Stephen Donaldson - The Power That Preserves

The memory of it contrasted starkly with what he saw. It had been a quiet, grassy place girdled with pines like tall sentinels guarding its quietude, and a sprightly brook flowing down its centre. But now only bare, wasted earth showed through the thickening snow. The pines had been stripped naked and splintered by more winter than they could survive; and instead of water, a weal of ice ran through the valley like a scar already old.

Covenant wondered painfully how long this weather would last.

The implications of that question made him shiver, and he fought his tired frame into a sitting position so that he could lean closer to the pot of graveling. As he did so, he saw three figures sitting around another pot a short distance away. One of them observed his movement and spoke to the others. At once Triock stood and strode toward Covenant. He squatted near the Unbeliever, and studied him gravely before saying, “You have been grievously ill. My lore does not suffice to heal you. But I see that you are no longer dying.”

“You saved me,” Covenant said as bravely as he could through the pain of his mouth and his inanition.

“Perhaps. I am unsure. The wild magic has been at work in you.” Covenant stared, and Triock went on: “It appeared that the lomillialor drew a response from the white gold of your ring. With that power, you surpass any test of truth I might give.”

My ring, Covenant thought dully. But he was not ready to deal with that idea, and he set it aside also. “You saved me,” he repeated. “There are things I need to know.”

“Let them be. You must eat now. You have not taken food for many days.” He looked around through the snow, then said, “Saltheart Foamfollower brings you aliantha .”

Covenant heard heavy feet moving across the frozen ground. A moment later Foamfollower knelt with a quiet smile beside him. Both his hands were full of viridian treasure-berries.

Covenant looked at the aliantha . He felt he had forgotten what to do with them; he had been hungry for so long that hunger had become a part of him. But he could not refuse the offer behind the Giant’s kind smile. Slowly, he reached out a numb hand and took one of the treasure-berries.

When he slipped it past his lip and bit into it, the tangy salt-peach flavour which blossomed in his mouth seemed to refute all his reasons for fasting. And as he swallowed, he could feel nourishment rushing eagerly into him. He spit the seed into his palm; as if he were completing a ritual, he dropped it over his shoulder. Then he began to eat rapidly, wolfishly.

He did not stop until Foamfollower’s hands were empty. Sighing as if he longed for more, he sowed the last seed behind him.

The Giant nodded approval and seated himself in a more relaxed position near the graveling. Triock followed his example. When they were both looking at him, Covenant said softly, ” I won’ t forget this.” He could not think of any other way to express his thanks.

Triock frowned sharply. He asked Foamfollower, “Does he threaten us now?”

The Giant’s cavernous eyes searched Covenant’s face. He smiled wanly as he replied, “The Unbeliever has a mournful turn of speech. He does not threaten-he does not threaten us.”

Covenant felt a surge of grim gratitude for Foamfollower’s understanding. He tried to smile in return, but the tightness of his lip prevented him. He winced at the effort, then pulled his blankets more closely around him. He sensed a depth of cold answers behind the questions he needed to ask.

But he did not know how to ask them. Triock’s bitter mouth and Foamfollower’s scars intruded between him and his summoners; he feared that he was to blame for the tales they might tell him if he asked. Yet he had to know the answers, had to know where he stood. The first outlines of purpose were taking shape within him. He could not forget how this valley had looked when he had first seen it. And Mhoram had pleaded with him for help.

Lamely, he began, “I didn’t expect to turn up here. I thought Mhoram was going to call me back. But even he doesn’t have the Staff of Law. How-how did you do it?”

Triock answered in stiff tones, “Mhoram son of Variol, seer and oracle to the Council of Lords, came to Mithil Stonedown before the last war-the battle against Fleshharrower Raver. At that time, he gave to me the lomillialor rod which I have used today-and for the past three days. Because of his gift, I journeyed to the Loresraat, to study the uses of the High Wood. There I learned of High Lord Elena’s fall-I- ”

He paused for a moment to lash down his passion, then went on. “In the years which followed, I waited for the reason of High Lord Mhoram’s gift to be made plain. During that time, I fought with my people against the marauders of the Grey Slayer. Then the Giant Saltheart Foamfollower joined us, and we fought together through the South Plains. While winter increased upon the Land, we attacked and ran and attacked again, doing what damage we could to our vast foe. But at last word came to us that Revelwood had fallen-that great Revelstone itself was besieged. We left our battles, and returned to Mithil Stonedown and Kevin’s Watch. With the lomillialor of High Lord Mhoram, and the strength of Saltheart Foamfollower, and the lore I brought from the Loresraat, we laboured for three days, and in the end brought you to the Land. It was not easily done.”

Triock’s flint voice sparked visions of desperation in Covenant’s mind. To resist them, control them until he was ready for them, he asked, “But how? I thought only the Staff of Law-”

“Much has been broken by the fall of High Lord Elena,” Triock retorted. “The Land has not yet tasted all the consequences of that evil. But the Staff made possible certain expressions of power-and limited others. Now that limit is gone. Do you not feel the malice of this winter?”

Covenant nodded with an ache in his eyes. His responsibility for Elena’s end stung him, goaded him to ask another kind of question. “That doesn’t tell me why you did it. After Lena-and Elena-and Atiaran”- he could not bring himself to be more specific-“and everything-you’ve got less reason than anyone in the world to want me back. Even Trell-Maybe Foamfollower here can forget, but you can’t. If you were thinking it any louder, I could taste it.”

Bitterness clenched Triock’s jaws, but his reply was sharp and ready, as if he had whetted it many times. “Yet Foamfollower is persuasive. The Land is persuasive. The importance which the Lorewardens see in you is persuasive. And Lena daughter of Atiaran still lives in Mithil Stonedown. In her last years, Atiaran Trell-mate said often that it is the duty of the living to make meaningful the sacrifices of the dead. But I wish to find meaning for the sacrifices of those who live. After-after the harm which you wrought upon Lena-she hid herself so that the harm would not be known-so that you would be left free to bear your prophecy to the Lords. That sacrifice requires meaning, Unbeliever.”

In spite of himself, in spite of his own expectations of hostility and recrimination, Covenant believed Triock. Elena had warned him; she had described the size of Triock’s capabilities. Now he wondered where Triock found his strength. The man had been an unambitious Cattleherd. The girl he loved had been raped, and her bastard daughter had grown up to love the rapist. Yet because of them he had gone to the Loresraat, studied dangerous lore for which he had no desire or affinity. He had become a guerrilla fighter for the Land. And now he had summoned Covenant at the command of the Land’s need and his own harsh sense of mercy. Thickly, Covenant muttered, “You’ve kept your Oath.” He was thinking, I owe you for this, too, Foul.