The One Tree

Pitchwife was saying wryly, “Your pardon, Chosen. I see that I have not given you ease.”

She shook her head. “That's not it.” The words left her mouth before she realised what she was saying. “What happened to Vain?”

The Demondim-spawn was gone. His place near the railing was empty.

“Naught I know of,” Pitchwife replied, surprised by her reaction. “A short while after the sun's rising, he strode forward as though his purpose had awakened in him. To the foremast he fared, and it he greeted with such a bow and smile as I mislike to remember. But then he lapsed to his former somnolence. There he stands yet. Had he moved, those who watch him would surely have informed us.”

“It is true,” Cail said flatly. “Ceer guards him.”

Under her breath, Linden muttered, “You've got to be kidding,” and climbed to her feet. “This I've got to see.” When Pitchwife joined her, she stalked away toward Foodfendhall and the foredeck.

There she saw Vain as he had been described, facing the curved surface of the mast from an arm's length away. His posture was the same as always: elbows slightly crooked at his sides; knees flexing just enough to maintain his balance against the choppy gait of the dromond; back straight. Yet to her gaze he wore a telic air. He confronted the mast as if they were old comrades, frozen on the verge of greeting one another.

To herself, she murmured, “What the hell-?”

“Forsooth,” responded Pitchwife with a light chuckle. “Had this Demondim-spawn not been gifted to the ur- Lord by a Giant, I would fear he means to ravish the maidenhood of our foremast.” At that, laughter spouted from the nearby crewmembers,

then spread like a kinship of humour through the rigging as his jest was repeated to those who had not heard it.

But Linden was not listening to him. Her ears had caught another sound-a muffled shout from somewhere belowdecks. As she focused her hearing, she identified Honninscrave's stertorous tones.

He was calling Seadreamer's name. Not in anger or pain, but in surprise. And trepidation.

The next moment, Seadreamer erupted from one of the hatchways and charged forward as if he meant to hurl himself at Vain. Honninscrave followed him; but Linden's attention was locked on the mute Giant. He looked wild and visionary, like a prophet or a madman; and the scar across his visage stood out stark and pale, underlining his eyes with intensity. Cries he could not utter strained the muscles of his neck.

Mistaking the Giant's intent, Ceer stepped between him and Vain, balanced himself to defend the Demondim-spawn. But an instant later, Seadreamer struck, not at Vain, but at the foremast. With his full weight and momentum, he dove against the mast. The impact sent a palpable quiver through the stone.

The shock knocked him to the deck. At once, he rebounded to his feet, attacked again. Slapping his arms around the mast like a wrestler, he heaved at it as if he wanted to tear it from its moorings. His passion was so vivid that for a moment Linden feared he might succeed.

Honninscrave leaped at Seadreamer's back, tried to pull him away. But he could not break the hold of Seadreamer's ferocity. Ceer and Hergrom moved to help the Master.

A worn sad voice stopped them. “Enough.” It seemed to sough from the air. “I have no desire to cause such distress.”

Seadreamer fell back. Vain stiffened.

Out of the stone of the mast, a figure began to flow. Leaving its hiding place, it translated itself into human form.

One of the Elohim.

He wore a creamy and graceful robe, but it did not conceal the etched leanness of his limbs, the scar-pallor of his skin. Under the unkempt silver sweep of his hair, his face was cut and marked with onerous perceptions. Around his yellow eyes, his sockets were as dark as old blood.

Gasping inwardly, Linden recognized Findail the Appointed.

As he took shape, he faced Seadreamer. “Your pardon,” he said in a voice like habitual grief. “Miscomprehending the depth of your Earth-Sight, I sought to conceal myself from you. It was not my purpose to inspire such distrust. Yet my sojourn through the seas to accompany you was slow and sorely painful to one who has been sent from his home in Elemesnedene. In seeking concealment, I judged poorly-as the swiftness with which you have descried me witnesses. Please accept that I intended no harm.”

Everyone on the foredeck stared at him; but no one replied. Linden was stricken dumb. Pitchwife she could not see-he was behind her. But Honninscrave's features reflected what she felt. And Seadreamer sat huddled on the deck with his hands clamped over his face as if he had just beheld the countenance of his death. Only the Haruchai betrayed no reaction.

Findail appeared to expect no response. He shifted his attention to Vain. His tone tightened. “To you I say, No.” He pointed rigidly at the centre of Vain's chest, and the muscles of his arm stood out like whipcord. “Whatever else you may do, or think to do, that I will not suffer. I am Appointed to this task, but in the name of no duty will I bear that doom.”

In answer, Vain grinned like a ghoul.

A grimace deepened the erosion of Findail's mien. Turning his back on the Demondim-spawn, he moved stiffly forward to stand at the prow of the Giantship, gazing outward like a figurehead.

Linden gaped after him for a moment, looked around at her companions. Honninscrave and Pitchwife were crouched beside Seadreamer; the other Giants appeared too stunned to act. The Haruchai watched Findail, but did not move. With a convulsion of will, she wrenched herself into motion. To the nearest crewmember, she rasped, “Call the First.” Then she went after the Elohim.

When she reached him, he glanced at her, gave her a perfunctory acknowledgment; but her presence made no impression on the old rue he had chosen to wear. She received the sudden impression that she was the cause of his distress-and that he meant to hide the fact from her at any cost. For no clear reason, she remembered that his people had expected the Sun-Sage and ring-wielder to be the same person. At first, she could not find the words with which to accost him.

But one memory brought back others, and with them came the rage of helplessness and betrayal she felt toward the Elohim. Findail had faced back toward the open Sea. She caught hold of his shoulder, demanded his notice. Through her teeth, she grated, “What in hell are you doing here?”

He hardly seemed to hear her. His yellow eyes were vague with loss, as if in leaving Elemesnedene he had been torn out of himself by the roots. But he replied, “Sun-Sage, I have been Appointed to this task by my people-to procure if I can the survival of the Earth. In the clachan you were given no better answer, and I may not answer more clearly now. Be content with the knowledge that I intend no hurt.”

“No hurt?” she spat back at him. “You people have done nothing but hurt. You-” She stopped herself, nearly choking on visions of Covenant and Vain and Seadreamer. “By God, if you don't come up with a better answer than that, I'll have you thrown overboard.”

“Sun-Sage.” He spoke gently, but made no effort to placate her. “I regret the necessity of the ring-wielder's plight. For me it is a middle way, balancing hazard and safety. I would prefer to be spared entirely. But it boots nothing to rail against me. I have been Appointed to stand among you, and no power accessible to you may drive me forth. Only he whom you name Vain has it within him to expel me. I would give much that he should do so.”

He surprised her. She believed him instinctively-and did not know what to do about it. “Vain?” she demanded. Vain? But she received no reply. Beyond the prow, the rough waves appeared strangely brittle in the odd raw brilliance of the sunlight. Spray smacked up from the sides of the Giantship and was torn apart by the contradictory winds. They winced back and forth across the deck, troubling her hair like gusts of prescience. Yet she made one more attempt to pierce the Elohim. Softly, vehemently, she breathed, “For the last time, I'm not the goddamn Sun-Sage! You've been wrong about that from the beginning. Everything you're doing is wrong.”

His yellow gaze did not flinch. “For that reason among many others I am here.”

With an inward snarl, she swung away from him-and nearly collided with the hard, mail-clad form of the First. The Swordmain stood there with iron and apprehension in her eyes. In a voice like a quiet blade, she asked,