Lord Foul's Bane Page 10

  I can't.

  For a moment, his lower jaw shuddered under the effort he made to speak. Then he leaped up and dashed toward the river. As he covered the short distance, he bent and snatched a stone out of the sand. Springing onto the promontory, he hurled the stone with all the might of his body at the water.

  Can't-!

  A faint splash answered him, but at once the sound died under the heedless plaint of the river, and the ripples were swept away.

  Softly at first, Covenant said to the river, "I gave Joan a pair of riding boots for a wedding present." Then, shaking his fists wildly, he shouted, "Riding boots! Does my impotence surprise you?!"

  Unseen and incomprehending, Lena arose and moved toward Covenant, one hand stretched out as if to soothe the violence knotted in his back. But she paused a few steps away from him, searching for the right thing to say. After a moment, she whispered, "What happened to your wife?"

  Covenant's shoulders jerked. Thickly, he said, "She's gone."

  "How did she die?"

  "Not her-me. She left me. Divorced. Terminated. When I needed her."

  Indignantly, Lena wondered, "Why would such a thing happen while there is life?"

  "I'm not alive." She heard fury climbing to the top of his voice. "I'm a leper. Outcast unclean.- Lepers are ugly and filthy. And abominable."

  His words filled her with horror and protest. "How can it be?" she moaned. "You are not-abominable. What world is it that dares treat you so?"

  His muscles jumped still higher in his shoulders, as if his hands were locked on the throat of some tormenting demon. "It's real. That is reality. Fact. The kind of thing that kills you if you don't believe it." With a gesture of rejection toward the river, he gasped, "This is a nightmare."

  Lena flared with sudden courage. "I do not believe it. It may be that your world-but the Land-ah, the Land is real."

  Covenant's back clenched abruptly still, and he said with preternatural quietness, "Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

  His ominous tone startled her, chilled her. For an instant, her courage stumbled; she felt the river and the ravine closing around her like the jaws of a trap. Then Covenant whirled and struck her a stinging slap across the face.

  The force of the blow sent her staggering back into the light of the graveling. He followed quickly, his face contorted in a wild grin. As she caught her balance, got one last, clear, terrified look at him, she felt sure that he meant to kill her. The thought paralyzed her. She stood dumb and helpless while he approached.

  Reaching her, he knotted his hands in the front of her shift and rent the fabric like a veil. She could not move. For an instant, he stared at her, at her high, perfect breasts and her short slip, with grim triumph in his eyes, as though he had just exposed some foul plot. Then he gripped her shoulder with his left hand and tore away her slip with his right, forcing her down to the sand as he uncovered her.

  Now she wanted to resist, but her limbs would not move; she was helpless with anguish.

  A moment later, he dropped the burden of his weight on her chest, and her loins were stabbed with a wild, white fire that broke her silence, made her scream. But even as she cried out she knew that it was too late for her. Something that her people thought of as a gift had been torn from her.

  But Covenant did not feel like a taker. His climax flooded him as if he had fallen into a Mithil of molten fury. Suffocating in passion, he almost swooned. Then time seemed to pass him by, and he lay still for moments that might have been hours for all he knew -hours during which his world could have crumbled, unheeded.

  At last he remembered the softness of Lena's body under him, felt the low shake of her sobbing. With an effort, he heaved himself up and to his feet. When he looked down at her in the graveling light, he saw the blood on her loins. Abruptly, his head became giddy, unbalanced, as though he were peering over a precipice. He turned and hurried with a shambling, unsteady gait toward the river, pitched himself fiat on the rock, and vomited the weight of his guts into the water. And the Mithil erased his vomit as cleanly as if nothing had happened.

  He lay still on the rock while the exhaustion of his exacerbated nerves overcame him. He did not hear Lena arise, gather the shreds of her clothing, speak, or climb away out of the shattered ravine. He heard

  nothing but the long lament of the river-saw nothing but the ashes of his burnt-out passion-felt nothing but the dampness of the rock on his cheeks like tears.

