Donaldson, Stephen R - Covenant 05 - The One Tree

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THE ONE TREE

By: Stephen R. Donaldson

The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant and Unbeliever BOOK FIVE

C 1980

PART I: Risk

ONE: Starfare's Gem

LINDEN AVERY walked beside Covenant down through the ways of Coercri. Below them, the stone

Giantship, Starfare's Gem, came gliding toward the sole intact levee at the foot of the ancient

city; but she paid no heed to it Earlier, she had witnessed the way the dromond rode the wind like

a boon-at once massive and delicate, full-sailed and precise-a vessel of hope for Covenant's

quest, and for her own. As she and the Unbeliever, with Brinn, Cail, and then Vain behind them,

descended toward the headrock and piers of The Grieve, she could have studied that craft with

pleasure. Its vitality offered gladness to her senses.

But Covenant had just sent the two Stonedownors, Sunder and Hollian, back toward the Upper Land in

the hope that they would be able to muster resistance among the villages against the depredations

of the Clave. And that hope was founded on the fact that he had given them Loric's krill to use

against the Sunbane. Covenant needed that blade, both as a weapon to take the place of the wild

magic which destroyed peace and as a defense against the mystery of Vain, the Demondim-spawn. Yet

this morning he had given the krill away. When Linden had asked him for an explanation, he had

replied, I'm already too dangerous.

Dangerous. The word resonated for her. In ways which none but she could perceive, he was sick with

power His native illness, his leprosy, was quiescent, even though he had lost or surrendered most

of the self-protective disciplines which kept it slumberous. But in its place grew the venom that

a Raver and the Sunbane had afflicted upon him. That moral poison was latent at present, but it

crouched in him like a predator, awaiting its time to spring. To her sight, it underlay the hue of

his skin as if it had blackened the marrow of his bones. With his venom and his white ring, he was

the most dangerous man she had ever known.

She desired that danger in him. It denned for her the quality of strength which had originally

attracted her to him on Haven Farm. He had smiled for Joan when he had sold his life for hers; and

that smile had revealed more of his strange potency, his capacity to outwrestle fate itself, than

any threat or violence could have. The caamora of release he had given to the Dead of The Grieve

had shown the lengths to which he was able to go in the name of his complex guilts and passions.

He was a paradox, and Linden ached to emulate him.

For all his leprosy and venom, his self-judgment and rage, he was an affirmation-an assertion of

life and a commitment to the Land, a statement of himself in opposition to anything the Despiser

could do. And what was she? What had she done with her whole life except flee from her past? All

her severity, all her drive toward medical effectiveness against death, had been negative from the

start-a rejection of her own mortal heritage rather than an approval of the beliefs she nominally

served. She was like the Land under the tyranny of the Clave and the Sunbane-a place ruled by fear

and bloodshed rather than love.

Covenant's example had taught her this about herself. Even when she had not understood why he was

so attractive to her, she had followed him instinctively. And now she knew that she wanted to be

like him. She wanted to be a danger to the forces which impelled people to their deaths.

She studied him as they walked, trying to imprint the gaunt, prophetic lines of his visage, the

strictness of his mouth and the wild tangle of his beard, upon her own resolve. He emanated a

strait anticipation that she shared.

Like him, she looked forward to the prospect of a voyage of hope in the company of Giants.

Although she had spent only a few days with Grimmand Honninscrave, Cable Sea-dreamer, Pitchwife,

and the First of the Search, she already comprehended the pang of love which entered Covenant's

voice whenever he spoke of the Giants he had known. But she also possessed a private eagerness, an

anticipation of her own.

Almost from the moment when her health-sense had awakened, it had been a source of pain and dismay

for her. Her first acute perception had been of the ill of Nassic's murder. And that sight had

launched a seemingly endless sequence of Ravers and Sunbane which had driven her to the very edges

of survival. The continuous onslaught of palpable evil-moral and physical disease which she would

never be able to cure- bad filled her with ineffectually, demonstrating her unworth at every touch

and glance. And then she had fallen into the hands of the Clave, into the power of Gibbon-Raver.

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The prophecy which he had uttered against her, the sabulous atrocity which he had radiated into

her, had crammed every corner of her soul with a loathing and rejection indistinguishable from

self-abhorrence. She had sworn that she would never again open the doors of her senses to any

outward appeal.

But she had not kept that vow. The obverse of her sharp vulnerability was a peculiar and necessary

usefulness. The same percipience which so exposed her to dismay had also enabled her to provide

for her own recovery from Courser-poison and broken bones. That capacity had touched her medical

instincts deeply, giving a validation to her identity which she had thought lost when she had been

translated out of the world she understood. In addition, she had been able to serve her companions

by helping them against the murderous ill of the lurker of the Sarangrave.

And then the company had escaped Sarangrave Flat into Seareach, where the Sunbane did not reign.

Surrounded by natural health, by fall weather and color as pristine as the beginning of life, and

accompanied by Giants-especially by Pitchwife, whose irrepressible humor seemed a balm for every

darkness-she had felt her ankle heal under the eldritch influence of diamondraught. She had tasted

the tangible loveliness of the world, had experienced keenly the gift Covenant had given to the

Dead of The Grieve. She had begun to know in the most visceral way that her health-sense was

accessible to good as well as to evil-and that perhaps she could exercise some choice over the

doom which Gibbon had foretold for her.

That was her hope. Perhaps in that way if in no other she would be able to transform her life.

