Each falter of my ancient heart is all the evil's gain;
And it appalls without relent.
I cannot spread my power more,
Though teary visions come of wail and gore.
'Oh, Andelain! Forgive! for I am doomed to fail this war.
I cannot bear to see you die-and live,
Foredoomed to bitterness and all the grey Despiser's lore.
But while I can I heed the call
Of green and tree; and for their worth,
I hold the glaive of Law against the Earth.'
Slowly through the music, Covenant beheld the singer.
The man was tall and strong, and robed all in whitest sendaline. In his hand, he held a gnarled tree limb as a staff. Melody crowned his head. Music flowed from the lines of his form in streams of phosphorescence. His song was the very stuff of power, and with it he cupped the night in the palm of his hand.
His face had neither eyes nor eye sockets. Though he had changed mightily in the ten years or thirty-five centuries since Covenant had last seen him, he did not appear to have aged at all.
An impulse to kneel swept through Covenant, but he refused it. He sensed that if he knelt now there would be no end to his need to prostrate himself. Instead, he stood quiet before the man's immense white music, and waited.
After a moment, the man hummed sternly, “Thomas Covenant, do you know me?”
Covenant met his eyeless gaze. “You're Hile Troy.”
“No.” The song was absolute. “I am Caer-Caveral, the Forestal of Andelain. In all the Land I am the last of my kind.”
“Yes,” Covenant said. “I remember. You saved my life at the Colossus of the Fall-after I came out of Morinmoss. I think you must have saved me in Morinmoss, too.”
“There is no Morinmoss.” Caer-Caveral's melody became bleakness and pain. “The Colossus has fallen.”
No Morinmoss? No forests? Covenant clenched himself, held the tears down. “What do you want from me? I'll do anything.”
The Forestal hummed for a moment without answering. Then he sang, “Thomas Covenant, have you beheld Andelain?”
“Yes.” Clenching himself. “I've seen it.”
“In all the Land, it is the last keep of the Law. With my strength, I hold its fabric unrent here. When I fail in the end-as fail I must, for I am yet Hile Troy withal, and the day comes when I must not refuse to sacrifice my power-there will be no restitution for the abysm of that loss. The Earth will pass into its last age, and nothing will redeem it.”
“I know.” With his jaws locked. “I know.”
“Thomas Covenant,” the tall man sang, “I require from you everything and nothing. I have not brought you here this night to ask, but to give. Behold!” A sweeping gesture of his staff scattered the grass with music; and there, through the melody like incarnations of song, Covenant saw them. Pale silver as if they were made of moonshine, though the moon had no such light, they stood before him. Caer-Caveral's streaming argence illumined them as if they had been created out of Forestal-fire.
Covenant's friends.
High Lord Mhoram, with the wise serenity of his eyes, and the crookedness of his smile.
Elena daughter of Lena and rape, herself a former High Lord, beautiful and passionate. Covenant's child; almost his lover,
Bannor of the Bloodguard, wearing poise and capability and the power of judgment which could never be wrested from him.
Saltheart Foamfollower, who towered over the others as he towered over all mortals in size, and humour, and purity of spirit.
Covenant stared at them through the music as if the sinews of his soul were fraying. A moan broke from his chest, and he went forward with his arms outstretched to embrace his friends.
“Hold!”
The Forestal's command froze Covenant before he could close the separation. Immobility filled all his muscles.
“You do not comprehend,” Caer-Caveral sang more kindly. “You cannot touch them, for they have no flesh. They are the Dead. The Law of Death has been broken, and cannot be made whole again. Your presence here has called them from their sleep, for all who enter Andelain encounter their Dead here.”
Cannot-? After all this time? Tears streamed down Covenant's cheeks; but when Caer-Caveral released him, he made no move toward the spectres. Almost choking on his loss, he said, “You're killing me. What do you want?”
“Ah, beloved,” Elena replied quickly, in the clear irrefusable voice which he remembered with such anguish, “this is not a time for grief. Our hearts are glad to behold you here. We have not come to cause you pain, but to bless you with our love. And to give you gifts, as the Law permits.”
“It is a word of truth,” added Mhoram. “Feel joy for us, for none could deny the joy we feel in you.”
“Mhoram,” Covenant wept, “Elena. Banner. Oh, Foamfollower!”
The Forestal's voice took on a rumble like the threat of thunder. “Thus it is that men and women find madness in Andelain. This must not be prolonged. Thomas Covenant, it is well that your companions did not accompany you. The man and woman of the Land would break at the sight of their Dead. And the woman of your world would raise grim shades here. We must give our gifts while mind and courage hold.”
“Gifts?” Covenant's voice shook with yearning. “Why-? How-?” He was so full of needs that he could not name them all.
“Ah, my friend, forgive us,” Mhoram said. “We may answer no questions. That is the Law.”
“As in the summoning of dead Kevin which broke the Law of Death,” interposed Elena, “the answers of the Dead rebound upon the questioner. We will not harm you with our answers, beloved.”
“And you require no answers.” Foamfollower was laughing in his gladness. “You are sufficient to every question.”
Foamfollower! Tears burned Covenant's face like blood. He was on his knees, though he could not remember kneeling.
“Enough,” the Forestal hummed. “Even now he falters.” Graceful and stately, he moved to Covenant's side. “Thomas Covenant, I will not name the thing you seek. But I will enable you to find it.” He touched Covenant's forehead with his staff. A white blaze of music ran through Covenant's mind. “The knowledge is within you, though you cannot see it. But when the time has come, you will find the means to unlock my gift.” As the song receded, it left nothing in its wake but a vague sense of potential.
Caer-Caveral stepped aside; and High Lord Mhoram came soundlessly forward. “Ur-Lord and Unbeliever,” he said gently, “my gift to you is counsel. When you have understood the Land's need, you must depart the Land, for the thing you seek is not within it. The one word of truth cannot be found otherwise. But I give you this caution: do not be deceived by the Land's need. The thing you seek is not what it appears to be. In the end, you must return to the Land.”
He withdrew before Covenant could ask him to say more.
Elena took the High Lord's place. “Beloved,” she said with a smile of deep affection, “it has befallen me to speak a hard thing to you. The truth is as you have feared it to be; the Land has lost its power to remedy your illness, for much great good has been undone by the Despiser. Therefore I rue that the woman your companion lacked heart to accompany you, for you have much to bear. But she must come to meet herself in her own time. Care for her, beloved, so that in the end she may heal us all.”
Then her voice grew sharper, carrying an echo of the feral hate which had led her to break the Law of Death. “This one other thing I say to you also. When the time is upon you, and you must confront the Despiser, he is to be found in Mount Thunder-in Kiril Threndor, where he has taken up his abode.”
