The Wounded Land t2cotc-1

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Then Covenant heard Linden say as if she were speaking from the bottom of a well of pain, “That's why the water looked so deadly.” She spoke in ragged bursts through her teeth, fighting to master her hurt with words. “The lurker was there. Now it's gone.” In the silence behind her voice, she was screaming.

  Gone. Slowly, the burn of air starvation cleared from Covenant's mind. The lurker was gone, withdrawn though certainly not dead; no, that was impossible; he could not have slain a creature as vast as the Sarangrave. The lake was lightless. The fires started by the spilling of skest acid had gone out for lack of fuel. Night covered the Flat. But somehow he had retained his grip on the krill. Its shining enabled him to see.

  Beyond question, the lurker was still alive. When Brinn swam him to the shore and helped him out onto dry ground, he found that the atmosphere was too thick for comfort. Far away, he heard the creature keening over its pain; faint sobs seemed to bubble in the air like the self-pity of demons.

  On either hand, skest gleamed dimly. They had retreated; but they had not abandoned the lurker's prey.

  He had only injured the creature. Now it would not be satisfied with mere food. Now it would want retribution.

  A torch was lit. In the unexpected flame, he saw Hergrom and Ceer standing near Honninscrave with loads of wood which they had apparently foraged from the trees along the hill crest. Honninscrave held a large stone firepot, from which Ceer lit torches, one after another. As Hergrom passed brands to the other Haruchai, light slowly spread over the company.

  Dazedly, Covenant looked at the krill.

  Its gem shone purely, as if it were inviolable. But its light brought back to him the burst of fury with which he had first awakened the blade, when Elena was High Lord. Whatever else Loric had made the krill to be, Covenant had made it a thing of savagery and fire. Its cleanliness hurt his eyes.

  In silent consideration, Brinn reached out with the cloth Covenant had discarded. He took the krill and wrapped its heat into a neat bundle, as if thereby he could make the truth bearable for Covenant. But Covenant went on staring at his hands.

  They were unharmed; free even of heat-damage. He had been protected by his own power; even his flesh had become so accustomed to wild magic that he guarded himself instinctively, without expense to any part of himself except his soul. And if that were true-He groaned.

  If that were true, then he was already damned.

  For what did damnation mean, if it did not mean freedom from the mortal price of power? Was that not what made Lord Foul what he was? The damned purchased might with their souls; the innocent paid for it with their lives. Therein lay Sunder's true innocence, though he had slain his own wife and son-and Covenant's true guilt. Even in Foul's Creche, he had avoided paying the whole price. At that time, only his restraint had saved him, his refusal to attempt Lord Foul's total extirpation. Without restraint, he would have been another Kevin Landwaster.

  But where was his restraint now? His hands were undamaged. Numb with leprosy, blunt and awkward, incapable, yes; yet they had held power without scathe.

  And Brinn offered the bundle of the krill to him as if it were his future and his doom.

  He accepted it. What else could he do? He was a leper; he could not deny who he was. Why else had he been chosen to carry the burden of the Land's need? He took the bundle and tucked it back under his belt, as if in that way he could at least spare his friends from sharing his damnation. Then, with an effort like an acknowledgment of fatality, he forced himself to look at the company.

  In spite of his bruises, Honninscrave appeared essentially whole. Seadreamer was able to stand on his acid-burned foot; and Pitchwife moved as if his own fire walk were already forgotten. They reminded Covenant of the caamora, the ancient Giantish ritual fire of grief. He remembered Foamfollower burying his bloody hands among the coals of a bonfire to castigate and cleanse them. Foamfollower had been horrified by the lust with which he had slaughtered Cavewights and he had treated his dismay with fire. The flames had hurt him, but not damaged him; when he had withdrawn his hands, they had been hale and clean.

  Clean, Covenant murmured. He ached for the purification of fire. But he compelled his eyes to focus beyond the Giants.

  Gazing directly at Brinn, he almost cried out. Both Brinn and Hergrom had been scorched by the lash of wild magic; eyebrows and hair were singed, apparel darkened in patches. He had come so close to doing them real harm-Like Honninscrave, Cail and Ceer were battered but intact. They held torches over Linden.

