Part 30 (1/2)
Linden nodded. She would have been content to spend a few days resting in Revelstone; but she was willing to do whatever be wanted. And she would, be able to enjoy her scrubbed skin and clean hair better in the Keep, protected from the Sunbane. She took bis band, and together they climbed out of the basin of the tarn.
From the hilltop, they heard the flute more accurately. It sounded like its music had been warped by the desert sun.
The plains beyond the plateau looked flat and ruined to the horizons, all life hammered out of them; nothing green or bearable lifted its head from the upland dirt. Yet Glimmermere's water and the shape of the hills seemed to insist that life was still possible here, that in some stubborn way the ground was not entirely wasted.
However, the lower plains gave no such impression. Most of the river evaporated before it reached the bottom of Furl Falls; the rest disappeared within a stone's throw of the cliff.
The sun flamed down at Linden as if it were calling her to itself. Before they reached the flat wedge of the plateau which 284 contained Revelstone, she knew that her determination to stand by him would not prove easy. In the bottom of her heart lurked a black desire for the power to master the Sunbane, make it serve her. Every moment of the sun's touch reminded her that she was still vulnerable to desecration.
But by the time they rejoined Cail at the city's entrance, they could hear that the fluting came from the tip of the promontory overlooking the watchtower. By mute agreement, they walked on down the wedge; and at the Keep's apex they found Pitchwife. He sat with his legs over the edge, facing eastward. The deformation of his spine bent him forward.
He appeared to be leaning toward a fall.
His huge hands held a flute to his mouth as if he were wrestling with it*as if he thought that by sheer obstinate effort he would be able to wring a dirge from the tiny instrument.
At their approach, he lowered the flute to his lap, gave them a wan smile of habit rather than conviction. ”Earth- (231 of 399) [1/19/03 11:38:43 PM]
friend,” he said; and his voice sounded as frayed and uncertain as the notes he had been playing. ”It boons me to behold you again and whole. The Chosen has proven and reproven her worth for all to see*and yet has survived to bring her beauty like gladness before me.” He did not glance at Linden. ”But I had thought that you were gone from us altogether.”
Then his moist gaze wandered back to the dry, dead terrain below him. ”Pardon me that I have feared for you.
Fear is born in doubt, and you have not merited my doubt.”
With an awkward movement, like suppressed violence, he indicated the flute. ”The fault is mine. I caa find no music in this instrument.”
Instinctively, Linden went to stand behind the Giant, placed her hands on his shoulders. In spite of his sitting posture and crooked back, his shoulders were only a little below hers; and his muscles were so oaken that she could hardly ma.s.sage them. Yet she rubbed at his distress because she did not know how else to comfort him.
”Everybody doubts,” Covenant breathed. He did not go near the Giant. He remained rigidly where he was, holding his vertigo back from the precipice. But his voice reached out through the sun's arid heat. ”We're all scared. You have the right.” Then his tone changed as if he were remembering 285 what Pitchwife had undergone. Softly, he asked, ”What can I do for you?”
Pitchwife's muscles knotted under Linden's hands. After a moment, he said simply, ”Earthfriend, I desire a better outcome.”
At once, he added, ”Do not mistake me. That which has been done here has been well done. Mortal though you are, Earthfriend and Chosen, you surpa.s.s all estimation.” He let out a quiet sigh. ”But I am not content. I have shed such blood* The lives of the innocent I have taken from them by the score, though I am no Swordmain and loathe such work.
And as I did so, my doubt was terrible to me. It is a dire thing to commit butchery when hope has been consumed by fear. As you have said. Chosen, there must be a reason. The world's grief should unite those who live, not sunder them in slaughter and malice.
”My friends, there is a great need in my heart for song, but no song comes. I am a Giant. Often have I vaunted myself in music. 'We are Giants, born to sail, and bold to go wherever dreaming goes.' But such songs have become folly and arrogance to me. In the face of doom, I have not the courage of my dreams. Ah, my heart must have song. I find no music in it.
”I desire a better outcome.” .
His voice trailed away over the diff-edge and was gone.
Linden felt the ache in him as if she had wrapped her arms (232 of 399) [1/19/03 11:38:43 PM]
around it. She wanted to protest the way he seemed to blame himself; yet she sensed that his need went deeper than blame. He had tasted the Despiser's malice and was appalled.
She understood that. But she had no answer to it.
Covenant was more certain. He sounded as strict as a vow as he asked, ”What're you going to do?”