The old man whose life she had saved on Haven Farm had said, Be true. There is also love in the

world. For the first time, those words did not fill her with dread.

She hardly looked away from Covenant as they descended the Giant-wrought stairs. He appeared equal

to anything. But she was also aware of other things. The clear morning. The salt-rimed emptiness

of Coercri. The intransigent black Peril of Vain. And at her back, the Haruchai. The way they

paced the stone belied their characteristic dispassion. They seemed almost avid to explore the

unknown Earth with Covenant and the Giants. Linden concentrated on these details as if they formed

the texture of the new life she desired.

However, as the companions moved out into the direct sunlight on the base of the city, where the

First, Seadreamer, and Pitchwife waited with Ceer and Hergrom, Linden's gaze leaped outward as if

it were drawn by a lodestone; and she saw Starfare's Gem easing its way into the levee.

The Giantship was a craft to amaze her heart. It rose above her, dominating the sky as her sight

rushed to take it in. While its Master, Grimmand Honninscrave, shouted orders from the wheeldeck

which stood high over the vessel's heel, and Giants swarmed its rigging to furl the canvas and

secure the lines, it coasted into its berth with deft accuracy. The skill of its crew and the

cunning of its construction defied the massive tan-and-moire granite of which it was made. Seen

from nearby, the sheer weight of the dromond's seamless sides and masts disguised the swiftness of

its shape, the long sweep of the decks, the jaunty angle of the prow, the just balance of the

spars. But when her perceptions adjusted to the scale of the ship, she could see that it was apt

for Giants. Their size attained a proper dimension among the shrouds. And the moire of the stone

sides rose from the water like flames of granite eagerness.

That stone surprised Linden. Instinctively, she had questioned the nature of the Giantship,

believing that granite would be too brittle to withstand the stress of the seas. But as her vision

sprang into the ship, she saw her error. This granite had the slight but necessary flexibility of

bone. Its vitality went beyond the limitations of stone.

And that vitality shone through the dromond's crew. They were Giants; but on their ship they were

more than that. They were the articulation and service of a brave and breathing organism, the

hands and laughter of a life which exalted them. Together, the stone and the Giants gave

Starfare's Gem the look of a vessel which contended against the powerful seas simply because no

other test could match its native exultation.

Its three masts, each rising high enough to carry three sails, aspired like cedars over the

wheeldeck, where Honninscrave stood. He lolled slightly with the faint unevenness of the Sea as if

he had been born with combers underfoot, salt in his beard, mastery in every glance of his

cavernous eyes. His shout in answer to Pitchwife's hail echoed off the face of Coercri, making The

Grieve resound with welcome for the first time in many centuries. Then the sunlight and the ship

blurred before Linden as sudden tears filled her eyes as if she had never seen joy before-After a

moment, she blinked her sight clear and looked again at Covenant. Tautness had twisted his face

into a grin like a contortion; but the spirit behind that grimace was clear to her. He was looking

at his means to achieve his quest for the One Tree, for the survival of the Land. And more than

that: he was looking at Giants, the kindred of Saltheart Foamfollower, whom he had loved. She did

not need him to explain the desire and fear which caused his grin to look so much like a snarl.

His former victory over Lord Foul had been cleansed of Despite by the personal anodyne of

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Foamfollower's laughter. And the cost of that victory had been the Giant's life. Covenant now

regarded the Giants of Starfare's Gem with yearning and memory: he feared he would bring them to

Foamfollower's fate.

That also Linden understood. Like his obduracy, her own stubbornness had been born in loss and

guilt. She knew what it meant to distrust the consequences of her desires.

But the arrival of the Giantship demanded her attention. Noise bubbled out of the vessel like a

froth of gaiety. Hawsers were thrown to Pitchwife and Seadreamer, who snubbed them taut to the

long-unused belaying-posts of the pier. Starfare's Gem rubbed its shoulders against the sides of

the levee, settled itself at rest. And as soon as the dromond had been secured, the Master and his

crew of twoscore Giants swung down ropes and ladders, bounding to the piers.

There they saluted the First with affection, hugged Sea-dreamer, shouted their pleasure at

Pitchwife. The First returned their respects gravely: with her iron hair and her broadsword, she

held their familiarity at a distance. But Pitch-wife expressed enough mirth to compensate for

Seadreamer's mute resignation; and shortly the Giants began to roil forward to look at the city of

the Unhomed, their ancient lost kindred. Linden found herself surrounded by weathered, brawny men

and women twice her height-sailors built like oaks, and yet as full of movement and wonder as

saplings. All of them were plainly dressed in the habiliments of their work-in sarks of mail

formed of interlocking stone discs and heavy leather leggings-but nothing else about them was

drab. They were colorful in language and exuberance and salt humor. With a swirl of activity, they

restored life to The Grieve.

Their impulse to explore the city, investigate the handiwork of their long-dead people, was

palpable to Linden. And Covenant's eyes shone in response-a recollection of the caamora by which

he had redeemed Coercri from anguish, earning the title the First had given him, Giantfriend. But

through the tumult, monolithic jests and laughter to which Pitchwife riposted gleefully, questions

that the Haruchai answered with characteristic tersity, salutations which dazzled Linden and made

Covenant straighten his back as if he sought to be taller, the First addressed Honninscrave

sternly, telling him of her decision to aid Covenant's quest. And she spoke of urgency, of the

growing chancre of the Sunbane and of the difficulty of locating the One Tree, creating a new

Staff of Law in time to prevent the Sunbane from tearing the heart out of the Earth. The Master's

excitement sobered rapidly. When she asked about the state of the Giantship's supplies, he replied

that the Anchormaster, his second-in-command, had reprovisioned the dromond while waiting off the

littoral of the Great Swamp. Then he began calling his crew back to the ship.

