The Wounded Land

rather because then-special skills and knowledge required all their devotion.

For a moment, he faced the man, bore the old, half-wild gaze. Linden, too, studied the old man, measuring him uncertainly. But Covenant knew she was asking herself questions unlike the ones which mobbed into his mind. Had the Stonedownors and Woodhelvennin grown together, blended their lore? Or had-?

The world is not what it was.

A raw sickness twisted his heart. Without warning, he became conscious of smoke in the room.

Smoke!

He thrust past the old man, hastened to the hearth.

The wood lay on a pile of ash, burning warmly. Coals cracked and fell off the logs, red worms gnawing the flesh of trees. At intervals, wisps of smoke curled up into the room. The rain in the chimney made a low hissing noise.

Hellfire!

The people he had known here would never have voluntarily consumed wood for any purpose. They had always striven to use the life of wood, the Earthpower in it, without destroying the thing they used. Wood, soil, stone, water-the people of the Land had cherished every manifestation of life.

“Ur-Lord,” the old man groaned.

Covenant whirled. Grief burned like rage in him. He wanted to howl at the Despiser, What have you done? But both Linden and the old man were staring at him. Linden's eyes showed concern, as if she feared he had slipped over the edge into confusion. And the old man was in the grip of a private anguish. Fiercely, Covenant contained the yelling of his passion. But the strain of suppression bristled in his tone. “What keeps that torch burning?”

“I am ashamed!” The man's voice broke as if he were on the verge of weeping. He did not hear Covenant's question; his personal distress devoured him. “This temple,” he panted, “built by the most ancient fathers of my father's father-in preparation. We have done nothing! Other rooms fallen to ruin, sanctuaries-” He waved his brand fervidly. “We did nothing. In a score of generations, nothing. It is a hovel-unworthy of you. We did not believe the promise given into our trust-generation after generation of Unfettered too craven to put faith in the proudest prophecies. It would be right for you to strike me.”

“Strike you?” Covenant was taken aback. “No.” There were too many things here he did not understand. “What's the matter? Why are you afraid of me?”

“Covenant,” Linden breathed suddenly. “His hand. Look.”

Water dripped from the old man; water ran from them all. But the drops falling from the butt of the torch were red.

“Ur-Lord!” The man plunged to his knees. “I am unworthy.” He quivered with dismay. “I have trafficked in the knowledge of the wicked, gaining power against the Sunbane from those who scorn the promises I have sworn to preserve. Ah, spare me! I am shamed.” He dropped his brand, opened his left hand to Covenant.

The torch went out the instant he released it. As it struck the floor, it fell into ash.

Across his palm lay two long cuts. Blood ran from them as if it could not stop.

Covenant flinched. Thunder muttered angrily to itself in the distance. Nothing was left of the torch except ash. It had been held together, kept whole and burning, only by the power the old man had put into it. The power of his blood?

Covenant's brain reeled. A sudden memory of Joan stung him-Joan clawing the back of his hand, licking his fingers. Vertigo reft him of balance. He sat down heavily, slumped against the nearest wall. The rain echoed in his ears. Blood? Blood?

Linden was examining the old man's hand. She turned it to the firelight, spread the fingers; her grip on his wrist slowed the flow of blood. “It's clean.” Her voice was flat, impersonal. “Needs a bandage to stop the bleeding. But there's no infection.”

No infection, Covenant breathed. His thoughts limped like cripples. “How can you tell?”

She was concentrating on the wound. “What?”

He laboured to say what he meant. “How can you tell there's no infection?”

“I don't know.” His question seemed to trigger surprise in her. “I can see it. I can see”- her astonishment mounted — “the pain. But it's clean. How-? Can't you?”

He shook his head. She confirmed his earlier impression; her senses were already becoming attuned to the Land.

His were not. He was blind to everything not written on the surface. Why? He closed his eyes. Old rue throbbed in him. He had forgotten that numbness could hurt so much.

After a moment, she moved; he could hear her searching around the room. When she returned to the old man's side, she was tearing a piece of cloth to form bandages.

You will not fail- Covenant felt that he had already been given up for lost. The thought was salt to his sore heart.

Smoke? Blood? There's only one way to hurt a man. Give him back something broken. Damnation.

But the old man demanded his attention. The man had bowed his wet grey head to the stone. His hands groped to touch Covenant's boots. “Ur-Lord,” he moaned, “Ur-Lord. At last you have come. The Land is saved.”

That obeisance pulled Covenant out of his inner gyre. He could not afford to be overwhelmed by ignorance or loss. And he could not bear to be treated as if he were some kind of saviour; he could not live with such an image of himself. He climbed erect, then took hold of the old man's arms and drew him to his feet.

The man's eyes rolled fearfully, gleaming in the firelight. To reassure him, Covenant spoke evenly, quietly.

“Tell me your name.”

“I am Nassic son of Jous son of Prassan,” the old man replied in a fumbling voice. “Descended in direct lineage son by son from the Unfettered One.”

Covenant winced. The Unfettered Ones he had known were hermits freed from all normal responsibilities so that they could pursue their private visions. An Unfettered One had once saved his life-and died. Another had read his dreams-and told him that he dreamed the truth. He took a stringent grip on himself. “What was his calling?”

“Ur-Lord, he saw your return. Therefore he came to this place-to the vale below Kevin's Watch, which was given its name in an age so long past that none remember its meaning.”

Briefly, Nassic's tone stabilized, as if he were reciting something he had memorized long ago. “He built the temple as a place of welcome for you, and a place of healing, for it was not forgotten among the people of those years that your own world is one of great hazard and strife, inflicting harm even upon its heroes. In his vision, he beheld the severe doom of the Sunbane, though to him it was nameless as nightmare, and he foresaw that the Unbeliever, ur-Lord Illender, Prover of Life, would return to combat it. From son to son he handed down his vision, faith un-”

Then he faltered. “Ah, shame,” he muttered. “Temple-faith- healing-Land. All ruins.” But indignation stiffened him. “Fools will cry for mercy. They deserve only retribution. For lo! The Unbeliever has come. Let the Clave and all its works wail to be spared. Let the very sun tremble in its course! It will avail them nothing! Woe unto you, wicked and abominable! The-”

“Nassic.” Covenant forced the old man to stop. Linden was watching them keenly. Questions crowded her face; but Covenant ignored them. “Nassic,” he asked of the man's white stare, “what is this Sunbane?”

“Sunbane?” Nassic lost his fear in amazement. “Do you ask-? How can you not-?” His hands tugged at his beard. “Why else have you come?”

Covenant tightened his grip. “Just tell me what it is.”

“It is-why, it is yes, it- ” Nassic stumbled to a halt, then cried in a sudden appeal, “Ur-Lord, what is it not? It is sun and rain and blood and desert and fear and the screaming of trees.” He squirmed with renewed abasement. “It was-it was the fire of my torch. Ur-Lord!” Misery clenched his face like a fist. He tried to drop to his knees again.

“Nassic.” Covenant held him erect, hunted for some way to reassure him. “We're not going to harm you. Can't you see that?” Then another thought occurred to him. Remembering Linden's injury, his own bruises, he said, “Your hand's still bleeding. We've both been hurt. And I-” He almost said, I can't see what she sees. But the words stuck in his throat. “I've been away for a long time. Do you have any hurtloam?”