One Tree (67 page)

All night, she felt that she was re-dreaming familiar nightmares. But when she awakened, they were gone from her memory.

Covenant stood beside the hammock with his back to her. He held his old clothes as if he meant to don them. She watched him with an ache in her eyes, begging him mutely not to return to what he had been, what they had been toward each other.

He seemed to feel her gaze on him: he turned to her, met her look. His face wore a grimace of bile. But he did not retreat from what he saw. Though his anticipation of the One Tree felt more like dread than eagerness, he was strong yet, as dangerous as she remembered him. After a moment, he threw his garments deliberately into the corner. Then he knelt to her, took her in his arms.

When they went out on deck later, he wore the woolen robe he had been given as if his leprosy inured him to the late autumn coolness of the air. His choice relieved her; and yet he appeared curiously ill-prepared in that robe, as if his love for her had robbed him of more defenses than she knew how to estimate or compensate for.

They paced out the day across the decks, waiting. They were all waiting, she and Covenant and the Giants with them. Time and again, she saw crewmembers pause in their tasks to peer past the ship’s prow. But throughout the morning they saw nothing except the expanse of the sea, stretching to the edges of the world. After their noon meal, they went on waiting and still saw nothing.

But in the middle of the afternoon, the call came at last—a shout of annunciation which nevertheless struck Linden’s tension like a wail. Giants sprang for the rigging to see what the lookout had seen. Seadreamer appeared from belowdecks, climbed grimly upward. Covenant pressed his chest against the foredeck rail for a moment, as if in that way he might force himself to see farther. Then he muttered to Linden,
“Come on,” and set off toward the vantage of the wheeldeck. Like him, she could hardly keep from running.

The First and Pitchwife were there with Honninscrave and a Giant tending Shipsheartthew. Sevinhand and Galewrath arrived shortly. Together the companions stared ahead for some glimpse of the Isle of the One Tree.

For a league or more, the horizon remained immaculate and unexplained. Then Honninscrave’s arm leaped to point almost directly over the prow. Linden was not as far-eyed as the Giants; but after another league she also spotted the Isle. Tiny in the distance, it stood like a point of fatality at the juncture of sea and sky—the pivot around which the Earth turned. As the wind carried Starfare’s Gem swiftly forward, the Isle grew as if it would fulfill all the quest’s expectations.

She looked at Covenant; but he did not meet her gaze. His attention was fixed ahead: his stance was as keen as if he were on the verge of fire. Though he did not speak, the strict, gaunt lines of his visage said as clearly as words that his life or death would be decided here.

By slow degrees, the island revealed itself to the approaching vessel. It stood like a cairn of old rock piled on the surface of the sea. Weather had softened and rimed the gray, jumbled stones, with the result that they seemed almost pure white where the sun touched them, nearly black where they lay in shadow. It was an eyot of day and night—rugged, hoary, and irrefragable. Its crown stood high above the Giantship; but the shape of its upper rims suggested that the island had once been a volcano, or that it was now hollow.

Later the
dromond
drew close enough to discern that the Isle sat within a ragged circle of reefs. These jutted into the air like teeth, with many gaps between them; but none of the openings were large enough to admit Starfare’s Gem.

As the sun declined, Honninscrave set the Giantship on a curving course to pass around the cairn so that he could look for a passage while his companions searched for some sign of the One Tree. Linden’s eyes clung to the island: she studied every variation of its light-and-dark from crown to shore with every dimension of her sight. But she found nothing. The Isle was composed of nothing but blind stone, immune to every form of vitality but its own. Even among the rocks where the waves surged and fell, there lived no weeds or other sea-growths.

The rocks themselves were vivid to her, as massive and consequential as compressed granite—an outcropping of the essential skeleton of the Earth. But perhaps for that very reason they played host to none of the more transient manifestations of life. As she studied them, she realized that they did not even provide a roost for birds. Perhaps the water within the reefs did not hold fish.

“Where is it?” Covenant muttered, speaking to everyone and no one. “Where
is
it?”

After a moment, Pitchwife replied, “Upon the crest. Is that not a natural bourne for the thing we seek?”