Several of the Giants protested good-naturedly, asking for the story of The Grieve. But Covenant

was nodding to himself as if he were thinking of the way the Clave fed the Banefire and the

Sunbane with blood. Honninscrave did not hesitate. "Patience, sluggards!" he responded. "Are you

Giants, that a little patience eludes you? Let stories await their turn, to ease the labor of the

seas. The First requires haste!"

His command gave Linden a pang of regret. The ebullience of these Giants was the happiest thing

she had seen in a long time. And she thought that perhaps Covenant might want a chance to savor

what he had achieved here. But she understood him well enough to know that he would not accept

honor for himself without persuasion. Moving closer to him, she thrust her voice through the

clamor. "Berek found the One Tree, and he didn't have any Giants to help him. How far away can it

be?"

He did not look at her. The dromond held his gaze. Under his beard, he chewed a mood which was

half excitement, half trepidation.

"Sunder and Hollian will do everything they can," she went on. "And those Haruchai you freed

aren't going to sit on their hands. The Clave is already in trouble. We can afford a little time."

His eyes did not shift. But she felt his attention turn toward her. "Tell me," he murmured, barely

audible through the interchanges of the Giants. They and the Haruchai had ranged themselves

expectantly along the pier. "Do you think I should have tried to destroy the Clave? While I had

the chance?"

The question struck a nerve in her. It resembled too closely another question he would have asked

if he had known enough about her. "Some infections have to be cut out," she replied severely. "If

you don't kill the disease somehow, you lose the patient. Do you think those fingers of yours were

cut off out of spite?"

His brows flinched. He regarded her as if she had startled him out of his personal concerns, made

him aware of her in a way which would not allow peace between them. The muscles of his throat were

tight as he asked, "Is that what you would have done?"

She could not keep from wincing. Gibbon had said to her, You have committed murder. Are you not

evil? Suddenly, she felt sure that Covenant would have agreed with the Raver. Fighting to conceal

her self-betrayal, she answered, "Yes. Why else do you have all that power?" She already knew too

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well how much she wanted power.

"Not for that." Around them, the Giants had fallen silent, waiting for his decision. In the

unanticipated quiet, his vehemence rang out like a promise over the lapping of the Sea. But he

ignored his audience. Facing Linden squarely, he articulated, "I've already killed twenty-one of

them. I'm going to find some other answer."

She thought he would go on. But a moment later he seemed to see and recognize her abashment,

though he could not have known its cause. At once, he turned to the First. Softly, he said, "I'd

feel better if we got started."

She nodded, but did not move. Instead, she drew her falchion, gripped it in both hands like a

salute.

"Giantfriend." As she spoke, there was a shout in her words, though her voice was quiet. "To all

our people you have given a gift which we will repay. This I say in the name of the Search, and of

the Earth-Sight"-she glanced at Sea-

dreamer - "which guides us still, though I have chosen another path to the same goal."

Seadreamer's face knotted around the white scar running under his eyes across the bridge of his

nose; but he permitted himself to show no protest. The First concluded, "Covenant Giantfriend, we

are yours while your purpose holds."

Covenant remained silent, a man tangled in gratitude and self-doubt. But he bowed his head to the

leader of the Search.

The gesture touched Linden. It became him, as if he had found in himself the grace, or perhaps the

sense of worth, to accept help. But at the same time she was relieved to escape the hidden

conflicts which had surfaced in his questions. When the First said firmly, "Let us sail," Linden

followed the Giants without hesitation toward Starfare's Gem.

The side of the Giantship leaned hugely over her; and when she set her hands and feet to the heavy

thews of the rope-ladder which the crew held for her, the ascent seemed to carry her surprisingly

high, as if the vessel were even larger than it appeared to be. But Cail climbed protectively

behind her, and Giants surged upward on all sides. As she stooped through the railing onto the

foredeck, she forgot her discomfiture. The dromond reached out to her like an entrancement.

Unaccustomed to such stone, she could not extend her percipience very far around her; but all the

granite within her range felt as vital as living wood. She half expected to taste sap flowing

beneath the surfaces of the Giantship. And that sensation intensified as her companions boarded

the craft. Because of his vertigo and his half-hand, Covenant had difficulty climbing; but Brinn

soon helped him past the rail. Following either Covenant or Linden, Vain smoothly ascended the

ladder, then stopped like a statue at the edge of the foredeck, smiling his black, ambiguous

smile. Ceer and Hergrom appeared to flow up the ropes. And as every set of feet took hold of the

stone, Starfare's Gem radiated more bustling energy to Linden's nerves. Even through her shoes,

the granite felt too buoyant to be overborne by any Sea.

Sunlight covered the piers, spangled the gently heaving strip of water along the shipside, shone

into the face of Coercri as if this day marked the first true dawn since the destruction of the

Unhomed. Responding to Honninscrave's commands, some of the Giants positioned themselves to

release the moorings. Others leaped into the rigging, climbing the heavy cables as lightly as

children. Still others went below, where Linden

could feel them tending the inner life of the ship until they passed beyond her inexperienced

perceptions. In moments, the lower sails began to ripple in the breeze; and Starfare's Gem eased

out to Sea.