  EIGHT: The Dawn of the Message

  THE hard bones of the rock slowly brought Thomas Covenant out of dreams of close embraces. For a time, he drifted on the rising current of the dawn-surrounded on his ascetic, sufficient bed by the searching self-communion of the river, the fresh odors of day, the wheeling cries of birds as they sprang into the sky. While his self-awareness, returned, he felt at peace, harmonious with his context; and even the uncompromising hardness of the stone seemed apposite to him, a proper part of a whole morning.

  His first recollections of the previous night were of orgasm, heartrending, easing release and satisfaction so precious that he would have been willing to coin his soul to make such things part of his real life. For a long moment of joy, he re-experienced that sensation. Then he remembered that to get it he had hurt Lena.

  Lena!

  He rolled over, sat up in the dawn. The sun had not yet risen above the mountains, but enough light reflected into the valley from the plains for him to see that she was gone.

  She had left her fire burning in the sand up the ravine from him. He lurched to his feet, scanned the ravine and both banks of the Mithil for some sign of her-or, his imagination leaped, of Stonedownors

  seeking vengeance. His heart thudded; all those rockstrong people would not be interested in his explanations or apologies. He searched for evidence of pursuit like a fugitive.

  But the dawn was as undisturbed as if it contained no people, no crimes or desires for punishment. Gradually, Covenant's panic receded. After a last look around, he began to prepare for whatever lay ahead of him.

  He knew that he should get going at once, hurry along the river toward the relative safety of the plains. But he was a leper, and could not undertake solitary journeys lightly. He needed to organize himself.

  He did not thing about Lena; he knew instinctively that he could not afford to think about her. He had violated her trust, violated the trust of the Stonedown; that was as close to his last night's rage as he could go. It was past, irrevocable-and illusory, like the dream itself. With an effort that made him tremble, he put it behind him. Almost by accident on Kevin's Watch, he had discovered the answer to all such insanity: keep moving, don't think about it, survive. That answer was even more necessary now. His "Berek" fear of the previous evening seemed relatively unimportant. His resemblance to a legendary hero was only a part of a dream, not a compulsory fact or demand. He put it behind him also. Deliberately, he gave himself a thorough scrutiny and VSE.

  When he was sure that he had no hidden injuries, no dangerous purple spots, he moved out to the end of the promontory. He was still trembling. He needed more discipline, mortification; his hands shook as if they could not steady themselves without his usual shaving ritual. But the penknife in his pocket was inadequate for shaving. After a moment, he took a deep breath, gripped the edge of the rock, and dropped himself, clothes and all, into the river for a bath.

  The current tugged at him seductively, urging him to float off under blue skies into a spring day. But the water was too cold; he could only stand the chill long enough to duck and thrash in the stream for a moment. Then he hauled himself onto the rock and stood up, blowing spray off his face. Water from his hair kept running into his eyes, blinding him momentarily to the fact that Atiaran stood on the sand by the graveling. She contemplated him with a grave, firm glance.

  Covenant froze, dripping as if he had been caught in the middle of a flagrant act. For a moment, he and Atiaran measured each other across the sand and rock. When she started to speak, he c
ringed inwardly, expecting her to revile, denounce, hurl imprecations. But she only said, "Come to the graveling. You must dry yourself."

  In surprise, he scrutinized her tone with all the high alertness of his senses, but he could hear nothing in it except determination and quiet sadness. Suddenly he guessed that she did not know what had happened to her daughter.

  Breathing deeply to control the labor of his heart, he moved forward and huddled down next to the graveling. His mind raced with improbable speculations to account for Atiaran's attitude, but he kept his face to the warmth and remained silent, hoping that she would say something to let him know where he stood with her.

  Almost at once, she murmured, "I knew where to find you. Before I returned from speaking with the Circle of elders, Lena told Trell that you were here."

  She stopped, and Covenant forced himself to ask, "Did he see her?"

  He knew that it was a suspicious question. But Atiaran answered simply, "No. She went to spent the night with a friend. She only called out her message as she passed our home."