Linden kept her doubts to herself. As the sun began to set, casting orange and gold in an unreadable chiaroscuro across the slopes, Starfare’s Gem completed its circuit of the Isle; and she had seen nothing to indicate that the One Tree was here—or that it had ever existed.

At a nod from the First, Honninscrave ordered the furling of the sails, the anchoring of the
dromond
beyond the northern reefs. For a few moments, no one on the wheeldeck spoke; the emblazoned visage of
the Isle held them. In this light, they could see that they were facing a place of power. The sun withdrew as if it were bidding farewell to the Earth. Behind the murmurous labor of the Giants, the complaining of lines and pulleys, the wet embrace of the waves upon the reefs, everything was silent. Not one kestrel raised its cry to ameliorate the starkness of the Isle. The eyot stood within its protective teeth as if it had stood that way forever and would never be appeased.

Then the First said quietly, “Giantfriend, will you not await the new day, ere you attempt this place?”

A shudder like a sudden chill ran through him. In a rough voice, he replied, “No.”

The First sighed. But she did not demur. She spoke to Sevinhand; and he went to supervise the launching of a longboat.

Then she addressed Covenant again. “We have come a great way to this Isle. Because of your might—and of that which you wrought in The Grieve of our lost kindred—we have not questioned you concerning your purpose. But now I ask,” In the west, the sun seemed to be dying behind the long curve of the sea. Covenant’s gaze was an echo of fire. “Have you given thought to the how of this Staff of Law you desire to conceive?”

Linden answered for him, claiming her place in the company because she did not know any other way to dissuade him from his intent for her. “That’s why I’m here.”

He looked at her sharply; but she kept her eyes on the First. “My senses,” she said, awkward with self-consciousness. “The things I see and feel. Health. Rightness. Honesty. What else can it mean? I’m sensitive to Law. I can tell when things fit—and when they don’t. I can guide him.”

Yet as soon as she made her claim, she knew that it was not enough. His emanations were precise. He had been counting on her help. But he did not change his mind. Instead he regarded her as if she had expressed a desire to leave him. Hope and grief were indistinguishable in him.

Incognizant of Covenant’s self-contradiction, the First accepted Linden’s answer. With Pitchwife and Honninscrave, she left the wheeldeck, went to the railing where the longboat was being lowered.

Galewrath assumed command of Starfare’s Gem. When she had satisfied herself that the
dromond
was being given proper care, she said to Covenant and Linden, “Go well.”

Covenant made no reply. He stared at the Isle as if he could read his doom in the fading glory of the sun.

Linden stepped close to him, placed her hand upon his shoulder. He turned stiffly, letting her see the conflicts in his face. He was a figure of illumination and darkness, like the Isle.

She tried again to make him understand her. “Seadreamer is afraid. I think he knows what Lord Foul is doing.”

His features knotted once, then released as if he were about to afflict her with a smile like the one he had once given Joan. “That doesn’t matter.” Slowly his expression grew more gentle. “When I was in Andelain, Mhoram said, ‘It boots nothing to avoid his snares, for they are ever beset with other snares, and life and death are too intimately intergrown to be severed from each other. But it is necessary to comprehend them, so that they may be mastered.’ ” Then he stiffened again. “Come on. Let’s go find out what kind of trouble we’re in.”

She did not want to let him go. She wanted to fling her arms around him, hug and hold him, make him stop what he was doing. But she did not. Was this not why she loved him—because he did not shy from his
own pain? Gritting her courage, she followed him down the stairs as if he were leading her into night.

Sunset still held the masts, but the afterdeck had fallen into gloaming. She needed a moment to adjust her sight before she was able to descry Seadreamer standing at the rail with Honninscrave, the First, and Pitchwife. Vain was there also, as black as the coming dark. Findail had moved aft as well; his robe formed a pale blur beside Vain’s ebony. And Brinn and Cail had come. Linden was surprised to see them. Covenant’s stride faltered as he neared them. But they did not speak, and he went abruptly past them. Reaching the First, he asked, “Are we ready?”

“As ready as may be,” she replied, “with our fate unknown before us.”

He answered like the darkness thickening around the
dromond
, “Then let’s get started.”