TWO: Black Mood

LINDEN tried to watch everything as the dromond slipped backward from the levee, then turned

toward open water. Shifting from side to side, she saw the Giants unfurling canvas as if the labor

were done by incantation rather than effort. Under her feet, the deck began to roll; but the seas

were light, and the Giantship's great weight made it stable. She felt no discomfort. Her gaze

repeatedly intersected Covenant's, and his excitement heightened hers. His expression was free of

darkness; even his beard seemed to bristle with possibilities. After a moment, she became aware

that he was breathing words along the breeze:

"Stone and Sea are deep in life, two unalterable symbols of the world: permanence at rest, and

permanence in motion; participants in the Power that remains." f

They resonated in her memory like an act of homage.

When she changed positions to look back toward Coercri, the breeze caught her hair, fluttering it

across her face. She ran her fingers into her wheaten tresses, held them in place; and that simple

gesture gave her more pleasure in herself than she had felt for a long time. Salt tanged the air,

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sharpening the very sunlight so that The Grieve looked like a place of rebirth as it receded. She

began to think that perhaps more things had been reborn there than she would have dared to hope.

Then Pitchwife began to sing. He stood some distance away, but his voice carried like light across

the dromond, rising strongly from his deformed chest over the slapping of the waves and the snap

of the canvas. His tune was a plain-song spiced with accents and suggestions of harmony; and the

other Giants joined him:

"Come sea and wave-

broad footpath of those who roam

and gateway to the world!

All ways lead the way to Home.

"Come wind and speed- sky-breath and the life of sail! Lines and sheets unfurled, our hearts

covet every gale.

"Come travel and quest! Discovery of the Earth: mysteries unknurled:

roaming without stint or dearth:

"Risk and journey save

the heart of life from loss and need.

We are the ocean's guest,

and we love the vasty world!"

The Giants were joyful singers, and their voices formed a counterpoint to the rocking of the

masts, a song punctuated by a rising staccato as the breeze knocked the canvas. Star-fare's Gem

appeared to ride music as well as wind.

And as the wind stiffened, Coercri slid toward the horizon with surprising celerity while the sun

rose into midday. Honninscrave and his crew exchanged comments and jests as if they were all

negligent; but his eyes under the bulwark of his brows missed nothing. At his orders, the rest of

the sails had been raised; and Starfare's Gem strode into the Sunbirth Sea with a fleetness that

fulfilled the prophecy of its moire-marked sides. Linden could feel vibrancy running like a thrill

through the stone. In the hands of Giants, even granite became a thing of swiftness and graceful

poise.

Before long, her sensations became so sapid that she could no longer remain still. Instinctively,

she moved away to begin exploring the ship.

At once, Cail was at her shoulder. As she crossed the foredeck, he surprised her by asking if she

wanted to see her quarters.

She stopped to stare at him. The impassive wall of his mien gave no hint of how he had come by

enough knowledge of the dromond to make such an offer. His short tunic left his brown limbs always

free and ready; but his question made him appear not only prepared but also prescient. However, he

answered her mute inquiry by explaining that Ceer and Hergrom had already spoken to the

Storesmaster and had obtained from her at least a skeletal understanding of the ship.

For a moment, Linden paused to consider the continuing providence of the Haruchai. But then she

realized that Cail had offered her exactly what she did want-a place of her own; privacy in which

to accustom herself to the sensations of the Giantship; a chance to clarify the new things that

were happening to her. And perhaps the hospitality of the Giants would extend as far as bathwater?

Hot bathwater? Images of luxuriance filled her head. How long had it been since she had last taken

a hot bath? Since she had felt genuinely clean? She nodded to Cail and followed him toward the

stern of the dromond.

Amidship stood a flat-roofed structure that separated the fore- and afterdecks, completely

spanning the vessel from side to side. When Cail led her into the housing through a seadoor with a

storm-sill as high as her knees, she found herself in a long eating-hall with a galley on one side

and a warren of storage-lockers on the other. The structure had no windows, but lanterns made it

bright and cheery. Their light gleamed on the stone of the midmast as it passed straight through

the hall like a rooftree. The shaft was carved like a hatchment with patterns at which she was

tempted to look more closely. But Cail moved through the hall as if he already knew all its

secrets; and she went with him out to the afterdeck.

Together, they crossed to the Giantship's stern. She acknowledged Honninscrave's salute from the

wheeldeck, then followed Cail through another seadoor to starboard below the Master's position.

That entrance gave access to a smooth stone ladder leading downward. The ladder had been formed

for Giants, but she was able to use it. And she only had to descend one level. There, in a

passageway lit by more lanterns, she found a series of doors-rooms, Cail explained, which had been

set aside for her, Vain, Ceer, and himself.

Covenant, Brinn, and Hergrom were to be similarly housed on the port side of the vessel.

When she entered her cabin, she discovered that it was a chamber which would have been small for a

Giant but seemed almost wastefully large for her. A long hammock hung near one wall; two massive

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chairs and a table occupied most of the floor. These furnishings outsized her: the chair-seats

reached to her waist; and she would have to stand on the table to gain the hammock. But for the

present those difficulties did not bother her. The chamber was bright with sunshine reflecting

through an open port, and it offered privacy. She was glad to have it.

