people he had learned to treasure.

  And because, in spite of everything, there were still Giants in the world.

  He did not know that he had cried aloud until Hollian touched him. “Ur-Lord. What pains you?”

  “Giant!” he cried. “Don't you know me?” Stumbling, he went past Linden to the towering figure. “I'm Thomas Covenant.”

  “Thomas Covenant.” The Giant spoke like the murmuring of a mountain. With gentle courtesy, as if he were moved by the sight of Covenant's tears, he bowed. “The giving of your name honours me. I take you as a friend, though it is strange to meet friends in this fell place. I am Grimmand Honninscrave.” His eyes searched Covenant. “But I am disturbed at your knowledge. It appears that you have known Giants, Giants who did not return to give their tale to their people.”

  “No,” Covenant groaned, fighting his tears. Did not return? Could not. They lost their way, and were butchered. “I've got so much to tell you.”

  “At another time,” rumbled Honninscrave, “I would welcome a long tale, be it however grievous. The Search has been scarce of story. But peril gathers about us. Surely you have beheld the skest? By mischance, we have placed our necks in a garrotte. The time is one for battle or cunning rather than tales.”

  “Skest?” Sunder asked stiffly over the pain of his ribs. “Do you speak of the acid-creatures, which are like children of burning emerald?”

  “Grimmand Honninscrave.” Brinn spoke as if Sunder were not present. “The tale of which the ur-Lord speaks is known among us also. I am Brinn of the Haruchai. Of my people, here also are Cail, Stell, Harn, Ceer, and Hergrom. I give you our names in the name of a proud memory.” He met Honninscrave's gaze. “Giant,” he concluded softly, “you are not alone.”

  Covenant ignored both Brinn and Sunder. Involuntaril
y, only half conscious of what he was doing, he reached up to touch the Giant's hand, verify that Honninscrave was not a figment of silvershine and grief. But his hands were numb, dead forever. He had to clench himself to choke down his sorrow.

  The Giant gazed at him sympathetically. “Surely,” he breathed, “the tale you desire to tell is one of great rue. I will hear it-when the time allows.” Abruptly, he turned away. "Brinn of the Haruchai, your name and the names of your people honour me. Proper and formal sharing of names and tales is a joy for which we also lack time. In truth, I am not alone.

  “Come!” he cried over his shoulder.

  At his word, three more Giants detached themselves from the darkness of the trees and came striding forward.

  The first to reach his side was a woman. She was starkly beautiful, with hair like fine-spun iron, and stern purpose on her visage. Though she was slimmer than he, and slightly shorter, she was fully caparisoned as a warrior. She wore a corselet and leggings of mail, with greaves on her arms; a helm hung from her belt, a round iron shield from her shoulders. In a scabbard at her side, she bore a broadsword nearly as tall as Covenant.

  Honninscrave greeted her deferentially. He told her the names which the company had given him, then said to them, “She is the First of the Search. It is she whom I serve.”

  The next Giant had no beard. An old scar like a sword cut lay under both his eyes across the bridge of his nose. But in countenance and apparel he resembled Honninscrave closely. His name was Cable Seadreamer. Like Honninscrave, he was unarmed and carried a large load of supplies.

  The fourth figure stood no more than an arm's reach taller than Covenant. He looked like a cripple. In the middle of his back, his torso folded forward on itself, as if his spine had crumbled, leaving him incapable of upright posture. His limbs were grotesquely muscled, like tree boughs being choked by heavy vines. And his mien, too, was grotesque-eyes and nose misshapen, mouth crookedly placed. The short hair atop his beardless head stood erect as if in shock. But he was grinning, and his gaze seemed quaintly gay and gentle; his ugliness formed a face of immense good cheer.