Lord Foul's Bane (23 page)

Then his smile returned. “But you, Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and stranger in the Land- you burn yourself too freely. I laughed when I saw you because you seemed like a rooster threatening one of the Ranyhyn. You waste yourself, Thomas Covenant.”

Covenant took a double grip on his anger, and said quietly, “Is that a fact? You judge too quickly, Giant.”

Another fountain of laughter bubbled out of Foamfollower's chest. “Bravely said! Here is a new thing in the Land- a man accusing a Giant of haste. Well, you are right. But did you not know that men consider us a”- he laughed again- “a deliberate people? I was chosen as legate because short human names, which bereave their bearers of so much history and power and meaning, are easier for me than for most of my people. But now it appears that they are too easy.” Once more he threw back his head and let out a stream of deep gaiety.

Covenant glared at the Giant as if all this humour were incomprehensible to him. Then with an effort he pulled himself away, dropped his staff into the bottom of the boat, and sat down on the thwart facing forward, into the west and the afternoon sun. Foamfollower's laughter had a contagious sound, a coloration of uncomplicated joy, but he resisted it. He could not afford to be the victim of any more seductions. Already he had lost more of himself than he could hope to regain.

Nerves don't regenerate. He tolled the words as if they were a private litany, icons of his embattled self. Giants don't exist. I know the difference.

Keep moving, survive.

He chewed his lips as if that pain could help him keep his balance, keep his rage under command.

At his back, Saltheart Foamfollower softly began to chant again. His song rolled through its channel like a long inlet to the sea, rising and falling like a condensation of the tides, and the winds of distance blew through the archaic words. At intervals, they returned to their refrain-

 Stone and Sea are deep in life-

 then voyaged away again. The sound of long sojourning reminded Covenant of his fatigue, and he slumped in the prow to rest.

Foamfollower's question caught him wandering. “Are you a storyteller, Thomas Covenant?”

Absently, he replied, “I was, once.”

“And you gave it up? Ah, that is as sad a tale in three words as any you might have told me. But a life without a tale is like a sea without salt. How do you live?”

Covenant folded his arms across the gunwales and rested his chin on them. As the boat moved, Andelain opened constantly in front of him like a bud; but he ignored it, concentrated instead on the plaint of water past the prow. Unconsciously, he clenched his fist over his ring. “I live.”

“Another?” Foamfollower returned. “In two words, a story sadder than the first. Say no more- with one word you will make me weep.”

If the Giant intended any umbrage, Covenant could not hear it. Foamfollower sounded half teasing, half sympathetic. Covenant shrugged his shoulders, and remained silent.

In a moment, the Giant went on: "Well, this is a bad pass for me. Our journeying will not be easy, and I had hoped that you could lighten the leagues with a story. But no matter. I judge that you will tell no happy tales in any case. Ravers. Waynhim and Andelainian Wraiths slain. Well, some of this does not surprise me- our old ones have often guessed that Soulcrusher would not die as easily as poor Kevin hoped. Stone and Sea! All that Desecration- ravage and rapine- for a false hope. But we have a saying, and it comforts our children- few as they are- when they weep for the nation, the homes, and company of our people, which we lost- we say, Joy is in the ears that hear, not in the mouth that speaks. The world has few stories glad in themselves, and we must have gay ears to defy Despite. Praise the Creator! Old Lord Damelon Giantfriend knew the value of a good laugh. When we reached the Land, we were too grieved to fight for the right to live."

A good laugh, Covenant sighed morosely. Did I do a whole life's laughing in that little time?

 “You humans are an impatient lot, Thomas Covenant. Do you think that I ramble? Not a bit- I have come hastening to the point. Since you have given up the telling of stories, and since it appears that neither of us is happy enough to withstand the recital of your adventures- why, I must do the telling myself. There is strength in stories- heart rebirth and thew binding- and even Giants need strength when they face such tasks as mine.” He paused, and Covenant, not wishing him to stop- the Giant's voice seemed to weave the rush of water past the boat into a soothing tapestry- said into the silence, “Tell."

“Ah,” Foamfollower responded, “that was not so bad. You recover despite yourself, Thomas Covenant. Now, then. Gladden your ears, and listen gaily, for I am no purveyor of sorrows- though in times of action we do not wince from facts. If you asked me to resail your path here, I would require every detail of your journey before I took three steps into the Hills. Resailing is perilous, and too often return is impossible the path is lost, or the traveller changed, beyond hope of recovery.

“But you must understand, Unbeliever, that selecting a tale is usually a matter for deliberation. The old Giantish is a wealth of stories, and some take days in the telling. Once, as a child, I heard three times in succession the tale of Bahgoon the Unbearable and Thelma Twofist, who tamed him- now that was a story worth the laughter- but nine days were gone before I knew it. However, you do not speak Giantish, and translation is a long task, even for Giants, so the problem of selection is simplified. But the lore of our life in Seareach since our ships found the Land contains many times many stories- tales of the reigns of Damelon Giantfriend and Loric Vilesilencer and Kevin, who is now called Landwaster- tales of the building, the carving out of the mountain, of Revelstone, revered rock, “a handmark of allegiance and fealty in the eternal stone of time,” as Kevin once sang it, the mightiest making that the Giants have done in the Land, a temple for our people to look upon and remember what can be achieved- tales of the voyage which saved us from the Desecration, and of the many healings of the new Lords. But again selection is made easy because you are a stranger. I will tell you the first story of the Seareach Giants the Song of the Unhomed.”

