of a condor. He stumbled; the maw of the fall gaped below him. He started to scream silently:
No!!
As he pitched forward, the girl caught his arm, heaved at him. He swung and toppled to the stone within the parapet, pulled his knees up against his chest, covered his head.
Insane! he cried as if he were gibbering.
Darkness writhed like nausea inside his skull. Visions of madness burned across his mindscape.
How?
Impossible!
He had been crossing the street. He insisted upon that desperately. The light had been green.
Where?
He had been hit by a police car.
Impossible!
It had aimed itself straight for his heart, and it had hit him.
And not injured him?!
Mad. I'm going mad mad mad.
And not injured him?
Nightmare. None of this is happening, is happening, is happening.
Through the wild whirl of his misery, another hand suddenly clasped his. The grip was hard, urgent; it caught him like an anchor.
Nightmare! I'm dreaming. Dreaming!
The thought flared through his panic like a revelation. Dreaming! Of course he was dreaming. Juggling furiously, he put the pieces together. He had been hit by a police car-knocked unconscious. Concussion. He might be out for hours-days. And while he was out, he was having this dream.
That was the answer. He clutched it as if it were the girl's grip on his straining hand. It steadied him against his vertigo, simplified his fear. But it was not enough. The darkness still swarmed at him as if he were carrion Foul had left behind.
How?
Where do you get dreams like this?
He could not bear to think about it; he would go mad. He fled from it as if it had already started to gnaw on his bones.
Don't think about it. Don't try to understand. Madness-madness is the only danger. Survive! Get going. Do something. Don't look back.
He forced his eyes open; and as he focused on the sunlight, the darkness receded, dropped away into the background and came hovering slowly behind him as if it were waiting for him to turn and face it, fall prey to it.
The girl was kneeling beside him. She had his maimed right hand clamped in both of hers, and concern stood like tears in her eyes. “Berek,” she murmured painfully as he met her gaze, “oh, Berek. What ill assails you? I know not what to do.”
She had already done enough-helped him to master himself, resist the pull of the dangerous questions he could not answer. But his fingers were numb; parts of her clasp on his hand he could not feel at all. He dredged himself into a sitting position, though the exertion made him feel faint. “I'm a leper,” he said weakly. “Don't touch me.”
Hesitantly, she loosened her grip, as if she were not sure he meant what he said, not sure he knew what he was saying.
With an effort that seemed harsh because of his weakness, he withdrew his hand.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth in chagrin. As if she feared she had offended him, she moved back and sat down against the opposite wall.
But he could see that she was consumed with interest in him. She could not remain silent long. After a moment, she asked softly, “Is it wrong to touch you? I meant no harm. You are Berek Halfhand, the Lord-Fatherer. An ill I could not see assailed you. How could I bear to see you tormented so?”
“I'm a leper,” he repeated, trying to conserve his strength. But her expression told him that the word conveyed nothing to her. “I'm sick-I have a disease. You don't know the danger.”
“If I touch you, will I become-'sick'?”
“Who knows?” Then, because he could hardly believe the evidence of his eyes and ears, he asked, “Don't you know what leprosy is?”
“No,” she answered with a return of her earlier wonder. “No.” She shook her head, and her hair swung lightly about her face. “But I am not afraid.”
“Be afraid!” he rasped. The girl's ignorance or innocence made him vehement. Behind her words, he heard wings beating like violence. “It's a disease that gnaws at you. It gnaws at you until your fingers and toes and hands and feet and arms and legs turn rotten and fall off. It makes you blind and ugly.”
“May it be healed? Perhaps the Lords-”
“There's no cure.”
He wanted to go on, to spit out some of the bitterness Foul had left in him. But he was too drained to sustain anger. He needed to rest and think, explore the implications of his dilemma.
“Then how may I aid you? I know not what to do. You are Berek Ha-”
“I'm not,” he sighed. The girl started, and into her surprise he repeated, “I'm not.”
“Then who? You have the omen of the hand, for the legends say that Berek Earthfriend may come again. Are you a Lord?”
With a tired gesture he held her question at bay. He needed to think. But when he closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the parapet, he felt fear crowding up in him. He had to move, go forward-flee along the path of the dream.
He pulled his gaze back into focus on the girl's face. For the first time, he noticed that she was pretty. Even her awe, the way she hung on his words, was pretty. And she had no fear of lepers.
After a last instant of hesitation, he said, “I'm Thomas Covenant.”
“Thomas Covenant?” His name sounded ungainly in her mouth. “It is a strange name-a strange name to match your strange apparel. Thomas Covenant.” She inclined her head in a slow bow to him.
Strange, he thought softly. The strangeness was mutual. He still had no conception of what he would have to deal with in this dream. He would have to find out where he stood. Following the girl's lead, he asked, “Who are you?”
“I am Lena,” she replied formally, 'daughter of
Atiaran. My father is Trell, Gravelingas of the
“No.” He was tempted to ask her what a
“We are upon Kevin's Watch.” Springing lightly to her feet, she stretched her arms to the earth and the sky. “Behold.”
Gritting his resolve, Covenant turned and knelt against the parapet. With his chest braced on the rim, he forced himself to look.
“This is the Land,” Lena said joyfully, as if the outspread earth had a power to thrill her. “It reaches far beyond seeing to the north, west, and east, though the old songs say that High Lord Kevin stood here and saw the whole of the Land and all its people. So this place is named Kevin's Watch. Is it possible that you do not know this?”
Despite the coolness of the breeze, Covenant was sweating. Vertigo knuckled his temples, and only the hard edge of the stone against his heart kept it under control. “I don't know anything,” he groaned into the open fall.
Lena glanced at him anxiously, then after a moment turned back to the Land. Pointing with one slim arm to the northwest, she said, 'There is the Mithil River. Our Stonedown stands beside it, but hidden behind this mountain. It flows from the Southron Range behind us to join the Black River. That is the northern bound of the
