The Wounded Land

Elena, Covenant moaned. You still haven't forgiven me, and you don't even know it.

A moment later, Bannor stood before him. The Bloodguard's Haruchai face was impassive, implacable. “Unbeliever, I have no gift for you,” he said without inflection. “But I say to you, Redeem my people. Their plight is an abomination. And they will serve you well.”

Then Foamfollower came forward; and Covenant saw that the Giant was not alone. “My dear friend,” said Foamfollower gaily, “to me has fallen the giving of a gift beyond price. Behold!”

He indicated his companion; and Covenant could tell at once that this figure was not one of the Dead. He wore a short grey tunic, and under it all his skin from head to foot was as black as the gaps between the stars. His form was perfectly shaped and strong; but his hair was black, his teeth and gums were black, his pupilless eyes were pure midnight. He held himself as if he were oblivious to the Dead and the Forestal and Covenant. His eyes gazed emptily, regarding nothing.

“He is Vain,” said Foamfollower, “the final spawn of the ur-viles.” Covenant flinched, remembering ur-viles. But the Giant went on, 'He crowns all their generations of breeding. As your friend, I implore you: take him to be your companion. He will not please you, for he does not speak, and serves no purpose but his own. But that purpose is mighty, and greatly to be desired. His makers have ever been lore-wise, though tormented, and when it comes upon him he, at least, will not fail.

'I say that he serves no purpose but his own. Yet in order that you may accept him, the ur-viles have formed him in such a way that he may be commanded once. Once only, but I pray it may suffice. When your need is upon you, and there is no other help, say to him, 'Nekhrimah, Vain,' and he will obey.

“Thomas Covenant. My dear friend.” Foamfollower bent close to him, pleading with him. “In the name of Hotash Slay, where I was consumed and reborn, I beg you to accept this gift.”

Covenant could hardly refrain from throwing his arms around the Giant's neck. He had learned a deep dread of the ur-viles and all their works. But Foamfollower had been his friend, and had died for it. Thickly, he said, “Yes. All right.”

“I thank you,” the Giant breathed, and withdrew.

For a moment, there was silence. Wraith-light rose dimly, and the Dead stood like icons of past might and pain. Caer-Caveral's song took on the cadence of a threnody. Crimson tinged the flow of his phosphorescence. Covenant felt suddenly that his friends were about to depart. At once, his heart began to labour, aching for the words to tell them that he loved them.

The Forestal approached again; but High Lord Mhoram stayed him. “One word more,” Mhoram said to Covenant. “This must be spoken, though I risk much in saying it. My friend, the peril upon the Land is not what it was. Lord Foul works in new ways, seeking ruin, and his evil cannot be answered by any combat. He has said to you that you are his Enemy. Remember that he seeks always to mislead you. It boots nothing to avoid his snares, for they are ever beset with other snares, and life and death are too intimately intergrown to be severed from each other. But it is necessary to comprehend them, so that they may be mastered. When-' He hesitated momentarily. “When you have come to the crux, and have no other recourse, remember the paradox of white gold. There is hope in contradiction.”

Hope? Covenant cried. Mhoram! Don't you know I'm going to fail?

The next moment, Caer-Caveral's song came down firmly on the back of his neck, and he was asleep in the thick grass.

Thirteen: Demondim-Spawn

WHEN he awoke, his face itched as if the grass had grown into his beard, and his back was warm with mid-morning sun.

He raised his head. He was still atop the knoll where he had met Caer-Caveral and the Dead. Andelain lay around him, unfolded like a flower to the sun. But he observed the trees and sky abstractly; the Hills had temporarily lost their power over him. He was too full of ashes to be moved.

He remembered the previous night clearly. He remembered everything about it except the conviction of its reality.

But that lasted for only a moment. When he sat up, changed his range of sight, he saw Vain.

The Demondim-spawn made everything else certain.

He stood just as he had the night before, lightly poised and oblivious. Covenant was struck once again by Vain's physical perfection. His limbs were smooth and strong; his flesh bore no blemish; he might have been an idealized piece of statuary. He gave no sign that he was aware of Covenant's awakening, that he was cognizant of Covenant at all. His arms hung relaxed, with the elbows slightly crooked, as if he had been made for readiness but had not yet been brought to life. No respiration stirred his chest; his eyes neither blinked nor shifted.

Slowly, Covenant reviewed the other gifts he had been given. They were all obscure to him. But Vain's solidity conveyed a kind of reassurance. Covenant took his companion as a promise that the other gifts would prove to be equally substantial.

Seeking relief from his sense of loss, he rose to his feet, faced Vain. He considered the dark form briefly, then said, “Foamfollower says you don't talk. Is that true?”

Vain did not react. An ambiguous smile hung on his lips, but no expression altered the fathomless ebony of his orbs. He might as well have been blind

“All right,” Covenant muttered. “You don't speak. I hope the other things he said are true, too, I don't want to test it. I'm going to put off commanding you as long as I can. If those ur-viles lied-” He frowned, trying to penetrate the mystery of his companion; but no intuition came to his aid. “Maybe Linden can tell me something about you.” Vain's black gaze did not shift. After a moment, Covenant growled, “I also hope I don't get in the habit of talking to you. This is ridiculous.”

Feeling vaguely foolish, he glanced at the sun to ascertain his directions, then started down the knoll to begin the journey back to his Mends.

The Demondim-spawn followed a few paces behind him. Vain moved as if he had memorized his surroundings long ago, and no longer needed to take notice of them. In spite of his physical solidity, his steps made no sound, left no impression in the grass.

Covenant shrugged, and set off south-westward through the Hills of Andelain.

By noon, he had eaten enough aliantha to comprise a feast, and had begun to recover his joy. Andelain did far more for him than give comfort to his eyes and ears or provide solace for his loss. Lord Foul had deprived him of the most exquisite pleasure of his previous visit here-the ability to feel health like a palpable cynosure in every green and living thing about him. But the Hills seemed to understand his plight, and adjust their appeal to offer him what he could enjoy. The air was refulgent with gay birds. The grass cushioned his feet, so that his knees and thighs felt exuberant at every stride. Aliantha nourished him until all his muscles were suffused with vitality.

Thus Andelain transformed his grief, melded it into a granitic sense of purpose. He considered the hazards ahead of him without dread, and swore an implacable oath without fear or fury, an oath that Andelain would not fall while he still had breath or pulse to defend it.

In the middle of the afternoon, he came upon a stream running placidly over a bed of fine sand, and stopped to give himself a bath. He knew that he would not be able to rejoin his companions by nightfall, so he did not begrudge the time. Stripping off his clothes, he scrubbed himself from head to foot with sand until he began to feel clean for the first time in many days.

Vain stood beside the stream as if he had been rooted to that spot all his life. A mischievous impulse came over Covenant; without warning, he slapped a spray of water at the Demondim-spawn. Droplets gleamed on Vain's obsidian flesh and dripped away, but he betrayed no flicker of consciousness.

Hellfire, Covenant muttered. A touch of prescience darkened his mood. He began almost grimly to wash his clothes.

Soon he was on his way again, with Vain trailing behind him.

He had planned to continue walking until he reached the Mithil valley and his companions. But this night was the dark of the moon, and the stars did not give much light. As the last illumination of evening faded from the air,