  She lay on the ground with her head in Hollian's lap. Sunder knelt beside her, holding her leg still. His knuckles were white with strain; and he glowered as if he feared that he would have to sacrifice her for her blood.

  The First stood nearby with her arms folded over her mail like an angry monolith, glaring at the distant skest.

  Linden had not stopped talking: the pieces of her voice formed a ragged counterpoint to the moaning of the lurker. She kept insisting that the water was safe now, the lurker had withdrawn, it could be anywhere, it was the Sarangrave, but it was primarily a creature of water, the greatest danger came from water. She kept talking so that she would not sob.

  Her left foot rested at an impossible angle. Bone splinters pierced the skin of her ankle, and blood oozed from the wounds in spite of the pressure of Sunder's grip.

  Covenant's guts turned at the sight. Without conscious transition, he was kneeling at her side. His kneecaps hurt as if he had fallen. Her hands closed and unclosed at her sides, urgent to find something that would enable her to bear the pain.

  Abruptly, the First left her study of the skest. “Giantfriend,” she said, “her hurt is sore. We have diamondraught. For one who is not of Giantish stature, it will bring swift surcease.” Covenant did not lift his eyes from Linden's embattled visage. He was familiar with diamondraught; it was a liquor fit for Giants. “Also, it is greatly healing,” the First continued, “distilled for our restitution.” Covenant heard glints of compassion along her iron tone. “But no healing known to us will repair the harm. Her bones will knit as they now lie. She-”

  She will be crippled.

  No. Anger mounted in him, resentment of his helplessness, rage for her pain. The exhaustion of his spirit became irrelevant. “Linden.” He hunched forward to make her meet his gaze. Her eyes were disfocused. “We've got to do something about your ankle.” Her fingers dug into the ground. “You're the doctor. Tell me what to do.” Her countenance looked like a mask, waxen and aggrieved. “Linden”

  Her lips were as white as bone. Her muscles strained against Sunder's weight. Surely she could not bear any more.

  But she breathed hoarsely, “Immobilize the leg.” Wails rose in her throat; she forced them down. “Above the knee.”

  At once, Sunder shifted to obey. But the First gestured him aside. “The strength of a Giant is needed.” She wrapped Linden's leg in her huge hands, holding it like a vice of stone.

  “Don't let me move.”

  The company answered her commands. Her pain was irrefusable. Ceer grasped her shoulders. Harn anchored one of her arms; Sunder pinned the other. Brinn leaned along her uninjured leg.

  “Give me something to bite.”

  Hollian tore a strip from the fringe of her robe, folded it several times, and offered it to Linden's mouth.

  “Take hold of the foot.” Dry dread filled her eyes. “Pull it straight away from the break. Hard. Keep pulling until all the splinters slip back under the skin. Then turn it into line with the leg. Hold the foot so the bones don't shift. When I feel everything's right-” She panted feverishly; but her doctor's training controlled her. “-I'll nod. Let go of the foot. Slowly. Put a splint on it. Up past the knee. Splint the whole leg.”

  Immediately, she squeezed her eyes shut, opened her mouth to accept Hollian's cloth.

  A nausea of fear twisted in Covenant's bowels; but he ignored it. “Right,” he grated. “I'll do it.” Her courage appalled Mm. He moved to her foot.

&n
bsp; Cail brushed him away.

  Curses jumped through Covenant's teeth; but Cail responded without inflection, “This I will do for her.”

  Covenant's vitals trembled. His hands had held power enough to maim the lurker and had suffered no harm. “I said I'll do it.”

  “No.” Cail's denial was absolute. “You have not the strength of the Haruchai. And the blame for this injury is mine.”

  “Don't you understand?” Covenant could not find sufficient force for his remonstration. “Everything I touch turns to blood. All I do is kill.” His words seemed to drop to the ground, vitiated by the distant self-pity of the lurker. “She's here because she tried to save my life. I need to help her.”

  Unexpectedly, Cail looked up and met Covenant's wounded gaze. “Ur-Lord,” he said as if he had judged the Unbeliever to the marrow of his bones, “you have not the strength.”