  Then for several long moments Covenant sat still and voiceless, amazed by the implications of what Lena had done. Only called out! At first, his brain reeled with thoughts of relief. He was safe-temporarily, at least. With her reticence, Lena had purchased precious time for him. Clearly, the people of this Land were prepared to make sacrifices

  After another moment, he understood that she had not made her sacrifice for him. He could not imagine that she cared for his personal safety. No, she chose to protect him because he was a Berek-figure, a bearer of messages to the Lords. She did not want his purpose to be waylaid by the retribution of the Stonedown. This was her contribution to the defense of the Land from Lord Foul the Gray Slayer.

  It was a heroic contribution. In spite of his discipline, his fear, he sensed the violence Lena had done herself for the sake of his message. He seemed to see her huddling naked behind a rock in the foothills throughout that bleak night, shunning for the first time in her young life the open arms of her community bearing the pain and shame of her riven body alone so that he would not be required to answer for it. An unwanted memory of the blood on her loins writhed in him.

  His shoulders bunched to strangle the thought. Through locked teeth, he breathed to himself, I've got to go to the Council.

  When he had steadied himself, he asked grimly, "What did the elders say?"

  "There was little for them to say," she replied in a flat voice. "I told them what I know of you-and of the Land's peril.

  They agreed that I must guide you to Lord's Keep. For that purpose I have come to you now. See "-she indicated two packs lying near her feet "I am ready. Trell my husband has given me his blessing. It grieves me to go without giving my love to Lena my daughter, but time is urgent. You have not told me all your message, but I sense that from this day forward each delay is hazardous. The elders will " give thought to the defense of the plains. We must.

  Covenant met her eyes, and this time he understood the sad determination in them. She was afraid, and did not believe that she would live to return to her family. He felt a sudden pity for her. Without fully comprehending what he said, he tried to reassure her. "Things aren't as bad as they might be. A Cavewight has found the Staff of Law, and I gather he doesn't really know how to use it. Somehow, the Lords have got to get it away from him."

  But his attempt miscarried. Atiaran stiffened and said, "Then the life of the Land is in our speed. Alas that we cannot go to the Ranyhyn for help. But the Ramen have little countenance for the affairs of the Land, and no Ranyhyn has been ridden, save by Lord or Bloodguard, since the age began. We must walk, Thomas Covenant, and Revelstone is three hundred long leagues distant. Is your clothing dry? We must be on our way."

  Covenant was ready; he had to get away from this place. He gathered himself to his feet and said, "Fine. Let's go."

  However, the look that Atiaran gave him as he stood held something unresolved. In a low voice as if she were mortifying herself, she said, "Do you trust me to guide you, Thomas Covenant? You do not know me. I failed in the Loresraat."

  Her tone seemed to imply not that she was undependable, but that he had the right to judge her. But he was in no position to judge anyone. "I trust you," he rasped. "Why not? You said yourself-" He faltered, then forged ahead. "You said yourself that I come to save or damn the Land."

  "True," she returned simply. "But you do not have the stink of a servant of the Gray Slayer. My heart tells me that it is the fate of the Land to put faith in you, for good or ill."

  "Then let's go." He took the pack that Atiaran lifted toward him and shrugged his shoulders into the straps. But before she put on her own pack, she knelt to the graveling in the sand. Passing her hands over the fire-stones, she began a low humming-a soft tune that sounded ungainly in her mouth, as if she were unaccustomed to it-and under her waving gestures the yellow light faded. In a moment, the stones had lapsed into a pale, pebbly gray, as if she had lulled them to sleep, and their heat dissipated. When they were cold, she scooped them into their pot, covered it, and stored it in her pack.

  The sight reminded Covenant of all the things he

  did not know about this dream. As Atiaran got to her feet, he said, "There's only one thing I need. I want you to talk to me-tell me all about the Loresraat and the Lords and everything I might be interested in." Then because he could not give her the reason for his request, he concluded lamely, "It'll pass the time."

