One Tree

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  But Chant had resumed his dangerous smile. Still addressing Linden as though she outranked all her companions, he said abruptly, “It is known that your quest is exigent. We are not a hasty people, but neither do we desire your delay.” Turning, he gestured gracefully along the Callowwail. “Will you accompany us to Elemesnedene?”

  Linden needed a moment to muster her response. Too much was happening. She had been following Covenant’s lead since she had first met him. She was not prepared to make decisions for him or anyone else.

  But she had no choice. At her back crowded the emotions of her companions: Honninscrave’s tension, the First’s difficult silence, Pitchwife’s suspense, Covenant’s hot doubt. They all withheld themselves, waited for her. And she had her own reasons for being here. With a grimace, she accepted the role she had been given.

  “Thank you,” she said formally. “That’s what we came for.”

  Chant bowed as if she had shown graciousness; but she could not shake the impression that he was laughing at her secretly. Then the two Elohim moved away. Walking as buoyantly as if they shared the analystic clarity of the air, they went out into the yellow grass toward the heart of the maidan. Linden followed them with Cail at her side; and her companions joined her.

  She wanted to talk to them, ask them for guidance. But she felt too exposed to speak. Treading behind Chant and Daphin at a slight distance, she tried to steady herself on the tough confidence of the Haruchai.

  As she walked, she studied the surrounding maidan, hoping to descry something which would enable her to identify an Elohim who was not wearing human form. But she had not perceived any hint of Daphin or Chant before they had accosted the company; and now she was able to discern nothing except the strong autumn grass, the underlying loam, and the Callowwail’s purity. Yet her sense of exposure increased. After a while, she discovered that she had been unconsciously clenching her fists.

  With an effort, she ungnarled her fingers, looked at them. She could hardly believe that they had ever held a scalpel or hypodermic. When she dropped them, they dangled at her wrists like strangers.

  She did not know how to handle the importance the Elohim had ascribed to her. She could not read the faint clear significance of the bells. Following Chant and Daphin, she felt that she was walking into a quagmire.

  An odd thought crossed her mind. The Elohim had given no word of recognition to Vain. The Demondim-spawn still trailed the company like a shadow; yet Chant and Daphin had not reacted to him at all. She wondered about that, but found no explanation.

  Sooner than she had expected, the fountainhead of the Callowwail became visible—a cloud of mist set in the center of the maidan like an ornament. As she neared it, it stood out more clearly through its spray.

  It arose like a geyser from within a high mound of travertine. Its waters arched in clouds and rainbows to fall around the base of the mound, where they collected to form the River. The water looked as edifying as crystal, as clinquant as faery promises; but the travertine it had formed and dampened appeared obdurate, uncompromising. The mound seemed to huddle into itself as if it could not be moved by any appeal. The whorled and skirling shapes on its sides—cut and deposited by ages of spray, the old scrollwork of the water—gave it an elusive eloquence, but did not alter its essential posture.

  Beckoning for the company to follow, Daphin and Chant stepped lightly through the stream and climbed as easily as air up the side of the wet rock.

  There without warning they vanished as if they had melded themselves into travertine.

  Linden stopped, stared. Her senses caught no trace of the Elohim. The bells were barely audible.

  Behind her, Honninscrave cleared his throat. “Elemesnedene,” he said huskily. “The clachan of the Elohim. I had not thought that I would see such sights again.”

  Covenant scowled at the Master. “What do we do now?”

  For the first time since Starfare’s Gem had dropped anchor outside the Raw, Honninscrave laughed. “As our welcomers have done. Enter.”

  Linden started to ask him how, then changed her mind. Now that the silence had been broken, another question was more important to her. “Do any of you hear bells?”

  The First looked at her sharply. “Bells?”

  Pitchwife’s expression mirrored the First’s ignorance. Seadreamer shook his head. Brinn gave a slight negative shrug.

  Slowly Honninscrave said, “The Elohim are not a musical folk. I have heard no bells or any song here. And all the tales which the Giants tell of Elemesnedene make no mention of bells.”

  Linden groaned to herself. Once again, she was alone in what she perceived. Without hope, she turned to Covenant.

