The Wounded Land

the unending flaw and sorrow of those who lived and strove upon the Earth.

Covenant fell silent. Telling this story, essentially as he had heard it ten years ago, brought back many things to him. He no longer felt blurred and ossified. Now he felt like the night, and his memories were stars: Mhoram, Foamfollower, Banner, the Ranyhyn. While he still had blood in his veins, air in his lungs, he would not turn his back on the world which had given birth to such people.

Linden started to ask a question; but the rustling of the curtain interrupted her. Sunder entered the room carrying an oil lamp. He set it on the floor and seated himself cross-legged in front of it. Its dim, yellow light cast haggard shadows across his visage. When he spoke, his voice wore ashes, as if he had been bereaved.

“I, too, have heard that tale,” he said thickly. “It was told to me by Nassic my father. But the tale told in the Rede of the na-Mhoram is another altogether.”

Covenant and Linden waited. After a moment, the Graveller went on. “In the Rede it is told that the Earth was formed as a jail and tormenting-place for the Lord of wickedness-him whom we name a-Jeroth of the Seven Hells. And life was placed upon the Earth-men and women, and all other races-to wreak upon a-Jeroth his proper doom. But time and again, throughout the ages, the races of the Land failed their purpose. Rather than exacting pain from a-Jeroth, meting out upon him the Master's just retribution, they formed alliances with the Lord, spared him in his weakness and bowed to him in his strength. And always”- Sunder shot a glance at Covenant, faltered momentarily — 'the most heinous of these betrayals have been wrought by men born in the image of the First Betrayer, Berek, father of cowardice. Halfhanded men.

“Therefore in his wrath the Master turned his face from the Land. He sent the Sunbane upon us, as chastisement for treachery, so that we would remember our mortality, and become worthy again to serve his purpose. Only the intercession of the Clave enables us to endure.”

Protests thronged in Covenant. He knew from experience that this conception of the Land was false and cruel. But before he could try to reply, Linden climbed suddenly to her feet. Her eyes were feverish in the lamplight, afflicted by fear and outrage and waiting. Her lips trembled. “A Master like that isn't worth believing in. But you probably have to do it anyway. How else can you justify killing people you don't even know?”

The Graveller surged erect, faced her extremely. The conflict in him made him grind his teeth. “All the Land knows the truth which the Clave teaches. It is manifest at every rising of the sun. None deny it but Nassic my father, who died in mind before his body was slain, and you, who are ignorant!”

Covenant remained on the floor. While Linden and Sunder confronted each other, he drew all the strands of himself together, braided anger, empathy, determination, memory to make the cord on which all their lives depended. Part of him bled to think of the hurt he meant to inflict on Sunder, the choice he meant to extort; part raged at the brutality which had taught people like Sunder to think of their own lives as punishment for a crime they could not have committed; part quavered in fear at the idea of failure, at the poverty of his grasp on power. When Linden began to retort to the Graveller, he stopped her with, a wrench of his head. I'll do it, he thought silently to her. If it has to be done. Shifting his gaze to Sunder, he asked, “How's your mother?”

A spasm contorted the Graveller's face; his hands bunched into knots of pain and uselessness, “Her death is plain.” His eyes were dull, wounded, articulating the frank torment of his heart. “I must shed her blood with yours at the sun's rising.”

Covenant bowed his head for a moment in tacit acknowledgment. Then, deliberately, he created a space of clarity within himself, set his questions and fears aside. All right, he murmured. Leper. It has to be done.

Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet, faced the Stonedownor.

“Sunder,” he said softly, “do you have a knife?”

The Graveller nodded as if the question had no meaning.

“Take it out.”

Slowly, Sunder obeyed. He reached to his back, slipped a long iron poniard out of his belt. His fingers held it as if they had no idea how to use it.

“I want you to see that you're safe,” Covenant said. “You have a knife. My hands are tied. I can't hurt you.”

Sunder stared back at Covenant, transfixed by incomprehension.

All right, Covenant breathed. Leper. Do it now. His heartbeat seemed to fill his chest, leaving no room for air. But he did not waver.

“Get out that piece of orcrest. The Sunstone.”

Again, Sunder obeyed. Covenant's will held him.

Covenant did not permit himself to glance down at the stone. He was marginally aware that Linden regarded him as if he were no longer sane. A shudder of apprehension threatened his clarity. He had to grit his teeth to keep his voice steady, “Touch me with it.”

“Touch-?” Sunder murmured blankly.

“Touch my forehead.”

Doubt pinched the corners of Sunder's eyes. His shoulders hunched as he tightened his grip on the knife, the Sunstone.

Do it.

The Graveller's hand seemed to move without volition. The orcrest passed Covenant's face, came to rest cool and possible against his tense brow.

His attention dropped through him to his ring, seeking for the link between orcrest and white gold. He remembered standing in sunlight and desperation on the slopes of Mount Thunder; he saw Bannor take his hand, place his ring in contact with the Staff of Law. A trigger. He felt the detonation of power.

You are the white gold.

The silence in the room vibrated. His lips stretched back from his teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut against the strain.

A trigger.

He did not want to die, did not want the Land to die. Lord Foul abhorred all life.

Fiercely, he brought the orcrest and the white gold together in his mind, chose power.

A burst of argent sprang off his forehead.

Linden let out a stricken gasp. Sunder snatched back the orcrest. A gust of force blew out the lamp.

Then Covenant's hands were free. Ignoring the sudden magma of renewed circulation, he raised his arms in front of him., opened his eyes.

His hands blazed the colour of the full moon. He could feel the passion of the fire, but it did him no harm.

The flames on his left swiftly faded, died. But his right hand grew brighter as the blaze focused on his ring, burning without a sound.

Linden stared at him whitely, wildly. Sunder's eyes echoed the argent fire like a revelation too acute to bear.

You are stubborn yet. Yes! Covenant panted. You don't begin to know how stubborn.

With a thought, he struck the bonds from Linden's wrists. Then he reached for the Sunstone.

As he took it from Sunder's stunned fingers, a piercing white light exploded from the stone. It shone like a sun in the small room. Linden ducked her head. Sunder covered his eyes with his free arm, waved his poniard uncertainly.

“Wild magic,” Covenant said. His voice felt like flame in his mouth. The return of blood to his arms raked his nerves like claws. “Your knife means nothing. I have the wild magic. I'm not threatening you. I don't want to hurt anybody.” The night had become cold, yet sweat streamed down his face. “That's not why I'm here. But I won't let you kill us.”

“Father!” Sunder cried in dismay. “Was it true? Was every, word that you spoke a word of truth?”

Covenant sagged. He felt that he had accomplished his purpose; and at once a wave of fatigue broke through him. “Here.” His voice was hoarse with strain. “Take it.”

“Take-?”