  You don't understand! Covenant tried to shout. But no sound came past the knot of self-loathing in his throat. Cail was right; with his half-hand, he would not be able to grip Linden's foot properly; he could never help her, had not the strength. And yet his hands were unharmed. He could not resist when Pitchwife took hold of him, drawing him away from the group around Linden.

  Without speaking, the malformed Giant led him to the campfire Honninscrave was building. Seadreamer sat there, resting his acid-burned foot. He gazed at Covenant with eloquent, voiceless eyes. Honninscrave gave Covenant a sharp glance, then picked up a stone cup from one of his bundles and handed it to Covenant. Covenant knew from the smell that the cup contained diamondraught, potent as oblivion. If he drank from that cup, he might not regain consciousness until the next day. Or the day after that.

  Unconsciousness bore no burdens, felt no blame.

  He did not drink. He stared into the flames without seeing them, without feeling the clench of grief on his features. He did nothing but listen to the sounds of the night: the lurker bubbling pain softly to itself; Pitchwife's faint stertorous breathing; Linden's gagged scream as Cail started to pull at her foot. Her bones made a noise like the breaking of sodden sticks as they shifted against each other.

  Then the First said tightly, “It is done.”

  The fire cast streaks of orange and yellow through Covenant's tears. He did not want ever to be able to see again, wished himself forever deaf and numb. But he turned to Pitchwife and lifted the stone cup toward the Giant. “Here. She needs this.”

  Pitchwife carried the cup to Linden. Covenant followed like a dry leaf in his wake.

  Before Covenant reached her, he was met by Brinn and Cail. They blocked his way; but they spoke deferentially. “Ur-Lord.” Brinn's alien inflection expressed the difficulty of apologizing. “It was necessary to deny you. No disservice was intended.”

  Covenant fought the tightness of his throat. “I met Bannor in Andelain. He said, 'Redeem my people. Their plight is an abomination. And they will serve you well.'”

  But no words were adequate to articulate what he meant. He fumbled past the Haruchai, went to kneel at Linden's side.

  She was just emptying the cup which the First held for her. The skin of her face looked as bloodless as marble; a patina of pain clouded her gaze. But her respiration was growing steadier, and the clench of her muscles had begun to loosen. With numb fingers, he rubbed the tears from his eyes, trying to see her clearly, trying to believe that she would be all right.

  The First looked at him. Quietly, she said, “Trust the diamondraught. She will be healed.”

  He groped for his voice. “She needs bandages. A splint. That wound should be cleaned.”

  “It will be done.” The quaver of stress in Hollian's tone told him that she needed to help. “Sunder and I-”

  He nodded mutely, remaining at Linden's side while the Stonedownors went to heat water and prepare bandages and splints. She seemed untouchable in her weakness. He knelt with his arms braced on the ground and watched the diamondraught carry her to sleep.

  He also watched the care with which Hollian, Sunder, and Stell washed and bandaged Linden's ankle, then splinted her leg securely. But at the same time, a curious bifurcation came over him-a split like the widening gulf between his uselessness and his power. He was sure now-though he feared to admit it to himself-that he had healed himself with wild magic when he had been summoned to Kevin's Watch with the knife-wound still pouring blood from his chest. He remembered his revulsion at Lord Foul's refrain, You are mine, remembered heat and white flame -

  Then why could he not do the same for Linden, knit her bones just as he had sealed his own flesh? For the same reason that he could not draw water from the Earth or oppose the Sunbane. Because his senses were too numb for the work, unattuned to the spirit within the physical needs around him. Clearly, this was deliberate, a crucial part of the Despiser's intent. Clearly, Lord Foul sought at every turn to increase both Covenant's might and his helplessness, stretch him on the rack of self-contradiction and doubt. But why? What purpose did it serve?

  He had no answer. He had invested too much hope in Linden, in her capacity for healing. And Lord Foul had chosen her on precisely the same grounds. It was too much. Covenant could not think. He felt weak and abject of soul. For a moment, he listened to the misery of the lurker. Then, numbly, he left Linden's side and returned to the campfire, seeking warmth for his chilled bones.

  Sunder and Hollian joined him. They held each other as if they, too, felt the cold of his plight. After a few moments, Harn and Hergrom brought food and water. Covenant and the Stonedownors ate like the survivors of a shipwreck.