But moments after Cail left in search of the food and bathwater she requested of him, a tension

which had been nagging at her underneath her excitement demanded her notice. The withdrawal of

Cail's hard Haruchai presence pulled aside a veil within her. A hand of darkness hidden somewhere

inside the depths of the dromond reached out one dire finger toward her heart. At its touch, all

her relief and anticipation and newness eroded and fell down like a sea-doused castle of sand. An

old and half forgotten black mood began to seep back into her.

It stank of her parents and Gibbon.

After all, what had truly changed for her? What right or reason did she have to be where she was?

She was still the same-a woman driven by the need to flee death rather than to pursue life. She

did not know how to change. And the na-Mhoram had explicitly denied her hope. He had said, You are

being forged as iron is forged to achieve the ruin of the Earth. Because you are open to that

which no other in the Land can discern, you are open to be forged. She would never be free of his

eager cruelty, of the gelid ill with which he had desecrated her private flesh-or of the way she

had responded. The message of his doom came back to her now, rising as if it grew from the keel of

Starfare's Gem-as if the health of the dromond contained a canker spot which fed on the Giants and

their ship.

That blackness had contorted much of her life. It was her parents, her father and mother. And it

was here. It was within her, and yet she inhaled it as if the air were full of it as well. A fate

she could neither name nor endure seemed to lurk in ambush for her, so that her cabin felt more

like a cell in the

hold of Revelstone than a sunwashed chamber in the company of Giants.

For several long moments, she fought the oppression, struggled to define the strange way it

appeared to spring from outside her. But her past was too strong; it blinded her percipience. Long

before Cail could return, she fled her cabin, rushed back up to the open air. Clinging to the

starboard rail with hands that trembled, she swallowed repeatedly, heavily, at the old dread

rising in her throat like a recognition of Gibbon's touch.

But gradually the darkness lessened. She could think of no reason why this should be true; but she

felt instinctively that she had put some distance between herself and the source of the mood.

Seeking to increase that distance, she turned toward the nearest stairway to the wheeldeck.

Ceer had appeared at her side to ward her while Cail was away. She could hardly refrain from

leaning against him, bracing her frailty on his rectitude. But she hated that weakness. Striving

to ignore it, deny it, she impelled herself up the stairs alone.

On the wheeldeck, she found Honninscrave, the First, Covenant, Brinn, and another Giant who held

the great wheel which guided the ship. This wheel was formed of stone and stood half again as tall

as Linden; but the steerswoman turned its spokes as lightly as if it had been carved of balsa

wood. Honninscrave greeted the Chosen, and the First gave her a nod of welcome; yet Linden felt

immediately that she had interrupted a discussion. Covenant looked toward her as if he meant to

ask her opinion. But then he closed his mouth and gazed at her more intently. Before she could

speak, he said, "Linden, what's the matter?"

She frowned back at him, vexed and shamed by the transparency of her emotions. Clearly, she had

not changed in any way that mattered. She still could not tell him the truth-not here, under an

open sky and the eyes of the Giants. She tried to dismiss his question with a shrug, smooth out

the lines of her face. But his attention did not lose its acuity. In a careful voice, she said, "I

was thinking about Gibbon." With her eyes, she asked him to let the matter pass. "I'd rather think

about something else."

At that, his stare softened. He looked like a man who Was willing to do almost anything for her.

Clearing his throat,

he said, "We were talking about Vain. He hasn't moved since he came aboard. And he's in the way.

Interferes with some of the rigging. The crew asked him to move-but you know how much good that

did."

She knew. Time and again, she had seen the Demondim-spawn in his familiar relaxed stance, arms

slightly bent, eyes focused on nothing-as motionless as an obelisk.

"So they tried to shift him. Three of them. He didn't budge." Covenant shook his head at the idea

that anyone could be heavy or strong enough to defeat three Giants. Then he concluded, "We were

trying to decide what to do about it. Honninscrave wants to use a block-and-tackle."

Linden gave an inward sigh of relief. The darkness retreated another step, pushed back by this

chance to be of use. "It won't do any good," she replied. Vain's purposes were a mystery to her;

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but she had seen deeply enough into him to know that he could become denser and less tractible

than the granite of the ship. "If he doesn't want to move, he won't move."

Covenant nodded as if she had confirmed his expectations. The First muttered sourly to herself.

With a shrug, Honninscrave ordered his crew to work around the Demondim-spawn.

Linden was glad of their company. Her sense of oppression was definitely weaker now. The huge

health of the Giants seemed to shield her. And Covenant's considerateness eased her. She could

breathe as if her lungs were not clogged with memories of death. Moving to the taffrail, she sat

down against one of the posts and tried to tune herself to the Giant-ship.

Shortly, Cail came to take Ceer's place. His features betrayed no reproach for the wasted errand

on which she had sent him. For that forbearance also she was grateful. She sensed the presence of

a fierce capacity for judgment behind the impassivity of the Haruchai. She did not want it turned

against her.

Almost without volition, her gaze returned to Covenant. But his attention was elsewhere.

Starfare's Gem and its crew had taken hold of him again. He was so entranced by the dromond, so

moved by the companionship of Giants, that everything else receded. He asked Honninscrave and the

First questions to start them talking, then listened to their responses

with the hunger of a man who had found no other answer to his loneliness.

Following his example, Linden also listened and watched.