  He was not looking at her. He was staring like a thunderhead at the fountain. His left hand twisted his ring around and around the last finger of his half-hand.

  “Covenant?” she asked.

  He did not answer her question. Instead he muttered between his teeth, “They think I’m going to fail. I don’t need that. I didn’t come all this way to hear that.” He hated the thought of failure in every line of his gaunt stubborn form.

  But then his purpose stiffened. “Let’s get going. You’re the Sun-Sage.” His tone was full of sharp edges and gall. For the sake of his quest, he fought to accept the roles the Elohim had assigned. “You should go first.”

  She started to deny once again that she was any kind of Sun-Sage. That might comfort him—or at least limit the violence coiling inside him. But again her sense of exposure warned her to silence. Instead of speaking, she faced the stream and the mound, took a deep breath, held it. Moving half a step ahead of Cail, she walked into the water.

  At once, a hot tingling shot through her calves, soaked down into her feet. For one heartbeat, she almost winced away. But then her nerves told her that the sensation was not harmful. It bristled across the surface of her skin like formication, but did no damage. Biting down on her courage, she strode through the stream and clambered out onto the old intaglio of the travertine. With Cail at her side, she began to ascend the mound.

  Suddenly power seemed to flash around her as if she had been dropped like a coal into a tinderbox. Bells clanged in her head—chimes ringing in cotillion on all sides. Bubbles of glauconite and carbuncle burst in her blood; the air burned like a thurible; the world reeled.

  The next instant, she staggered into a wonderland.

  Stunned and gaping, she panted for breath. She had been translated by water and travertine to another place altogether—a place of eldritch astonishment.

  An opalescent sky stretched over her, undefined by any sun or moon, or by any clear horizons, and yet brightly luminous and warm. The light seemed to combine moonglow and sunshine. It had the suggestive evanescence of night and the specificity of day. And under its magic, wonders thronged in corybantic succession.

  Nearby grew a silver sapling. Though not tall, it was as stately as a prince; and its leaves danced about its limbs without touching them. Like flakes of precious metal, the leaves formed a chiaroscuro around the tree, casting glints and spangles as they swirled.

  On the other side, a fountain spewed glodes of color and light. Bobbing upward, they broke into silent rain and were inhaled again by the fountain.

  A furry shape like a jacol went gamboling past and appeared to trip. Sprawling, it became a profuse scatter of flowers. Blooms that resembled peony and amaryllis sprayed open across the glistening greensward.

  Birds flew overhead, warbling incarnate. Cavorting in circles, they swept against each other, merged to form an abrupt pillar of fire in the air. A moment later, the fire leaped into sparks, and the sparks became gems—ruby and morganite, sapphire and porphyry, like a trail of stars—and the gems wafted away, turning to butterflies as they floated.

  A hillock slowly pirouetted to itself, taking arcane shapes one after another as it turned.

  And these were only the nearest entrancements. Other sights abounded: grand statues of water; a pool with its surface wo
ven like an arras; shrubs which flowed through a myriad elegant forms; catenulate sequences of marble, draped from nowhere to nowhere; animals that leaped into the air as birds and drifted down again as snow; swept-wing shapes of malachite flying in gracile curves; sunflowers the size of Giants, with imbricated ophite petals.

  And everywhere rang the music of bells—cymbals in carillon, chimes wefted into tapestries of tinkling, tones scattered on all sides—the metal-and-crystal language of Elemesnedene.

  Linden could not take it all in: it dazzled her senses, left her gasping. When the silver sapling near her poured itself into human form and became Chant, she recoiled. She could hardly grasp the truth of what she saw.

  These—?

  Oh my God.

  As if in confirmation, a tumble of starlings swept to the ground and transformed themselves into Daphin.

  Then Covenant’s voice breathed softly behind her, “Hellfire and bloody damnation,” and she became aware of her companions.

  Turning, she saw them all—the Giants, the Haruchai, even Vain. But of the way they had come there was no sign. The fountainhead of the Callowwail, the mound of travertine, even the maidan did not exist in this place. The company stood on a low knoll surrounded by astonishments.