  With a quizzical glance at him, she settled her pack on her shoulders. "You are strange, Thomas Covenant. I think you are too eager to know my ignorance. But what I know I will tell you-though without your raiment and speech it would pass my belief to think you an utter stranger to the Land. Now come. There are treasure-berries aplenty along our way this morning. They will serve as breakfast. The food we carry must be kept for the chances of the road."

  Covenant nodded, and followed her as she began climbing out of the ravine. He was relieved to be moving again, and the distance passed quickly. Soon they were down by the river, approaching the bridge.

  Atiaran strode straight onto the bridge, but when she reached the top of the span she stopped. A moment after Covenant joined her, she gestured north along the Mithil toward the distant plains. "I tell you openly, Thomas Covenant," she said, "I do not mean to take a direct path to Lord's Keep. The Keep is west of north from us, three hundred leagues as the eye sees across the Center Plains of the Land. There many people live, in Stonedown and Woodhelven, and it might chance that both road and help could be found to take us where we must go. But we could not hope for horses. They are rare in the Land, and few folk but those of Revelstone know them.

  "It is in my heart that we may save time by journeying north, across the Mithil when it swings east, and so into the land of Andelain, where the fair Hills are the flower of all the beauties of the Earth. There we will reach the Soulsease River, and it may be that we will find a boat to carry us up that sweet stream, past the westland of Trothgard, where the promises of the Lords are kept, to great Revelstone itself, the Lord's Keep. All travelers are blessed by the currents of the Soulsease, and our journey will end sooner if we find a carrier there. But we must pass within fifty leagues of Mount Thunder-Gravin Threndor." As she said the ancient name, a shiver seemed to run through her voice. "It is there or nowhere that the Staff of Law has been found, and I do not wish to go even as close as Andelain to the wrong wielder of such might."

  She paused for a moment, hesitating, then went on: "There would be rue unending if a corrupt Cavewight gained possession of the ring you bear-the evil ones are quick to unleash such forces as wild magic. And even were the Cavewight unable to use the ring, I fear that ur-viles still live under Mount Thunder. They are lore-wise creatures, and white gold would not surpass them.

  "But time rides urgently on us, and we must save it where we may. And there is another reason for seeking the passage of Andelain at this time of year-if we hasten. But I should not speak of it
. You will see it and rejoice, if no ill befall us on our way."

  She fixed her eyes on Covenant, turning all their inward strength on him, so that he felt, as he had the previous evening, that she was searching for his weaknesses. He feared that she would discover his night's work in his face, and he had to force himself to meet her gaze until she said, "Now tell me, Thomas Covenant. Will you go where I lead?"

  Feeling both shamed and relieved, he answered, "Let's get on with it. I'm ready."

  "That is well." She nodded, started again toward the east bank. But Covenant spent a moment looking down at the river. Its soft plaint sounded full of echoes, and they seemed to moan at him with serene irony, Does my impotence surprise you? A cloud of trouble darkened his face, but he clenched himself, rubbed his ring, and stalked away after Atiaran, leaving the Mithil to flow on its way like a stream of forgetfulness or a border of death.

  As the sun climbed over the eastern mountains, Atiaran and Covenant were moving north, downstream along the river toward the open plains. At first, they traveled in silence. Covenant was occupied with short forays into the hills to his right, gathering aliantha. He found their tangy peach flavor as keenly delicious as before; a fine essence in their juice made hunger and taste into poignant sensations. He refrained from taking all the berries off any one bush he had to range away from Atiaran's sternly forward track often to get enough food to satisfy him-and he scattered the seeds faithfully, as Lena had taught him. Then he had to trot to catch up with Atiaran. In this way, he passed nearly a league, and when he finished eating, the valley was perceptibly broader. He made one last side trip-this time to the river for a drink-then hurried to take a position beside Atiaran.

  Something in the set of her features seemed to ask him not to talk, so he disciplined himself to stillness with survival drills. Then he strove to regain the mechanical ticking stride which had carried him so far from Haven Farm. Atiaran appeared resigned to a trek of three hundred leagues, but he was not. He sensed that he would need all his leper's skills to hike for even a day without injuring himself. In the rhythm of his steps, he struggled to master the unruliness of his situation.