Honninscrave talked at glad length about the life and workings of his craft. The crew was divided

into three watches under the command of the Master, the Anchormaster, and the ship's third-in-

command, the Storesmaster. However, like their officers, the Giants did not appear to rest when

they were off duty. Their affection would not permit them to leave Starfare's Gem alone, and they

spent their time doing odd jobs around the vessel. But when Honninscrave began to describe these

tasks, and the purposes they served, Linden lost her way. The crew had Giantish names for every

line and sheet, every part of the ship, every implement; and she could not absorb the barrage of

unfamiliar words. Some stayed with her: Dawngreeter, the highest sail on the foremast; Horizon-

scan, the lookout atop the midmast; Shipsheartthew, the great wheel which turned the rudder. But

she did not know enough about ships and sailing to retain the rest.

This problem was aggravated by the fact that Honninscrave rarely phrased his instructions to his

watch as direct orders. More often, he shouted a comment about the state of the sails, or the

wind, or the seas, and left the choice of appropriate action to any Giant who happened to be near

the right place. As a result, the tacking of the ship seemed to happen almost spontaneously-a

reaction to the shifting air rather than to Honninscrave's mastery, or perhaps a theurgy enacted

by the vivid and complex vibrations of the rigging. This beguiled Linden, but did not greatly

enhance her grasp on the plethora of names the Master used.

Later, she was vaguely surprised to see Ceer and Hergrom in the shrouds of the aftermast. They

moved deftly among the lines, learning from and aiding the Giants with an easy alacrity which

seemed almost gay. When she asked Cail what his people were doing, he replied that they were

fulfilling an old dream of the Haruchai. During all the centuries that the Un-homed and the

Bloodguard had known each other before and after the Ritual of Desecration, no Haruchai had ever

set foot on a Giantship. Ceer and Hergrom were answering a desire which had panged their ancestors

more than three thousand years ago.

Cail's terse account touched her obscurely, like a glimpse of

an unsuspected and occult beauty. The steadfastness of his people transcended all bounds. During

Covenant's previous visits to the Land, the Bloodguard had already been warding the Council of

Lords without sleep or death for nearly two thousand years, so extravagant had been their Vow of

service. And now, millennia later, Cail and his people still preserved the memories and

commitments of those Bloodguard.

But the implications of such constancy eventually cast Linden back upon herself; and as the

afternoon waned, her gloom returned. Her senses were growing steadily more attuned to the

Giantship. She could read the movements and mirth of the Giants passing through the decks below

her; with effort, she could estimate the number of people in Foodfendhall, the midship housing.

This should have eased her. Everything she consciously felt was redolent with clean strength and

good humor. And yet her darkness thickened along the slow expansion of her range.

Again, she was troubled by the sensation that her mood grew from an external source-from some

fatal flaw or ill in the Giantship. Yet she could not disentangle that sensation from her personal

response. She had spent too much of her life in this oppression to think seriously that it could

be blamed on anything outside herself. Gibbon had not created her blackness: he had only given her

a glimpse of its meaning. But familiarity did not make it more bearable.

When the call for supper came, she resisted her depression to answer it. Covenant did not

hesitate; and she meant to follow him to the ends of the Earth if necessary to learn the kind of

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courage which made him forever active against his doom. Beneath his surface, leprosy slept and

Lord Foul's venom awaited the opportunity to work its intended desecration. Yet he seemed equal to

his plight, more than equal to it. He did not suffer from the particular fear which had paralyzed

her in the face of Joan's possession, Marid's monstrous ill, Gibbon-Raver's horror. But for that

very reason she was determined to accompany him until she had found his answer. Hastening to his

side, she went with him toward Foodfendhall.

However, as night gathered over the decks, her uneasiness mounted. The setting of the sun left her

exposed to a stalking peril. In the eating-hall, she was crowded among Giants whose appetites

radiated vitality; but she could barely force food past the thickness of defeat in her throat,

although she had not had a meal since that morning. Steaming stew, cakes

full of honey, dried fruit: her black mood made such things vaguely nauseating.

Soon afterward, Honninscrave ordered the sails shortened for the night; and the time came for

tales. The Giants responded eagerly, gathering on the afterdeck and in the shrouds of the

aftermast so that the First and Covenant could speak to them from the wheeldeck. Their love of

tales was plain in them-a love which made them appear childlike, and yet also gave them a precious

and encompassing courage. And Covenant went aft to meet them as though this, too, were something

he already knew how to bear. But Linden had reached the limit of her endurance. Above the masts,

the stars appeared disconsolate in their immense isolation. The noises of the ship-the creak of

the rigging, the uncertainty of the sails whenever the wind shifted, the protest of the waves as

the dromond shouldered through them-sounded like pre-echoes of anger or grief. And she had already

heard many stories-the tales of the Earth's creation, of Kevin Land-waster's despair, of

Covenant's victory. She was not ready for any more.

Instead, she forced herself to go back to her cabin. Down into the darkness rather than away from

it.

She found that in her absence the old furniture had been replaced with chairs and a table more to

her size; and a stepladder had been provided to give her easier access to the hammock. But this

courtesy did not relieve her. Still the oppression seeped into her from the stone of the dromond.

Even after she threw open the port, letting in the wind and the sounds of the Sea under the ship's

heel, the chamber's ambience remained viscid, comfortless. When she mustered the courage to

extinguish her lantern, the dark concentrated inward on her, hinting at malice.

I'm going crazy. Despite its special texture, the granite around her began to feel like the walls

of Revelstone, careless and unyielding. Memories of her parents gnawed at the edges of her brain.