  For a moment, she remained dumbfounded. But then Covenant clutched her forearm with his half-hand, clung to her. “What—?” he groped to ask, not looking at her. His grip gave her an anchor on which to steady herself.

  “The Elohim,” she answered. “They’re the Elohim.”

  Honninscrave nodded as if he were speechless with memory and hope.

  Pitchwife was laughing soundlessly. His eyes feasted on Elemesnedene. But the First’s mien was grim—tensely aware that the company had no line of retreat and could not afford to give any offense. And Seadreamer’s orbs above the old scar were smudged with contradictions, as if his Giantish accessibility to exaltation were in conflict with the Earth-Sight.

  “Be welcome in our clachan,” said Chant. He took pleasure in the amazement of the company. “Set all care aside. You have no need of it here. However urgent your purpose, Elemesnedene is not a place which any mortal may regret to behold.”

  “Nor will we regret it,” the First replied carefully. “We are Giants and know the value of wonder. Yet our urgency is a burden we dare not shirk. May we speak of the need which has brought us among you?”

  A slight frown creased Chant’s forehead. “Your haste gives scant worth to our welcome. We are not Giants or other children, to be so questioned in what we do.

  “Also,” he went on, fixing Linden with his jacinth-eyes, “none are admitted to the Elohimfest, in which counsel and gifts are bespoken and considered, until they have submitted themselves to our examination. We behold the truth in you. But the spirit in which you bear that truth must be laid bare. Will you accept to be examined?”

  Examined? Linden queried herself. She did not know how to meet the demand of Chant’s gaze. Uncertainly she turned to Honninscrave.

  He answered her mute question with a smile. “It is as I have remembered it. There is no need of fear.”

  Covenant started to speak, then stopped. The hunching of his shoulders said plainly that he could think of reasons to fear any examination.

  “The Giant remembers truly.” Daphin’s voice was irenic and reassuring. “It is said among us that the heart cherishes secrets not worth the telling. We intend no intrusion. We desire only to have private speech with you, so that in the rise and fall of your words we may judge the spirit within you. Come.” Smiling like a sunrise, she stepped forward, took Linden’s arm. “Will you not accompany me?”

  When Linden hesitated, the Elohim added, “Have no concern for your comrades. In your name they are as safe among us as their separate needs permit.”

  Events were moving too quickly. Linden did not know how to respond. She could not absorb all the sights and enhancements around her, could barely hold back the bells so that they did not deafen her mind. She was not prepared for such decisions.

  But she had spent her life learning to make choices and face the consequences. And her experiences in the Land had retaught her the importance of movement. Keep going. Take things as they come. Find out what happens. Abruptly, she acquiesced to Daphin’s slight pressure on her arm. “I’ll come. You can ask me anything you want.”

  “Ah, Sun-Sage,” the Elohim rejoined with a light laugh, “I will ask you nothing. You will ask me.”

  Nothing? Linden did not understand. And Covenant’s glare burned against the back of her neck as if she were participating in the way the Elohim demeaned him. He had traveled an arduous road to his power and did not deserve such treatment. But she would not retreat. She had risked his life for Mistweave’s. Now she risked his pride, though the angry confusion he emitted hurt her. Accepting Daphin’s touch, she started away down the knoll.

  At the same time, other shapes in the area resolved themselves into human form—more Elohim coming to examine the rest of the company. Though she was now braced for the sight, she was still dazed to see trees, fountains, dancing aggregations of gems melt so unexpectedly into more familiar beings. As Cail placed himself protectively at her side opposite Daphin, she found a keen comfort in his presence. He was as reliable as stone. Amid the wild modulations of the clachan, she needed his stability.

  They had not reached the bottom of the slope when Chant said sharply, “No.”

  At once, Daphin stopped. Deftly she turned Linden to face the company.

  Chant was looking at Linden. His gaze had the biting force of an augur. “Sun-Sage.” He sounded distant through the warning clatter of the bells. “You must accompany Daphin alone. Each of your companions must be examined alone.”

