The Wounded Land (68 page)

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 vise 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 him. He moved to her foot.

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 traveled 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 defense 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 two score 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.”

Honninscrave stopped and stood waiting for Covenant’s reply. The other Giants studied the Unbeliever as if he held the key to a mystery, the First grimly, Seadreamer as intensely as an oracle, Pitchwife with a gaze like a chuckle of laughter or loss. Possibilities widened the faces of the Stonedownors as they began to understand why Covenant had insisted on hearing the explanation of the Giants. But Covenant was silent. He saw the possibilities, too; Honninscrave’s narration had opened a small clear space in his mind, and in that space lay answers. But he was preoccupied with an old grief. Foamfollower’s people had died because they were unable to find their way Home.

“Ur-Lord,” Brinn said. “Time demands us. We must depart.”

Depart. Covenant nodded. Yes. Give me strength. He swallowed, asked thickly, “Where’s your ship?”

“The
dromond
Starfare’s Gem,” Honninscrave replied as if he desired Covenant to use the ship’s title, “stands anchored off the delta of a great swamp which lies in the east. A distance of perhaps seven score leagues.”

Covenant closed his eyes. “Take me there. I need your ship.”

The First’s breath hissed through her teeth. Pitchwife gaped at the ur-Lord’s audacity. After a moment, Honninscrave began hesitantly, “The First has named you Giantfriend. We desire to aid you. But we cannot—”