At once, Findail interposed in a tone of warning and supplication, “Ring-wielder, will you not bethink you? Surrender this mad purpose while choice yet remains to you. I tell you plainly that you are the plaything of powers which will destroy you—and the Earth with you. This attempt upon the One Tree must not be made.”

Mutely Seadreamer nodded as if he had no choice.

Covenant jerked around to face the Appointed. Speaking softly, almost to himself, he breathed, “I should’ve known that’s what you’re afraid of. The One Tree. The Staff of Law. You’re afraid I might actually succeed. Or why did you try to capture Vain? Why have you tried so hard to keep us from trusting ourselves? You are going to lose something if we succeed. I don’t know what it is, but you’re terrified about it.

“Well, take a look,” he went on grimly. “Vain’s still with us. He’s still got the heels of the old Staff.” He spoke as if his doubt of the Demondim-spawn no longer mattered. “I’m still here. I’ve still got my ring. Linden’s still here.” Suddenly his voice dropped to a whisper like a suspiration of anguish. “By hell, if you want me to surrender, you have got to give me a
reason
.”

The Appointed returned Covenant’s demand in silence. Clearly he did not intend to answer.

After a moment, Covenant swung back to the rest of the company, glaring as if he expected them to argue with him. But Honninscrave was tense with empathy. There was no hesitation in the First’s stern resolve or Pitchwife’s anticipation of wonder. And Seadreamer made no attempt to dissuade the Unbeliever.

Driven by the demons of his personal exigency, Covenant moved to the railing, set his feet to the rope-ladder leading down to the longboat.

Linden followed him at once, unwilling to let even one Giant take her place at his side.

Cail and Brinn were right behind her.

All of the Isle had now fallen into shadow except its crown, which held the fading sunset like an oriflamme that was about to be swallowed by the long night of the Earth. But while the light lasted, it made the crest look like a place where the One Tree might indeed be found. As she turned her back on the sight in order to descend the ladder, Linden remembered that this night would be the dark of the moon. Instinctively she shivered. Her robe seemed suddenly scanty against the chill dark which appeared to rise out of the water like an exhalation. The rocking of the waves forced a splash up between the
dromond
and the longboat just as she was reaching one leg toward the smaller craft; and the
water stung her bare flesh as if its salt were as potent as acid. But she muffled her involuntary gasp, lowered herself into the bottom of the boat, then moved to take a seat with Covenant in the prow. The water tightened the skin of her legs as it dried, sending a tingle through her nerves.

The
Haruchai
were followed by Honninscrave. While his bulk came downward, the sun lost its grasp on the Isle’s crown, fell entirely beyond the horizon. Now the Isle was visible only as a shadow on the deep, silhouetted by the slowly emerging stars. Linden could not discern the lines of the reef at all. But as Honninscrave and Seadreamer seated themselves at the oars, their oaken shoulders expressed no doubt of their ability to find their way. The Master was speaking to his brother, but the chatter and splash of water covered the words.

Pitchwife and the First descended to the longboat in silence. From out of the night, a shadow floated into the bottom of the craft at Seadreamer’s back, where it solidified and became Findail. Vain placed himself in the other half of the boat with Brinn and Cail, near the stem where the First and Pitchwife sat.

Linden reached out, took Covenant’s hand. His fingers felt icy; his numbness had become a palpable cold.

The First waved a salute to the Giants of Starfare’s Gem. If Sevinhand or Galewrath returned an answer, it was inaudible over the chill chuckling of the waters. Deftly, Honninscrave unmoored the longboat, thrust it away from the
dromond
with his oar. Surrounded only by lapping waves, the company moved out into the night.

For several moments, no one spoke. Covenant sat with his face turned to the dark, clenching Linden’s hand as if it were an anchor. She watched the Isle gradually clarify itself as the stars behind it became more explicit; but still she could not make out the reefs. The blackness rising from the water seemed impenetrable. Yet the oars beat steadily, slipping in and out of the unquiet seas; and the boat moved forward as if it were being impelled at great speed, headlong toward its unknown end. The Isle loomed massively out of the night, as dangerous to approach as the entryway of hell.