  Alone? she protested. It was too much. How could such a stricture include Cail? He was one of the Haruchai. And she needed him. The sudden acuity of her need for him took her by surprise. She was already so alone—

  She gathered herself to remonstrate. But Cail preceded her. “The Chosen is in my care,” he said in a voice as flat as a wall. “I will accompany her.”

  His intransigence drew Chant’s attention. The Elohim’s easy elegance tightened toward hauteur. “No,” he repeated. “I care nothing for such care. It is not binding here. Like the Sun-Sage, you will go alone to be examined.”

  Covenant moved. The First made a warding gesture, urging forbearance. He ignored her. Softly he grated, “Or else?”

  “Or else,” Chant mimicked in subtle mockery, “he will be banished to the place of shades, from whence none return.”

  “By hell!” Covenant rasped. “Over my dead—”

  Before he could finish, the four Haruchai burst into motion. On the spur of a shared impulse, they hurled themselves forward in attack. Brinn launched a flying kick at Chant’s chest. Ceer and Hergrom threw body-blocks toward other Elohim. Cail slashed at Daphin’s legs, aiming to cut her feet from under her.

  None of their blows had any effect.

  Chant misted as Brinn struck. The Haruchai plunged straight through him, touching nothing. Then Chant became a tangle of vines that caught and immobilized Brinn. Daphin sprouted wings and rose lightly above Call’s blow. Before he could recover, she poured down on him like viscid spilth, clogging his movements until he was paralyzed. And the Elohim assailed by Ceer and Hergrom slumped effortlessly into quicksand, snaring them at once.

  The Giants watched. Honninscrave stared in dismay, unready for the violence which boiled so easily past the smooth surface of Elemesnedene. Seadreamer tried to charge to the aid of the Haruchai; but the First and Pitchwife held him back.

  “No.” Among the Giants, Covenant stood like imminent fire, facing the Elohim with wild magic poised in every muscle. His passion dominated the knoll. In a low voice, as dangerous as a viper, he articulated, “You can discount me. That’s been done before. But the Haruchai are my friends. You will not harm them.”

  “That choice is not yours to make!” Chant retorted. But now it was h
e who sounded petulant and diminished.

  “Chant.” Daphin’s voice came quietly from the sludge imprisoning Cail. “Bethink you. It is enough. No further purpose is served.”

  For a moment, Chant did not respond. But the bells took on a coercive note; and abruptly he shrugged himself back into human shape. At the same time, Daphin flowed away from Cail, and the other two Elohim arose from the quicksand as men. The Haruchai were free.

  “Sun-Sage,” said Chant, nailing Linden with his gaze, “these beings stand under the shelter of your name. They will suffer no harm. But this offense surpasses all endurance. Elemesnedene will not permit it. What is your will?”

  Linden almost choked on the raw edges of the retort she wished to make. She wanted words which would scathe Chant, shame all the Elohim. She needed Cail with her. And the extravagance of his outrage was vivid behind the flatness of his face. The service of the Haruchai deserved more respect than this. But she clung to forbearance. The company had too much to lose. None of them could afford an open break with the Elohim. In spite of the secret perils of the clachan, she made her decision.

  “Put them back on the maidan. Near the fountain. Let them wait for us. Safely.”

  Covenant’s visage flamed protest at her, then fell into a grimace of resignation. But it made no difference. Chant had already nodded.

  At once, the four Haruchai began to float away from the knoll. They were not moving themselves. The ground under their feet swept them backward, as if they were receding along a tide. And as they went, they faded like vapor.

  But before they were dispelled, Linden caught one piercing glance from Cail—a look of reproach as if he had been betrayed. His voice lingered in her after he was gone.

  “We do not trust these Elohim.”

  Chant snorted. “Let him speak of trust when he has become less a fool. These matters are too high for him, and so he thinks in his arrogance to scorn them. He must count himself fortunate that he has not paid the price of our displeasure.”

  “Your displeasure.” Linden controlled herself with difficulty. “You’re just looking for excuses to be displeased.” Cail’s last look panged her deeply. And the magnitude of what she had just done made her tremble. “We came here in good faith. And the Haruchai are good faith. They don’t deserve to be dismissed. I’ll be lucky if they ever forgive me. They’re never going to forgive you.”