Have committed murder. Going crazy. The blood on her hands was as intimate as any Covenant had

ever shed.

She could hear the Giants singing overhead, though the noise of the Sea obscured their words. But

she fought her impulse to flee the cabin, run back to the misleading security °f the assemblage.

Instead, she followed the faint scent of diamondraught until she found a flask of the potent

Giantish

liquor on her table. Then she hesitated. Diamondraught was an effective healer and roborant, as

she knew from personal experience; but it was also strongly soporific. She hesitated because she

was afraid of sleep, afraid that slumber represented another flight from something she needed

desperately to confront and master. But she had faced these moods often enough in the past,

endured them until she had wanted to wail like a lost child-and what had she ever accomplished by

it? Estimating the effect of the diamondraught, she took two small swallows. Then she climbed into

the hammock, pulled a blanket over herself to help her nerves feel less exposed, and tried to

relax. Before she was able to unknot her muscles, the sea-sway of the dromond lifted her into

slumber.

For a time, the world of her unconsciousness was blissfully empty. She rode long slow combers of

sleep on a journey from nowhere into nowhere and suffered no harm. But gradually the night became

the night of the woods behind Haven Farm, and ahead of her burned the fire of invocation to Lord

Foul. Joan lay there, possessed by a cruelty so acute that it stunned Linden to the soul. Then

Covenant took Joan's place, and Linden broke free, began running down the hillside to save him,

forever running down the hillside to save him and never able to reach him, never able to stop the

astonishing violence which drove the knife into his chest. It pierced him whitely, like an evil

and tremendous fang. When she reached him, blood was gushing from the wound-more blood than she

had ever seen in her life. Impossible that one body held so much blood! It welled out of him as if

any number of people had been slain with that one blow.

She could not stop it. Her hands were too small to cover the wound. She had left her medical bag

in her car. Feverishly, she tore off her shirt to try to staunch the flow, leaving herself naked

and defenseless; but the flannel was instantly soaked with blood, useless. Blood slicked her

breasts and thighs as she strove to save his life and could not. Despite every exigency of her

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training and self-mortification, she could not stop that red stream. The firelight mocked her. The

wound was growing.

In moments, it became as wide as his chest. Its violence ate at his tissues like venom. Her hands

still clutched the futile sop of her shirt, still madly trying to exert pressure to plug the well;

but it went on expanding until her arms were lost in him to the elbows. Blood poured over her

thighs like the ichor of

the world. She was hanging from the edge by her chest, with her arms extended into the red maw as

if she were diving to her death. And the wound continued to widen. Soon it was larger than the

stone on which Covenant had fallen, larger than the hollow in the woods.

Then with a shock of recognition she saw that the wound was more than a knife-thrust in his chest:

it was a stab to the very heart of the Land. The hole had become a pit before her, and its edge

was a sodden hillside, and the blood spewing over her was the life of the Earth. The Land was

bleeding to death. Before she could even cry out, she was swept away across the murdered body of

the ground. She had no way to save herself from drowning.

The turbulence began to buffet her methodically. The hot fluid made her throat raw, burned her

voice out of her. She was helpless and lost. Her mere flesh could not endure or oppose such an

atrocity. Better if she had never tried to help Covenant, never tried to staunch his wound. This

would never have happened if she had accepted her paralysis and simply let him die.

But the shaking of her shoulders and the light slapping across her face insisted that she had no

choice. The rhythm became more personal; by degrees, it dragged her from her diamondrought-sopor.

When she wrenched her eyes open, the moonlight from the open port limned Call's visage. He stood

on the stepladder so that he could reach her to awaken her. Her throat was sore, and the cabin

still echoed her screaming.

"Cail!" she gasped. Oh my God!

"Your sleep was troubled." His voice was as flat as his mien. "The Giants say their diamondraught

does not act thus."

"No." She struggled to sit up, fought for self-possession Images of nightmare flared across her

mind; but behind them the mood in which she had gone to sleep had taken on a new significance.

"Get Covenant."

"The ur-Lord rests," he replied inflectionlessly.

Impelled by urgency, Linden flung herself over the edge of the hammock, forced Cail to catch her

and lower her to the floor. "Get him." Before the Haruchai could respond, she rushed to the door.

In the lantern-lit companionway, she almost collided with Seadreamer. The mute Giant was

approaching her cabin as if e had heard her cries. For an instant, she was stopped by the

similarity between her nightmare and the vision which had reft him of his voice-a vision so

powerful that it had compelled his people to launch a Search for the wound which threatened the

Earth. But she had no time. The ship was in danger! Sprinting past him, she leaped for the ladder.

When she reached open air, she was in the shadow of the wheeldeck as the moon sank toward setting.

Several Giants were silhouetted above her. Heaving herself up the high stairs, she confronted the

Storesmaster, a Giant holding Shipsheartthew, and two or three companions. Her chest strained to

control her fear as she demanded, "Get the First."

The Storesmaster, a woman named Heft Galewrath, had a bulky frame tending toward fat which gave

her an appearance of stolidity; but she wasted no time on questions or hesitancy. With a nod to

one of her companions, she said simply, "Summon the First. And the Master." The crewmember obeyed

at once.

As Linden regained her breath, she became aware that Cail was beside her. She did not ask him if

he had called Covenant. The pale scar which marked his left arm from shoulder to elbow had been

given him by a Courser-spur aimed at her. It seemed to refute any doubt of him.

