The Illearth War

You've probably gone up there yourself more than anyone, else, couldn't help it, if only because mere ordinary human ears can only stand to hear so much contempt and laughter and no more, regardless of whether you're asleep or not. So you know what it's like. You know how he latches onto you with those eyes, and holds you down, and dissects-But you're the seer and oracle. You probably even know what he said to me.”

“No,” Mhoram replied quietly.

“He said-Hellfire!” He shook his head as if he were dashing water from his eyes. “He said that I dream the truth. He said that I am very fortunate. He said that people with such dreams are the true enemies of Despite it isn't Law, the Staff of Law wasn't made to fight Foul with-no, it's wild magic and dreams that are the opposite of Despite.” For an instant, the air around him quivered with indignation. 'He also said that I don't believe it. That was a big help. I just wish I knew whether I am a hero or a coward.

“No, don't answer that. It isn't up to you.”

Lord Mhoram smiled to reassure Covenant, but the Unbeliever was already continuing, “Anyway, I've got a belief-for what it's worth. It just isn't exactly the one you people want me to have.”

Probing again, Mhoram said, “That may be. But I do not see it. You do not show us belief, but Unbelief. If this is believing, then it is not belief for, but rather belief against.”

Covenant jumped to his feet as if he had been stung. “I deny that! Just because I don't affirm the Land or whatever, carry on like some unravelled fanatic and foam at the mouth for a chance to fight like Troy does, doesn't mean assuming that there's some kind of justice in the labels and titles which you people spoon around-assuming you can put a name at all to this gut-broken whatever that I can't even articulate much less prove to myself. That is not what Unbelief means.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means-” For a moment, Covenant stopped, choking on the words as if his heart suffered some blockage. Then he reached forward and shaded the gem of the krill with his hands so that it did not shine in his eyes. In a voice suddenly and terribly suffused with the impossibility of any tears which would have eased him, he shouted, “It means I've got to withhold — to discount-to keep something for myself! Because I don't know why!” The next instant, he dropped back into his chair and bowed his head, hiding it in his arms as if he were ashamed.

“ Why?” Mhoram said softly. 'That is not so hard a matter here, thus distant from `how.' Some of our legends hint at one answer. They tell of the beginning of the Earth, in a time soon after the birth of Time, when the Earth's Creator found that his brother and Enemy, the Despiser, had marred his creation by placing banes of surpassing evil deep within it. In outrage and pain, the Creator cast his Enemy down-out of the universal heavens onto the Earth-and imprisoned him here within the arch of Time. Thus, as the legends tell it, Lord Foul came to the Land.'

As he spoke, he felt that he was not replying to Covenant's question-that the question had a direction he could not see. But he continued, offering Covenant the only answer he possessed.

'It is clear now that Lord Foul lusts to strike back at his brother, the Creator. And at last, after ages of bootless wars carried on out of malice, out of a desire to harm the creation because he could not touch the Creator, Lord Foul has found a way to achieve his end, to destroy the arch of Time, unbind his exile, and return to his forbidden home, for spite and woe. When the Staff of Law, lost by Kevin at the Desecration, came within his influence, he gained a chance to bridge the gap between worlds-a chance to bring white gold into the Land.

“I tell you simply: it is Lord Foul's purpose to master the wild magic-'the anchor of the arch of life that spans and masters Time'-and with it bring Time to an end, so that he may escape his bondage and carry his lust throughout the universe. To do this, he must defeat you, must wrest the white gold from you. Then all the Land and all the Earth will surely fall.”

Covenant raised his head, and Mhoram tried to anticipate his next question. “But how? — how does the Despiser mean to accomplish this purpose? Ah, my friend, that I do not know. He will choose ways which resemble our own desires so closely that we will not resist. We will not be able to distinguish between his service and our own until we are bereft of all aids but you, whether you choose to help us or no.”

“But why?” Covenant repeated. “Why me?”

