The One Tree

Covenant's examination, then described the Elohimfest. Her account was succinct and stark. Her tone said plainly that she, like Pitchwife, ached for a full and formal telling. But this maidan- with the Elohim so near at hand-was no place for such a tale; and she withheld it sternly. She related how the location of the One Tree had been revealed and what price Covenant had paid for that vision. Then she stiffened herself to her conclusion.

“Vain the Elohim have imprisoned. It is their word that he is perilous to them-a threat directed against them across the seas by those who made him. They will not suffer his release. Mayhap they have already taken his life.”

There she fell silent; and Linden knew that nothing else remained to be said. She could not hope for any inspiration to rescue her from her burdens. As if she knew what they were thinking, she watched while Ceer and Hergrom splashed back to the travertine slopes of the fountain, attempting once again to enter Elemesnedene. But the way was closed to them. It had been closed to all the company, and there was nothing else left to be done. Yet when the two Haruchai retreated to the maidan, the water seemed to gleam on the surface of their stubbornness; and she saw with a groan of recognition that she would have to fight them as well. They had not forgiven her for sending them out of Elemesnedene.

She tried to rise to her feet; but for a while she could not. The weight of decision held her down. Who was she, that she should try to take Covenant's place at the head of the quest? Gibbon-Raver had promised her an outcome of anguish and ruin.

But her companions were asking themselves how they could force or trick their way back into the clachan. Though she felt that she was going crazy, she seemed to be the only sane one among them. And she had already accepted her role. If she could not at least stand loyal to herself, to the decisions she had made and the people she cared about, then everything she had already been and borne came to nothing.

Clinching her long intransigence, she interrupted the company by climbing upright. Then she muttered, “There's nothing more we can do here. Let's get going.”

They were struck silent as if she had shocked them. They glanced among themselves, wondering at her-at her willingness to abandon Vain, or at her attempt to command them. The First had sheathed her blade, but she showed her desire for battle in every muscle. Honninscrave and Seadreamer had found their way past pain into anger. Even Pitchwife had become enthusiastic for combat. And the Haruchai stood poised as if they were looking for a place to hurl violence.

“Don't touch me,” Covenant answered. The abysm behind his eyes made him look like a blind man. His reiterated warning was the only evidence that he retained any vestige of mind at all.

“I mean it.” Linden's tongue was thick with despair; but she knew that if she recanted now she would never be able to stop fleeing. “There's nothing we can do for Vain. Let's get back to the ship.”

“Chosen.” The First's voice was as keen as iron. “We are Giants. Whatever his purpose, this Vain is our companion. We do not blithely turn from the succour of any companion.” Linden started to object; but the Swordmain cut her off. ''Also, we have been told that he was given to Covenant Giantfriend by the Dead of Andelain. By a Giant of the Lost-by Saltheart Foamfollower, the Pure One of the sur- jheherrin. Him we have beheld in the opening of Covenant's mind.

“We will not see such a gift lost. Though we do not comprehend him, we conceive that the gifts given to Covenant by his Dead are vital and necessary. Vain must be recovered.”

Linden understood. The Elohim had planted a seed of possibility, and its fruit was apparent in the gazes of her companions. That she should take Covenant's ring and use it.

She shook her head. That would be a violation as fundamental as any rape. His ring was his peril and his hope, and she would not take it from him. Its power meant too much to her.

And she had other reasons to deny the idea. Covenant's plight could wait, at least until the company was safely away from this place; but Vain's could not. What the Demondim-spawn needed from her was not what it appeared to be.

To the First, she said flatly, “No.” In this, at least, she knew who she was. “It isn't up to you.”

“I am the First-” began the Swordmain.

“It would've been Covenant's decision,” Linden went on severely, clamping herself rigid with all her will, “but he's in no condition. That leaves me.”

She could not explain herself for fear the Elohim would hear her and take action. They were surely able to hear anything they desired, uncover any purpose they chose. So she invented reasons as if she knew what she was talking about.

“You can't do it. He's so important because he comes from outside. Like the white gold. You don't. We wouldn't be here at all if the job could be done by anybody else. You can't take his place,” she insisted. 'I'm going to, whether I can or not.

'And I say we're going to leave. Let Vain take care of himself. We don't even know why he was given to Covenant.

Maybe this is the reason. To get him into Elemesnedene, so he can do whatever he was created for. I don't know, and I don't care. We have what we came to get. And I don't want to keep Covenant here. They're after his ring. I'll be damned if we're going to stand around and let them hurt him again.'

The First replied with a perplexed frown, as though Linden's stability had become a matter of open doubt. But Brinn showed no doubt. In a voice like stone, he said, “We know nothing of these questions. Our ignorance was thrust upon us when we sought to serve the promise we have given the ur-Lord.” His accusation was implicit. 'We know only that he has been harmed when he should have been in our care. And Vain is his, given to him in aid of his quest. For that reason alone, we must stand by the Demondim-spawn.

“Also,” he continued inflexibly, “you have become a question in our sight. Vain made obeisance to you when you were redeemed from Revelstone. And he it was who strove to bear you from the peril of the graveling and the Sunbane-sickness. Perchance it was he who brought the sur-jheherrin to our aid against the lurker, in your name. Do you lack all wish to serve those who have served you?”

Linden wanted to cry out at his words. He rubbed them like salt into her failures. But she clung to her purpose until the knuckles of her will whitened. “I understand what you're saying.” Her voice quivered, deserted by the flat dispassion which she had tried for so long to drill into herself. “But you can't get in there. They've closed us out. And we don't have any way to make them change their minds. Covenant is the only one they were ever afraid of, and now they don't have that to worry about.” If Covenant had chosen that moment to utter his blank refrain, her control might have snapped. But he was mercifully silent, lost in the absence of his thoughts. “Every minute we stay here, we're taking the chance they might decide to do something worse.”

The challenge of Brinn's gaze did not waver. When she finished, he replied as though her protest were gratuitous, 'Then heal him. Restore to him his mind, so that he may make his own choosing on Vain's behalf.'

At that, Linden thought she would surely break. She had already endured too much. In Brinn's eyes, she saw her flight from Covenant during his venom-relapse returning to impugn her. And Brinn also knew that she had declined to protect Covenant from Infelice's machinations. The First had not omitted that fact from her tale. For a moment, Linden could not speak through the culpability which clogged her throat.

But the past was unalterable; and for the present no one had the right to judge her. Brinn could not see Covenant deeply enough to judge her. Covenant's plight was hers to assess-and to meet as she saw fit. Gritting her control so hard that it ached in the bones of her skull, she said, “Not here. Not now. What's happened to him is like amnesia. There's a chance it'll heal itself. But even if it doesn't-even if I have to do something about it-I'm not going to take the risk here. Where the Elohim can tamper with anything.” And Vain might be running out of time. “If I'm not completely careful-” She faltered as she remembered the darkness behind his eyes. “I might extinguish what's left.”

Brinn did not blink. His stare said flatly that this argument was just another refusal, as unworthy of Covenant as all the others. Despairingly, Linden turned back to the First.

“I know what I'm doing. Maybe I've already failed too often. Maybe none of you can trust me. But I'm not losing my mind.” In her ears, her insistence sounded like the frail pleading of a child. “We've got to get out of here. Go back to the ship. Leave.” With all her determination, she refrained from shouting, Don't you understand? That's