The Wounded Land

Part of his fear arose from the fear of his companions; he dreaded to learn that behind its beauty Andelain was secretly chancrous. But he had been a leper for too long, was too well acquainted with cunning disease; that kind of dread could only increase his determination. Most of his trepidation sprang from Linden's rejection, from what that decision might mean.

For most of his hopes revolved around her. Doubt eroded his previous victory in the Land. He could not shake the gnawing conviction that in choosing to buy Joan's safety he had sold himself to the Despiser, had given up the freedom on which efficacy against Despite depended; he had felt that knife strike his chest, and knew he might fail. The wild magic is no longer potent against me. Of your own volition you will give the white gold into my hand. But Linden was another question. She had been chosen by the old man who had once told him to Be true. In their summoning, Lord Foul had betrayed no knowledge of or desire for her presence. And since then she had showed herself capable of many things. Behind her self-severity, she was beautiful. How could he not place hope in such a woman?

But now her refusal of Andelain seemed to imply that his hope was based on quicksand, that her clenched will was an articulation of cowardice rather than courage.

He understood such things. He was a leper, and lepers were taught cowardice by every hurt in all the world. If anything, her decision increased his empathy for her. But he was alone; and he knew from long and brutal experience how little he could accomplish alone. Even the apotheosis of his former power against Lord Foul would have gone for nothing without the support and laughter of Saltheart Foamfollower.

So as he climbed into Andelain, he felt that he was walking into a bereavement, a loss of comradeship, of hope, perhaps of courage, from which he might never recover.

At the hillcrest, he paused to wave at his companions. But they did not reply; they were not looking at him. Their lack of response hurt him as if they had deliberately turned their backs.

But he was a man who had always been faithful to his griefs; and the Land had become a rending and immedicable sorrow to him. He went on into Andelain because he needed health, power, knowledge. So that he could try to restore what had been lost.

Soon, however, his mood changed. For this was Andelain, as precious to his memory as his dearest friendships in the Land. In this air-ether as crisp as sempiternal spring-he could not even see the sun's chrysoprastic aura; the sunshine contained nothing except an abundance of beauty. The grass unrolling under his feet was lush and beryl-green, freshly jewelled with dew. Woodlands extended north and east of him. Broad Gilden fondled the breeze with their wide gold leaves; stately elms fronted the azure of the sky like princes; willows as delicate as filigree beckoned to him, inviting him into their heart-healing shade. All about the hale trunks, flowers enriched the greensward: daisies and columbine and elegant forsythia in profusion. And over everything lay an atmosphere of pristine and vibrant loveliness, as if here and in no other place lived quintessential health, nature's pure gift to assuage the soul.

Munching aliantha as he passed, loping down long hillsides, bursting occasionally into wild leaps of pleasure, Thomas Covenant travelled swiftly into Andelain.

Gradually, he grew calmer, became more attuned to the taintless tranquillity of the Hills. Birds sang among the branches; small woodland animals darted through the trees. He did nothing to disturb them. And after he had walked for some distance, drinking in thirstily the roborant of Andelain, he returned his thoughts to his companions, to Hollian and Sunder. He felt sure now that the Hills were not cancerous, that they contained no secret and deadly ill. Such an idea had become inconceivable. But at the same time the intensity of what he saw and felt and loved increased his comprehension of the Stonedownors.

They were like lepers; all the people of the Land were like lepers. They were the victims of the Sunbane, victims of an ill for which there was no cure and no escape. Outcast from the beauty of the world. And under such conditions, the need to survive exacted harsh penalties. No thing under the sun was as perilous to a leper as his own yearning for the kind of life, companionship, hope, denied him by his disease. That susceptibility led to despair and self-contempt, to the conviction that the outcasting of the leper was just-condign punishment for an affliction which must have been deserved.

Seen in that way, Andelain was a riving vindication of the Sunbane. The Land was not like Andelain because the people of the Land merited retribution rather than loveliness. What else could they believe, and still endure the penury of their lives? Like so many lepers, they were driven to approve their own destitution. Therefore Sunder could not trust anything which was not ruled by the Sunbane. And Hollian believed that Andelain would destroy her. They had no choice.

No choice at all. Until they learned to believe that the Sunbane was not the whole truth of their lives. Until Covenant found an answer which could set them free.

He was prepared to spend everything he possessed, everything he was, to open the way for Sunder, and Hollian, and Linden to walk Andelain unafraid.

Through the day, he journeyed without rest. He did not need rest. The aliantha healed the effects of the venom, and the water in the cleanly streams made him feel as fresh as a newborn; and each new vista was itself a form of sustenance, vivid and delicious.

The sun set in splendour long before he was ready to stop. He could not stop. He went on, always north- eastward, until the gloaming became night, and the stars came smiling out of their celestial deeps to keep him company.

But the darkness was still young when he was halted by the sight of a faint yellow-orange light, flickering through the trees like a blade of fire. He did not seek to approach it; memories held him still. He stood hushed and reverent while the flame wandered toward him. And as it came, it made a fine clear tinkling sound, like the chime of delicate crystal.

Then it bobbed in the air before him, and he bowed low to it, for it was one of the Wraiths of Andelain-a flame no larger than his hand dancing upright as if the darkness were an invisible wick. Its movement matched his obeisance; and when it floated slowly away from him, he followed after it. Its lustre made his heart swell. Toward the Wraiths of Andelain he felt a keen grief which he would have given anything to relieve. At one time, scores of them had died because he had lacked the power to save them.

Soon this Wraith was joined by another-and then by still others-and then he was surrounded by dancing as he walked. The bright circle and high, light ringing of the flames guided him, so that he went on and on as if he knew his way until a slim sliver-moon rose above the eastern Hills.

Thus the Wraiths brought him to a tall knoll, bare of trees but opulently grassed. There the chiming faded into a stronger music. The very air became the song to which the stars measured out then-gavotte, and every blade of grass was a note in the harmony. It was a stern song behind its quietude, and it held a long sorrow which he understood. The Wraiths remained at the base of the knoll, forming a long ring around it; but the music carried him upward, toward the crest.

And then the song took on words, so distinct that they could never be forgotten. They were sad and resolute, and he might have wept at them if he had been less entranced.

'Andelain I hold and mould within my fragile spell,

While world's ruin ruins wood and wold.

Sap and bough are grief and grim to me, engrievement fell,

And petals fall without relief.

Astricken by my power's dearth,

I hold the glaive of Law against the Earth.

'Andelain I cherish dear within my mortal breast;

And faithful I withhold Despiser's wish.

But faithless is my ache for dreams and slumbering and rest,

And burdens make my courage break.

The Sunbane mocks my best reply,

And all about and in me beauties die.

'Andelain! I strive with need and loss, and ascertain

That the Despiser's might can rend and rive.