Pitchwife responded with a shrug that s.h.i.+fted Linden's hands from his shoulders. He did not look away from the dest.i.tution sprawling below him. ”The First has spoken of this,” he said distantly. The thought of his wife gave him no ease. ”We will accompany you to the end. The Search requires no less of us. But when you have made your purpose known, Mistweave will bear word of it to Seareach. There Starfare's Gem will come if the ice and the seas permit. Should you fail, and those with you fall, the Search must yet continue.
The knowledge which Mistweave will bear to Seareach will 286.
White Gold Wielder enable Sevinhand Anchormaster to choose the path of bis service.”
Linden looked at Covenant sharply to keep him from saying that if he failed there would be no Earth left for the Search to serve. Perhaps the journey the First had conceived for Mistweave was pointless; still Linden coveted it for him.
It was clear and specific, and it might help him find his way back to himself. Also she approved the First's insistence on behaving as if hope would always endure.
But she saw at once that Covenant had no intention of denying the possibility of hope. No bitterness showed beyond his empathy for Pitchwife; his alloyed despair and determination were clean of gall. Nor did he suggest that Pitchwife and the First should Join Mistweave. Instead, he said as if he were content, ”That's good. Meet us in the forehall at noon, and we'll get started.”
Then he met Linden's gaze. ”I want to go look at Honninscrave's grave.” His tone thickened momentarily. ”Say good-bye to him. Will you come with me?”
In response, she went to him and hugged him so that he would understand her silence.
Together they left Pitchwife sitting on the rim of the city.
As they neared the entrance to Revelstone, they heard the cry of his flute again. It sounded as lorn as the call of a kestrel against the dust-trammeled sky.
Gratefully, Linden entered the great Keep, where she was s.h.i.+elded from the desert sun. Relief filled her nerves as she and Covenant moved down into the depths of Revelstone, back to the Hall of Gifts.
Call accompanied them. Beneath his impa.s.sivity she sensed a strange irresolution, as if he wanted to ask a question or boon and did not believe he had the right. But when they reached their goal, she forgot his unexplained emanations.
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During Covenant's battle with Gibbon, and the rending of the Raver, she had taken scant notice of the cavern itself.
All her attention had been focused on what was happening ^and on the blackness which Gibbon had called up in her.
As a result, she had not registered the extent to which the Hall and its contents had been damaged. But she saw the havoc now, felt its impact.
Those Who Part 287.
Around the walls, behind the columns, in the corners and distant reaches, much of the Land's ancient artwork remained intact. But the center of the cavern was a shambles. Tapestries had been cindered, sculptures split, paintings shredded. Cracks marked two of the columns from crown to pediment; hunks of stone had been ripped from the ceiling, the floor; the mosaic on which Gibbon had stood was a ruin. Centuries of human effort and aspiration were wrecked by the uncon-tainable forces Covenant and the Raver had unleashed.
For a moment. Covenant's gaze appeared as ravaged as the Hall. No amount of certainty could heal the consequences of what he had done*and had failed to do.
While she stood there, caught between his pain and the Hall's hurt. she did not immediately recognize that most of the breakage had already been cleared away. But then she saw Nom at work, realized what the Sandgorgon was doing.
It was collecting pieces of rock, splinters of sculpture, shards of pottery, any debris it was able to lift between the stumps of bis forearms, and it was using those fragments meticulously to raise a caim for Honninscrave.
The funerary pile was already taller than Linden; but Nom was not yet satisfied with it. With swift care, the beast continued adding broken art to the mound. The rubble was too crude to have any particular shap. Nevertheless Nom moved around and around it to build it up as if it were an icon of the distant gyre of Sandgorgons Doom.
This was Norn's homage to the Giant who had enabled it to rend Gibbon-Raver. Honninscrave had contained and controlled samadhi Sheol so that the Raver could not possess Nom, not take advantage of Norn's purpose and power. In that way, he had made it possible for Nom to become something new, a Sandgorgon of active miad and knowledge and volition. With this cairn, Nom acknowledged the Master's sacrifice as if it had been a gift.
The sight softened Covenant's pain. Remembering Hergrom and Ceer, Linden would not have believed that she might ever feel anything akin to grat.i.tude toward a Sandgorgon.
But she had no other name for what she felt as she watched Nom work.
Though it lacked ordinary sight or hearing, the beast appeared to be aware of its onlookers. But it did not stop until (234 of 399) [1/19/03 11:38:43 PM]