The One Tree

Before she could warn her companions, a man entered the gallery. She knew who he was before Rire Grist's bow and salutation had announced him as the gaddhi's Kemper. The power which poured from him was as tangible as a pronouncement. He could not have been anyone other than a thaumaturge.

The aura he radiated was one of hunger.

He was a tall man, stood head and shoulders above her; but his frame was so lean that he appeared emaciated. His skin had the translucence of great age, exposing the blue mapwork of his veins. Yet his features were not ancient, and he moved as if his limbs were confident of their vitality. In spite of his reputed longevity, he might have been no more than seventy years of age. A slight rheum clouded his eyes, obscuring their colour but not the impact of their gaze.

In a flash of intuition, Linden perceived that the hunger shining from him was a hunger for time — that his desire for life, and more life, surpassed the satiation of centuries.

He was dressed in a gold-coloured robe which swept the floor as he approached. Suspended by a yellow ribbon, a golden circle like an ocular hung from his neck; but it held no lens.

A leather strap enclosed each shoulder as if he were carrying a rucksack. Linden did not see until he turned to answer the Caitiffin's greeting that the burden he bore was an infant swaddled in yellow samite.

After a brief word with Rire Grist, the Kemper stepped toward the company.

“I am pleased to greet you.” His voice revealed a faint quaver of age; but his tone was confident and familiar. 'Permit me to say that such guests are rare in Bhrathairealm- thus doubly welcome. Therefore have I desired to make your acquaintance ere you are summoned before the Auspice to receive the gaddhi's benison. But we need no introduction. This worthy Caitiffin has already spoken my name. And in my turn I know you.

“Grimmand Honninscrave,” he went on promptly as if to set the company at ease with his knowledge, “you have brought your vessel a great distance-and at some cost, I fear.”

He gave the First a slight bow. “You are the First of the Search-and very welcome among us.” To Seadreamer, he said, “Be at peace. Your muteness will not lessen the pleasure of your presence for either the gaddhi or his Chatelaine.”

Then he stood before Linden and Covenant. “Thomas Covenant,” he said with an avid tinge in his voice. “Linden Avery. How you gladden me. Among such unexpected companions”-a flick of one hand referred to the Haruchai, Vain, and Findail-“you are the most unexpected of all, and the most pleasurable to behold. If the word of the gaddhi's Kemper bears any weight, you will not lack comfort or service while you sojourn among us.”

Distinctly, as if on cue, Covenant said, “Don't touch me.”

The Kemper raised an age-white eyebrow in surprise. After a quick scrutiny of Covenant, his eyes turned toward Linden as if to ask her for an explanation.

She resisted his intense aura, trying to find a suitable response. But her mind refused to clear. He disturbed her. Yet the most unsettling aspect of him was not the man himself, not the insatiaty he projected. Rather, it was the child on his back. It hung in its wrappings as if it were fast and innocently asleep; but the way its plump cheek rested against the top of his spine gave her the inexplicable impression that it fed on him like a succubus.

This impression was only aggravated by the fact that she could not confirm it. Though the infant was as plainly visible as the Kemper, it did not impinge at all on the other dimension of her senses. If she closed her eyes, she still felt Kasreyn's presence like a yearning pressure against her face; but the infant disappeared as if it ceased to exist when she stopped gazing at it. It might have been an hallucination.

Her stare was too obvious to escape Kasreyn's notice. A look of calculation crossed his mien, then changed to fondness. “Ah, my son,” he said. “I bear him so constantly that upon occasion I forget a stranger might wonder at him. Linden Avery, I am uxorious, and my wife is sadly ill. Therefore I care for our child. My duties permit no other recourse than this. But you need have no concern of him. He is a quiet boy and will not trouble us.”

“Forgive me,” Linden said awkwardly, trying to emulate Honninscrave's detached politeness. “I didn't mean to be rude.” She felt acutely threatened by that child. But the Kemper's welcome might become something else entirely if she showed that she knew he was lying.

“Give no thought to the matter.” His tone was gently condescending. “How can it offend me that you have taken notice of my son?” Then he returned his attention to the Giants.

'My friends, much time has passed since your people have had dealings with the Bhrathair. I doubt not you have remained mighty roamers and adventurers, and your history has surely been rich in interest and edification. I hope you will consent to share with me some of the tales for which the Giants have gained such renown. But that must come later, as my service to the gaddhi permits.“ Abruptly, he raised a long, bony ringer; and at the same instant a chime rang in the Tier of Riches. ”At present, we are summoned before the Auspice. Rire Grist will conduct you to The Majesty.' Without farewell, he turned and strode vigorously from the room, bearing his son nestled against his back.

Linden was left with a sense of relief, as if a faintly nauseating scent had been withdrawn. A moment passed before she realised how deftly Kasreyn had prevented her companions from asking him any questions. And he had not voiced any inquiry about Covenant's condition. Was he that incurious? — or was he capable of discerning the answer for himself?

Rire Grist beckoned the company in another direction. But Honninscrave said firmly, “One moment, Caitiffin.” His posture showed that he also had doubts about Kasreyn. “A question, if you will. I ask pardon if I am somewhat forward-yet I cannot but think that the gaddhi's Kemper is more than a little advanced in years to be the father of such an infant.”

The Caitiffin stiffened. In an instant, his countenance became the visage of a soldier rather than of a diplomat. “Giant,” he said coldly, “there is no man or woman, Chatelaine or Guard, in all Bhrathairealm who will speak to you concerning the Kemper's son.” Then he stalked out of the room as if he were daring the company not to follow him.

Honninscrave looked at Linden and the First. Linden felt neither ready nor safe enough to do anything more than shrug; and the First said grimly, “Let us attend this gaddhi, All other reasons aside, it rends my heart to behold so many brave blades I may not touch.”

The Master's discomfort at the role he played showed itself in the tightness of his shoulders, the weight of his brows. But he led the company after Rire Grist.

They caught up with the Caitiffin two galleries later. By then, he had recovered his courtly politesse. But he offered no apology for his change of manner. Instead, he simply ushered the company onward through the Tier of Riches.

The chime must have included all the Chatelaine in its call. The sumptuously clad men and women were now moving in the same direction Rire Grist took. Their ornaments glittered in accompaniment to their personal comeliness; but they walked in silence, as if they were bracing themselves for what lay ahead.

Linden was briefly confused by the complexity of the Tier, uncertain of where she was headed. But soon the chambers debouched into a hall that took the thickening stream of people toward a richly gilt and engraved stairway which spiralled upward to pierce the ceiling.

Surrounded by the courtiers, she was more sure than ever that she saw shadows of trepidation behind their deliberate gaiety. Apparently, attendance upon the gaddhi represented a crisis for them as well as for the company. But their knurled cheeriness did not reveal the nature of what they feared.

The treads climbed dizzily upward. Hunger, and the fatigue of her legs, sent low tremblings through Linden's thighs. She felt too unsteady to trust herself. But she drew a mental support from Cail's hardness at her shoulder and trudged on behind the Giants and Rire Grist.

Then the stairs opened into The Majesty, and she forgot her weariness.

The hall into which she stepped seemed almost large and grand enough to fill the entire level. At this end, the air was only dimly lit by reflected light, and the gloom made the place appear immense and cavernous. The ceiling was lost in shadow. The hustin that lined the long, curving wall nearby looked as vague as icons. And the wall itself was deeply carved with huge and tormented shapes-demons in bas-relief which appeared to be animated by the dimness, tugging at the edges of Linden's sight as if they writhed in a gavotte of pain.