“Then this is your only choice. This was the only thing left to try.”
“No. You don't understand.” Covenant tried to find the words to explain, but he could go no further. “You don't understand what Foul is doing to them.” He pulled his cramped fingers away from the railing, and left the enclosure.
When he regained his rooms, he was still shaken.
He did not think to close the door behind him, and the Warmark strode after him into the suite without bothering to ask admittance. But Covenant paid no attention to his visitor. He went straight to the tray of food, picked up the flask which stood beside the still steaming bowls, and drank deeply, as if he were trying to quench the heat of his blood. The springwine in the flask had a light, fresh, beery taste; it washed into him, clearing the dust from his internal passages. He emptied the flask, then remained still for a moment with his eyes shut, experiencing the sensation of the draft. When its clear light had eased some of the constriction in his chest, he seated himself at the table and began to eat.
“That can wait,” Troy said gruffly. “I've got to talk to you.”
“So talk,” Covenant said around a mouthful of stew. In spite of his visitor's insistent impatience, he kept on eating. He ate rapidly, acting on his decision before doubt could make him regret it.
Troy paced the room stiffly for a moment, then brought himself to take a seat opposite Covenant. He sat as he stood with unbending uprightness. His gleaming, impenetrable, black sunglasses emphasized the tightness of the muscles in his cheeks and forehead. Carefully, he said, “You're determined to make this hard, aren't you? You're determined to make it hard for everyone.”
Covenant shrugged. As the springwine unfurled within him, he began to recover from what he had seen in the sacred enclosure. At the same time, he remembered his distrust of Troy. He ate with increasing wariness, watched the Warmark from under his eyebrows.
“Well, I'm trying to understand,” Troy went on in a constrained tone. “God knows I've got a better chance than anyone else here.”
Covenant put down the wooden fork and looked squarely at Troy.
“The same thing happened to us both.” To the obvious disbelief in Covenant's face, he responded, 'Oh, it's all clear enough. A white gold wedding ring. Boots, jeans, and a T-shirt. You were talking on the phone with your wife. And the time before that-have I got this right? — you were hit by a car of some kind.'
“A police car,” Covenant murmured, staring at the Warmark.
“You see? I can recognize every detail. And you could do the same for my story. We both came here from the same place, the same world, Covenant. The real world.”
No, Covenant breathed thickly. None of this is happening.
“I've even heard of you,” Troy went on as if this argument would be incontrovertible. “I've read-your book was read to me. It made an impression on me.”
Covenant snorted. But he was disturbed. He had burned that book too late; it continued to haunt him.
'No, hold on. Your damn book was a best-seller.
Hundreds of thousands of people read it. It was made ` into a movie. Just because I know about it doesn't mean I'm a figment of your imagination. In fact, my presence here is proof that you are not going crazy.: Two independent minds perceiving the same phenomenon.'
He said this with confident plausibility, but Covenant was not swayed. “Proof?” he muttered. “I would be amused to hear what else you call proof.”
“Do you want to hear how I came here?”
“No!” Covenant was suddenly vehement. “I want to hear why you don't want to go back.”
For a moment, Troy sat still, facing Covenant with his sunglasses. Then he snapped to his feet, and started to pace again. Swinging tightly around on his heel at one end of the room, he said, “Two reasons. First, I like it here. I'm useful to something worth being useful to. The issues at stake in this war are the only ones I've ever seen worth fighting for. The life of the Land is beautiful. It deserves preservation. For once, I can do some good. Instead of spending my time on troop deployment, first-and second-strike capabilities, super-ready status, demoralization parameters, nuclear induction of lethal genetic events,” he recited bitterly, 'I can help defend against a genuine evil. The world we came from-the `real' world hasn't got such clear colours, no blue and black and green and red, 'ebon ichor incarnadine viridian.' Grey is the colour of `reality.'
“Actually”- he dropped back into his chair, and his voice took on a more conversational tone-“I didn't even know what grey was until I came here. That's my second reason.”
He reached up with both hands and removed his sunglasses.
“I'm blind.”
His sockets were empty, orbless, lacking even lids and lashes. Blank skin grew in the holes where his eyes should have been.
“I was born this way,” the Warmark said, as if he could see Covenant's astonishment. 'A genetic freak. But my parents saw fit to keep me alive, and by the time they died I had learned various ways to function on my own. I got myself into special schools, got special help. It took a few extra years because I had to have most things read to me, but eventually I got through high school and college. After which my only real skill was keeping track of spatial relationships in my head. For instance, I could play chess without a board. And if someone described a room to me, I could walk through it without bumping into anything. Basically I was good at that because it was how I kept myself alive.
'So I finally got a job in a think tank with the Department of Defence. They wanted people who could understand situations without being able to see them — people who could use language to deal with physical facts. I was the expert on war games, computer hypotheticals, that sort of thing. All I needed was accurate verbal information on topography, troop strength, hardware and deployment, support capabilities-then leave the game to me. I always won. So what did it all amount to? Nothing. I was the freak of the group, that's all.
'I took care of myself as well as I could. But for a place to live, I was pretty much at the mercy of what
I could get. So I lived in this apartment house on the ninth floor, and one night it burned down. That is, I assume it burned down. The fire company still hadn't come when my apartment caught. There was nothing
I could do. The fire backed me to the wall, and finally I climbed out the window. I hung from the windowsill while the heat blistered my knuckles. I was determined not to let go because I had a very clear idea of how far above the ground nine floors is. Made no difference. After a while, my fingers couldn't hold on anymore.
'The next thing I knew, I was lying on something that felt like grass. There was a cool breeze--but with enough warmth behind it to make me think it must be daylight. The only thing wrong was a smell of burned flesh. I assumed it was me. Then I heard voices- ` urgent, people hurrying to try to prevent something. They found me.
'Later, I learned what had happened. A young student at the Loresraat had an inspiration about a piece of the Second Ward he was working on. All this was about five years ago. He thought he had figured out how to get help for the Land-how to summon you, actually. He wanted to try it, but the Lorewardens' refused to let him. Too dangerous. They took his idea to study, and sent to Revelstone for a Lord to help them decide how to test his theory.
'Well, he didn't want to wait. He left the Loresraat and climbed a few miles up into the western hills of Trothgard until he thought he was far enough away to work in peace. Then he started the ritual. Somehow, the Lorewardens felt the power he was using, and went after him. But they were too late. He succeeded-in a manner of speaking. When he was done, I was lying there on the grass, and he-He had burned himself to death. Some of the Lorewardens think he caught the fire that should have killed me. As they said, it was too dangerous.
“The Lorewardens took me in, cared for me, put hurtloam on my hands-even on my eyesockets. Before long, I began having visions. Colours and shapes started to jump at me out of the-out of whatever it was I was used to. This round, white-orange circle passed over me every day-but I didn't know what it was. I didn't even know it was `round.' I had no visual concept of `round.' But the visions kept getting stronger. Finally, Elena-she was the Lord who came down from Revelstone, only she wasn't High Lord then-she told me that I was learning to see with my mind-as if my brain were actually starting to see through my forehead. I didn't believe it, but she showed me. She demonstrated how my sense of spatial relationships fitted what I was `seeing,' and how my sense of touch matched the shapes around me.”
He paused for a moment, remembering. Then he said strongly, 'I'll tell you-I never think about going back. How can I? I'm here, and I can see. The Land's given me a gift I could never repay in a dozen lifetimes. I've got too