Again, Mhoram felt that his answer did not lie in the direction of Covenant's question. But still he offered it, humbly, knowing that it was all he had to give his tormented visitor.

'My friend, it is in my heart that you were chosen by the Creator. That is our hope. Lord Foul taught Drool to do the summoning because he desired white gold. But Drool's hands were on the Staff, not Lord Foul's. The Despiser could not control who was summoned. So if you were chosen, you were chosen by the Creator.

“Consider. He is the Creator, the maker of the Earth. How can he stand careless and see his making destroyed? Yet he cannot reach his hand to help us here. That is the law of Time. If he breaks the arch to touch the Land with his power, Time will end, and the Despiser will be free. So he must resist Lord Foul elsewhere. With you, my friend.”

“Damnation,” Covenant mumbled.

“Yet even this you must understand. He cannot touch you here, to teach or help you, for the same reason that he cannot help us. Nor can he touch or teach or help you in your own world. If he does, you will not be free. You will become his tool, and your presence will break the arch of Time, unbinding Despite. So you were chosen. The Creator believes that your uncoerced volition and strength will save us in the end. If he is wrong, he has put the weapon of his own destruction into Lord Foul's hands.”

After a long silence, Covenant muttered, “A hell of a risk.”

“Ah, but he is the Creator. How could he do otherwise?”

“He could burn the place down, and try again. But I guess you don't think gods are that humble. Or do you call it arrogance-to burn-? Never mind. I seem to remember that not all the Lords believe in this Creator as you do.”

“That is true. But you came to me. I answer as I can.”

“I know. Don't mind me. But tell me this. What would you do in my place?”

“No,” said Mhoram. At last he moved his chair to one side, so that he could see Covenant's face. Gazing into the Unbeliever's unsteady features, he replied, “That I will not answer. Who can declare? Power is a dreadful thing. I cannot judge you with an answer. I have not yet judged myself.”

The instability of Covenant's expression momentarily resolved into seeking. But he did not speak, and after a time Mhoram decided to risk another question. “Thomas Covenant, why do you take this so? Why are you so hurt? You say that the Land is a dream a delusion-that we have no real life. Then do not be concerned. Accept the dream, and laugh. When you awaken, you will be free.”

“No,” Covenant said. “I recognized something in what you said-I'm starting to understand this. Listen. This whole crisis here is a struggle inside me. By hell, I've been a leper so long, I'm starting to think that the way people treat lepers is justified. So I'm becoming my own enemy, my own Despiser-working against myself when I try to stay alive by agreeing with the people who make it so hard. That's why I'm dreaming this. Catharsis. Work out the dilemma subconsciously, so that when I wake up I'll be able to cope.”

He stood up suddenly, and began to pace Mhoram's ascetic chamber with a voracious gleam in his eyes. “Sure. That's it. Why didn't I think of it before? I've been telling myself all the time that this is escapism, suicide. But that's not it-that's not it at all. Just forget that I'm losing every one of the habits that keep me alive. This is dream therapy.”

But abruptly a grimace of pain clutched his face. “Hellfire!” he-rasped intensely. “That sounds like a story I should have burned-back when I was burning stories-when I still had stories to burn.”

Mhoram heard the anguished change, the turning to dust, in Covenant's tone, and he stood to reach out toward his visitor. But he did not need to move; Covenant came almost aimlessly in his direction, as if within the four walls of the chamber he had lost his way. He stopped at the table near Mhoram, and gazed miserably at the krill. His voice shook.

“I don't believe it. That's just another easy way to die. I already know too many of them.”

He seemed to stumble, though he was standing still. He lurched forward, and caught himself on Mhoram's shoulder. For a moment, he clung there, pressing his forehead into Mhoram's robe. Then Mhoram lowered him into a chair.

“Ah, my friend, how can I help you? I do not understand.”

Covenant's lips trembled, but with a visible effort he regained control of his voice. “Just tired. I haven't eaten