Then Covenant came up the stairs, with Brinn at his back. He looked disheveled and groggy in the

moonlight; but his voice was tight as he began, "Linden-?" She gestured him silent, knotted her

fists to retain her fragile grip on herself. He turned to Cail; but before Covenant could phrase a

question, Honninscrave arrived with his beard thrust forward like a challenge to any danger

threatening his vessel. The First was close behind him.

Linden faced them all, forestalled anything they might ask. Her voice shook.

"There's a Raver on this ship."

Her words stunned the night. Everything was stricken into silence. Then Covenant asked, "Are you

sure?" His question appeared to make no sound.

The First overrode him. "What is this 'Raver?' " The metal of her tone was like an upraised sword.

One of the sails retorted dully in its gear as the wind changed slightly. The deck tilted. The

Storesmaster called softly aloft for adjustments to be made in the canvas. Star-fare's Gem righted

its tack. Linden braced her legs against the

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ship's movement and hugged the distress in her stomach, concentrating on Covenant.

"Of course I'm sure." She could not suppress her trembling. "I can feel it." The message in her

nerves was as vivid as lightning. "At first I didn't know what it was. I've felt like this before.

Before we came here." She was dismayed by the implications of what she was saying-by the

similarity between her old black moods and the taste of a Raver. But she compelled herself to go

on. "But I was looking for the wrong thing. It's on this ship. Hiding. That's why I didn't

understand sooner." As her throat tightened, her voice rose toward shrillness. "On this ship."

Covenant came forward, gripped her shoulders as if to prevent her from hysteria. "Where is it?"

Honninscrave cut off Covenant's question. "What is it? I am the Master of Starfare's Gem. I must

know the peril."

Linden ignored Honninscrave. She was focused on Covenant, clinching him for strength. "I can't

tell." And to defend him. Gibbon-Raver had said to her, You are being forged. She, not Covenant.

But every attack on her had proved to be a feint. "Somewhere below."

At once, he swung away from her, started toward the stairs. Over his shoulder, he called, "Come

on. Help me find it."

"Are you crazy?" Surprise and distress wrung the cry from her. "Why do you think it's here?"

He stopped, faced her again. But his visage was obscure in the moonlight. She could see only the

waves of vehemence radiating from his bones. He had accepted his power and meant to use it.

"Linden Avery," said the First grimly. "We know nothing of this Raver. You must tell us what it

is."

Linden's voice reached out to Covenant in supplication, asking him not to expose himself to this

danger. "Didn't you tell them about The Grieve? About the Giant-Raver who killed all those-?" Her

throat knotted, silencing her involuntarily.

"No." Covenant returned to stand near her, and a gentler emanation came from him in answer to her

fear. "Pitchwife told that story. In Coercri I talked about the Giant-Raver. But I never described

what it was."

He turned to the First and Honninscrave. "I told you about Lord Foul. The Despiser. But I didn't

know I needed to tell you about the Ravers. They're his three highest servants. They

don't have bodies of their own, so they work by taking over other beings. Possessing them." The

blood in his tone smelled of Joan-and of other people Linden did not know.

"The old Lords used to say that no Giant or Haruchai could be mastered by a Raver. But turiya

Herem had a fragment of the Illearth Stone. That gave it the power to possess a Giant. It was the

one we saw in Coercri. Butchering the Unhomed."

"Very well." The First nodded. "So much at least is known to us, then. But why has this evil come

among us? Does it seek to prevent our quest? How can it hold that hope, when so many of us are

Giants and Haruchai? Her voice sharpened. "Does it mean to possess you? Or the Chosen?"

Before Linden could utter her fears, Covenant grated, "Something like that." Then he faced her

once more. "You're right. I won't go looking for it. But it's got to be found. We've got to get

rid of it somehow." The force of his will was focused on her. "You're the only one who can find

it. Where is it?"

Her reply was muffled by her efforts to stop trembling. "Somewhere below," she repeated.

The First looked at Honninscrave. He protested carefully, "Chosen, the underdecks are manifold and

cunning. Much time will be required for a true search. And we have not your eyes. If this Raver

holds no flesh, how will we discover it?"

Linden wanted to cry out. Gibbon had touched her. She carried his evil engraved in every part of

her body, would never be clean of it again. How could she bear a repetition of that touch?

But Honninscrave's question was just; and an answering anger enabled her to meet him. The ship was

threatened: Covenant was threatened. And here at least she had a chance to show that she could be

a danger to Lord Foul and his machinations, not only to her friends. Her failures with Joan, with

Marid, with Gibbon had taught her to doubt herself. But she had not come this far, only to repeat

the surrender of her parents. Tightly, she replied, "I won't go down there. But I'll try to locate

where it is."

Covenant released his pent breath as if her decision were a victory.

The First and Honninscrave did not hesitate. Leaving the wheeldeck to the Storesmaster, they went

down the stairs; and he sent a Giant hastening ahead of him to rouse the rest of

the crew. Linden and Covenant followed more slowly. Brinn and Cail, Ceer and Hergrom formed a

protective cordon around them as they moved forward to meet the Giants who came springing out of

hatchways from their hammocks in Saltroamrest below the foredeck. Shortly, every crewmember who

could be spared from the care of the dromond was present and ready.

Pitchwife and Seadreamer were there as well. But the First's demeanor checked Pitchwife's natural

loquacity; and Seadreamer bore himself with an air of resignation.

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Donaldson, Stephen R - Covenant 05 - The One Tree

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