Covenant looked about him at the shining blue tranquillity of the Soulsease, and settled himself to hear Foamfollower's story. But the narration did not begin right away. Instead of starting his tale, the Giant went back to his antique plainsong, spinning the melody meditatively so that it unrolled like the sea path of the river. For a long time, he sang, and under the spell of his voice Covenant began to drowse. He had too much exhaustion dripping through his bones to keep his attention ready. While he waited, he rested against the prow like a tired swimmer.

But then a modulation sharpened the Giant's chant. The melody took on keener edges, and turned itself to the angle of a lament. Soon Foamfollower was singing words that Covenant could understand.

We are the Unhomed- 

lost voyagers of the world.

In the land beyond the Sunbirth Sea

we lived and had our homes and grew-

and set our sails to the wind,

unheeding of the peril of the lost.

We are the Unhomed.

From home and hearth,

stone sacred dwellings crafted by our reverent hands,

we set our sails to the wind of the stars,

and carried life to lands across the earth,

careless of the peril of our loss.

We are the Unhomed-

lost voyagers of the world.

From desert shore to high cliff crag,

home of men and sylvan sea-edge faery lands-

from dream to dream we set our sails,

and smiled at the rainbow of our loss.

Now we are Unhomed,

bereft of root and kith and kin.

From other mysteries of delight,

we set our sails to resail our track;

but the winds of life blew not the way we chose,

and the land beyond the Sea was lost.

“Ah, Stone and Sea! Do you know the old lore legend of the Wounded Rainbow, Thomas Covenant? It is said that in the dimmest past of the Earth, there were no stars in our sky. The heavens were a blankness which separated us from the eternal universe of the Creator. There he lived with his people and his myriad bright children, and they moved to the music of play and joy.

“Now, as the ages spired from forever to forever, the Creator was moved to make a new thing for the happy hearts of his children. He descended to the great forges and cauldrons of his power, and brewed and hammered and cast rare theurgies. And when he was done, he turned to the heavens, and threw his mystic creation to the sky- and, behold! A rainbow spread its arms across the universe.

“For a moment, the Creator was glad. But then he looked closely at the rainbow- and there, high in the shimmering span, he saw a wound, a breach in the beauty he had made. He did not know that his Enemy, the demon spirit of murk and mire that crawled through the bowels of even his universe, had seen him at work, and had cast spite into the mortar of his creating. So now, as the rainbow stood across the heavens, it was marred.

“In vexation, the Creator returned to his works, to find a cure for his creation. But while he laboured, his children, his myriad bright children, found the rainbow, and were filled with rejoicing at its beauty. Together, they climbed into the heavens and scampered happily up the bow, dancing gay dances across its colours. High on the span, they discovered the wound. But they did not understand it. Chorusing joy, they danced through the wound, and found themselves in our sky. This new unlighted world only gladdened them the more, and they spun through the sky until it sparkled with the glee of play.

“When they tired of this sport, they sought to return to their universe of light. But their door was shut. For the Creator had discovered his Enemy's handiwork- the cause of the wound- and in his anger his mind had been clouded. Thoughtless, he had torn the rainbow from the heavens. Not until his anger was done did he realize that he had trapped his children in our sky. And there they remain, stars to guide the sojourners of our nights, until the Creator can rid his universe of his Enemy, and find a way to bring his children Home.

“So it was with us, the Unhomed. In our long-lost rocky land, we lived and flourished among our own kind, and when we learned to travel the seas we only prospered the more. But in the eagerness of our glee and our health and our wandering, we betrayed ourselves into folly. We built twenty fine ships, each large enough to be a castle for you humans, and we made a vow among ourselves to set sail and discover the whole Earth. Ah, the whole Earth! In twenty ships, two thousand Giants said high farewells to their kindred, promising to bring back in stories every face of the multitudinous world- and they launched themselves into their dream.

“Then from sea to sea, through tempest and calm, drought and famine and plenty, between reef and landfall, the Giants sailed, glorying in the bite of the salt air, and the stretch of sailors' thews, and the perpetual contest with the ocean, “permanence in motion”- and in the exaltation of binding together new peoples in the web of their wandering.

“Three ships they lost in half a generation. One hundred Giants chose to remain and live out their lot with the sylvan faery
Elohim
. Two hundred died in the war service of the
Bhrathair
, who were nearly destroyed by the Sand gorgons of the great Desert. Two ships were reefed and wrecked. And when the first children born on the voyage were old enough to be sailors themselves, the fifteen vessels held council, and turned their thoughts toward Home- for they had learned the folly of their vow, and were worn from wrestling with the seas.

“So they set their sails by the stars, and sought for Home. But they were prevented. Familiar paths led them to unknown oceans and unencountered perils. Tempests drove them beyond their reckoning until their hands were stripped to the bone by the flailing ropes, and the waves rose up against them as if in hatred. Five more ships were lost- though the wreckage of one was found, and the sailors of another were rescued from the island on which they had been cast. Through ice that held them in its clutch for many seasons, killing scores of them- through calms that made them close comrades of starvation- they endured, struggling for their lives and Home. But disasters erased every vestige of knowledge from their bearings, until they knew not where they were or where to go. When they reached the Land, they cast their anchors. Less than a thousand Giants stepped down to the rocky shore of Seareach. In disconsolation, they gave up their hope of Home.

“But the friendship of High Lord Damelon Heartthew- son renewed them. He saw omens of promise in his mighty Lore, and at his word the Giants lifted up their hearts. They made Seareach their place, and swore fealty to the Lords- and sent three vessels out in quest of Home. Since that time- for more than three times a thousand years- there have always been three Giant ships at sea, seeking our land turn by turn, three new standing out when the old return, their hands empty of success. Still we are Unhomed, lost in the labyrinth of a foolish dream.