She did not waver. “How can that be? You said the last time you were here was ten years ago. What can happen in ten years?”
Her query reminded him that he had not yet told her about Lord Foul's prophecy. But now was not the time: she was suffering from too many other incomprehensions. “Ten years in our world.” For her sake, he did not say, the real world. “Time is different here. It's faster-the way dreams are almost instantaneous sometimes. I've-” He had difficulty meeting her stare; even his knowledge felt like shame. “I've actually been here three times before. Each time, I was unconscious for a few hours, and months went by here. So ten years for me-Oh, bloody hell!” The Despiser had said,
She accepted this as if it were just one more detail that defied rationality. “Well, what could have happened? What's so important about hurtloam?”
He wanted to hide his head, conceal his pain; he felt too much exposed to the new penetration of her senses. “Hurtloam was a special mud that could heal-almost anything.” Twice, while in the Land, it had cured his leprosy. But he shied away from the whole subject of healing. If he told her what hurtloam had done for him in the past, he would also have to explain why it had not done him any lasting good. He would have to tell her that the Land was physically self-contained- that it had no tangible connection to their world. The healing of his chest meant nothing. When they regained consciousness, she would find that their bodily continuity in their world was complete. Everything would be the same.
If they did not awaken soon, she would not have time to treat his wound.
Because she was already under so much stress, he spared her that knowledge. Yet he could not contain his bitterness. “But that's not the point. Look.” He pointed at the hearth. 'Smoke. Ashes. The people I knew never built fires that destroyed wood. They didn't have to. For them, everything around them-wood, water, stone, flesh-every part of the physical world-was full of what they called Earthpower. The power of life. They could raise fire-or make boats flow upstream-or send messages-by using the Earthpower in wood instead of the wood itself.
“That was what made them who they were. The Earthpower was the essence of the Land.” Memories thronged in him, visions of the Lords, of the masters of stone-and wood-lore. 'It was so vital to them, so sustaining, that they gave their lives to it. Did everything they could to serve it, rather than exploit it. It was strength, sentience, passion.
But words were inadequate. He could not convey his longing for a world where aspen and granite, water and soil, nature itself, were understood, revered for their potency and loveliness. A world with a soul, deserving to be treasured. Linden gazed at him as if he were babbling. With a silent snarl, he gave up trying to explain. “Apparently,” he said, 'they've lost it. It's forgotten. Or dead. Now they have this Sunbane. If I understand what I've been hearing-which I doubt-the Sunbane was what kept Nassic's torch burning in the rain. And he had to cut his hand to do it. And the wood was still consumed.
“He says the Sunbane is causing this rain.” Covenant shuddered involuntarily; firelight reflecting off the downpour beyond the entryway made the storm look vicious and intolerable.
Her eyes searched him. The bones of her face seemed to press against the skin, as if her skull itself protested against so many alien circumstances. “I don't know anything about it. None of this makes sense.” She faltered. He could see fears crowding the edges of her vision. “It's all impossible. I can't. ” She shot a harried glance around the room, thrust her hands into her hair as though she sought to pull imminent hysteria off her features. “I'm going crazy.”
“I know.” He recognized her desperation. His own wildness when he was first taken to the Land had led him to commit the worst crimes of his life. He wanted to reach out to her, protect her; but the numbness of his hands prevented him. Instead, he said intensely, “Don't give up. Ask questions. Keep trying. I'll tell you everything I can.”
For a moment, her gaze ached toward him like the arms of an abandoned child. But then her hands bunched into fists. A grimace like a clench of intransigence knotted her mien. “Questions,” she breathed through her teeth. With a severe effort, she took hold of herself. “Yes.”
Her tone accused him as if he were to blame for her distress. But he accepted the responsibility. He could have prevented her from following Mm into the woods. If he had had the courage.
“All right,” she gritted. “You've been here before. What makes you so important? What did you do? Why does Foul want you? What's an ur-Lord?”
Covenant sighed inwardly-an exhalation of relief at her determination to survive. That was what he wanted from her. A sudden weariness dimmed his sight; but he took no account of it.
“I was Berek reborn.”
The memory was not pleasant; it contained too much guilt, too much sorrow and harm. But he accepted it. “Berek was one of the ancient heroes-thousands of years before I came along. According to the legends, he discovered the Earthpower, and made the Staff of Law to wield it. All the lore of the Earthpower came down from him. He was the Lord-Fatherer, the founder of the Council of Lords. They led the defence of the Land against Foul.”
The Council, he groaned to himself, remembering Mhoram, Prothall, Elena. Hell and blood! His voice shook as he continued. “When I showed up, they welcomed me as a sort of avatar of Berek. He was known to have lost the last two fingers of his right hand in a war.” Linden's gaze sharpened momentarily; but she did not interrupt. 'So I was made an ur-Lord of the Council. Most of those other titles came later. After I defeated Foul.
“But Unbeliever was one I took for myself. For a long time here, I was sure I was dreaming, but I didn't know what to do about it.” Sourly, he muttered, “I was afraid to get involved. It had something to do with being a leper.” He hoped she would accept this non-explanation; he did not want to have to tell her about his crimes. “But I was wrong. As long as you have some idea of what's happening to you, 'real' or 'unreal' doesn't matter. You have to stand up for what you care about; if you don't, you lose control of who you are.” He paused, met her scrutiny so that she could see the clarity of his conviction. “I ended up caring about the Land a lot.”
“Because of the Earthpower?”
“Yes.” Pangs of loss stung his heart. Fatigue and strain had shorn him of his defences. “The land was incredibly beautiful. And the way the people loved it, served it-that was beautiful, too. Lepers,” he concluded mordantly, “are susceptible to beauty.” In her own way, Linden seemed beautiful to him.
She listened to him like a physician trying to diagnose a rare disease. When he stopped, she said, “You called yourself, 'Unbeliever and white gold wielder.' What does white gold have to do with it?”
He scowled involuntarily. To cover his pain, he lowered himself to the floor, sat against the wall of the hearth. That question touched him deeply, and he was too tired to give it the courage it deserved. But her need for knowledge was peremptory. “My wedding ring,” he murmured. 'When Joan divorced me, I was never able to stop wearing it. I was a leper-I felt that I'd lost everything. I thought my only link with the human race was the fact that I used to be married.
“But here it's some kind of talisman. A tool for what they call wild magic-'the wild magic that destroys peace.' I can't explain it.” To himself, he cursed the paucity of his valour.
Linden sat down near him, kept watching his face. “You think I can't handle the truth.”
He winced at her percipience. “I don't know. But I know how hard it is. It sure as hell isn't easy for me.”
Outside, the rain beat with steady ire into the valley; thunder and lightning pummelled each other among the mountains. But inside the hut the air was warm, tinged with smoke like a faint soporific. And he had gone for many days without rest. He closed his eyes, partly to acknowledge his exhaustion, partly to gain a respite from Linden's probing.
But she was not finished. “Nassic-” Her voice was as direct as if she had reached out and touched him. “He's crazy.”
With an effort of will, Covenant forced himself to ask, “What makes you say that?”
She was silent until he opened his eyes, looked at her. Then, defensively, she said, “I can feel it-the imbalance in him. Can't you? It's in his face, his voice, everything. I saw it right away. When he was coming down the ravine.”
Grimly, he put off his fatigue. “What are you trying to tell me? That we can't trust him? Can't believe him?”
“Maybe.” Now she could not meet his gaze. She studied the clasp of her hands on her knees. “I'm not sure.