  Covenant's dullness grew in spite of the meal. His head felt as heavy as prostration; his heart lay under a great weight. He hardly noticed that the First of the Search had come to speak with Honninscrave. He stood, leaning toward the flames like a man contemplating his own dissolution. When Honninscrave addressed him, veils of fatigue obscured the Giant's words.

  “The First has spoken,” Honninscrave said. “We must depart. The lurker yet lives. And the skest do not retreat. We must depart while they are thus thinly scattered and may be combated. Should the lurker renew its assault now, all your power — and all the Chosen's pain — will have gained us naught.”

  Depart, Covenant mumbled. Now. The importance of the words was hidden. His brain felt like a tombstone.

  “You speak truly,” Brinn replied for Covenant. “It would be a gladness to travel with Giants, as the old tellers say Haruchai and Giants travelled together in the ancient days. But perhaps our paths do not lie with each other. Where do you go?”

  The First and Honninscrave looked at Seadreamer. Seadreamer closed his eyes as if to ignore them; but with one long arm he pointed toward the west.

  Brinn spoke as if he were immune to disappointment. “Then we must part. Our way is eastward, and it is urgent.”

  Part? A pang penetrated Covenant's stupor. He wanted the company of the Giants. He had a world of things to tell them. And they were important to him in another way as well, a way he could not seem to articulate. He shook his head. “No.”

  Honninscrave cocked an eyebrow. The First frowned at Covenant.

  “We just met,” Covenant murmured. But that was not what he had to say. He groped for clarity. “Why west?” Those words disentangled some of his illucidity. “Why are you here?”

  “Giantfriend,” the First responded with a hint of iron, “that tale is long, and the time is perilous. This lurker is a jeopardy too vast to be disdained.”

  Covenant knotted his fists and tried to insist. “Tell me.”

  “Thomas Covenant-” Honninscrave began in a tone of gentle dissuasion.

  “I beat that thing once,” Covenant croaked. “I'll beat it again if I have to.” Don't you understand? All your people were killed. “Tell me why you're here.”

  The First considered her companions. Honninscrave shrugged. Seadreamer kept his eyes closed, communing with a private pain. Pitchwife hid his face behind a cup of diamondraught.

  Stiffly, she said, �
��Speak briefly, Grimmand Honninscrave.”

  Honninscrave bowed, recognizing her right to command him. Then he turned to Covenant. His body took on a formal stance, as if even his muscles and sinews believed that tales were things which should be treated with respect. His resemblance to Foamfollower struck Covenant acutely.

  “Hear, then, Thomas Covenant,” Honninscrave said with a cadence in his deep voice, "that we are the leaders of the Search-the Search of the Giants, so called for the purpose which has brought us thus far across the world from our Home. To our people, from time to time among the generations, there is born one possessed of a gift which we name the Earth-Sight- a gift of vision such as only the Elohim comprehend. This gift is strange surpassingly, and may be neither foretold nor bound, but only obeyed. Many are the stories I would wish to tell, so that you might grasp the import of what I say. But I must content myself with this one word: the Earth-Sight has become a command to all Giants, which none would willingly shirk or defy. Therefore we are here.

  "Among our generation, a Giant was born, brother of my bone and blood, and the Earth-Sight was in him. He is Cable Seadreamer, named for the vision which binds him, and he is voiceless, scalded mute by the extravagance and horror of what the Earth-Sight has seen. With the eyes of the gift, he beheld a wound upon the Earth, sore and terrible-a wound like a great nest of maggots, feeding upon the flesh of the world's heart. And he perceived that this wound, if left uncleansed, unhealed, would grow to consume all life and tune, devouring the foundation and cornerstone of the Earth, unbinding Stone and Sea from themselves, birthing chaos.

  “Therefore a Giantclave was held, and the Search given its duty. We are commanded to seek out this wound and oppose it, in defence of the Earth. For that reason, we set sail from our Home in the proudest dromond of all Giantships, Starfare's Gem. For that reason, we have followed Seadreamer's gaze across the wide oceans of the world-we, and twoscore of our people, who tend the Gem. And for that reason, we are here. The wound lies in this land, in the west. We seek to behold it, discover its nature, so that we may summon the Search to resist or cleanse it.”