Stephen Donaldson - The Power That Preserves

His statement disconcerted the Unfettered One. “Yes,” he mumbled. Bending quickly, he picked up a large flask of water and a covered urn containing dried fruit. “Take all you require,” he said as he handed these to Triock. “I have-I have seen some of the Despiser’s work. Here.” He gestured vaguely at the walls of his cave.

There was little fruit in the urn, but Triock and Quirrel divided it between them. As he munched his share, Triock found he felt a great deal better. Although the meagre amount of food hardly touched his hunger, his skin seemed to be absorbing nourishment as well as warmth from the Wraith light. And the radiance of the flames affected him in other ways also. Gradually the numbness of frostbite faded from his fingers and toes ears; blood and health flowed back into them as if they had been treated with hurtloam. Even the habitual sourness which galled his mouth seemed to decline.

But his mission remained clear to him. When he was sure that Quirrel had regained her stability, he asked her to go a short way out of the tunnel to stand guard.

She responded tightly, “Will pursuit come even here?”

“Who can say?” The Unfettered One did not appear to be listening, so Triock went on: “But we must have this One’s aid-and I fear he will not be persuaded easily. We must not be surprised here with the message unattempted.”

Quirrel nodded, approving his caution though she clearly believed that no pursuit could have followed them through the blizzard. Without delay, she collected her cloak and weapons and moved away down the cave until she was out of sight beyond the first bend.

The Unfettered One watched her go with a question in his face.

“She will stand guard while we talk,” Triock answered.

“Do we require guarding? There are no ill creatures in these mountains in this winter. The animals do not intrude.”

” Foes pursue me,” said Triock. ” I bear my own ill — and the Land’ s need.” But there he faltered and fell silent. For the first time, he realized the immensity of his situation. He was face to face with an Unfettered One and Wraiths. In this cave, accompanied by dancing flames, the One studied secret lores which might have amazed even the Lords. Awe crowded forward in Triock; his own audacity daunted him. “Unfettered One,” he mumbled, “lore-servant I do not intrude willingly. You are beyond me. Only the greatness of the need drives“

“I have saved your life,” the One said brusquely. “I know nothing of other needs.”

“Then I must tell you.” Triock gathered himself and began, “The Grey Slayer is abroad in the Land-“

The tall man forestalled him. “I know my work. I was given the Rites of Unfettering when Tamarantha was Staff-Elder of the Loresraat, and know nothing else. Except for the intrusion of the Wraiths, except which I could not refuse I have devoted my meagre flesh here, so that I might work my work and see what no eyes have seen before. I know nothing else no, not even how the Wraiths came to be driven from Andelain, though they speak of ur-viles and — Such talk intrudes.”

Triock was amazed. He had not known that Tamarantha Variol-mate had ever been Staff-Elder of the Loresraat, but such a time must have been decades before Prothall became High Lord at Revelstone. This Unfettered One must have been out of touch with all the Land for the past four-or five-score years. Thickly, awefully, Triock said, “Unfettered One, what is your work?”

A grimace of distaste for explanations touched the man’s face. “Words, I do not speak of it. Words falter.” Abruptly, he moved to the wall and touched one of the stone facets gently, as if he were caressing it. “Stone is alive. Do you see it? You are Stonedownor do you see it? Yes, alive-alive and alert. Attentive. Everything — everything which transpires upon or within the Earth is seen — beheld — by the Earthrock.” As he spoke, enthusiasm came over him. Despite his awkwardness, he could not stop once he had begun. His head leaned close to the stone until he was peering deeply into its flat blackness. “But the-the process-the action of this seeing is slow. Lives like mine are futilely swift Time-time! — is consumed as the seeing spreads-from the outer surfaces inward. And this time varies. Some veins pass their perception in to the mountain roots in millennia. Others require millennia of millennia.

“Here”- he gestured around him without moving from where he stood-“can be seen the entire ancient history of the Land. For one whose work is to see. In these myriad facets are a myriad perceptions of all that has occurred. All!

“It is my work to see-and to discover the order-and to preserve-so that the whole life of the Land may be known.”

As he spoke, a tremor of passion shook the Unfettered One’s breathing.

“Since the coming of the Wraiths, I have studied the fate of the One Forest. I have seen it since the first seed grew to become the great Tree. I have seen its awakening-its awareness-the peaceful communion of its Land-spanning consciousness. I have seen Forestals born and slain. I have seen the Colossus of the Fall exercise its interdict. The hand of the Forest is upon me. Here”-his hands touched the facet into which he stared as if the stone were full of anguish-“I see men with axes-men of the ground with blades formed from the bones of the ground-I see them cut-!”

His voice trembled vividly. “I am Woodhelvennin. In this rock I see the desecration of trees. You are Stonedownor. You bear a rare fragment of High Wood, precious lomillialor ”

Suddenly, he turned from the wall and confronted Triock with a flush or urgent fervour, almost of desperation, in his old face.” Give it to me!” he begged. “It will help me see.” He came forward until his eager hands nearly touched Triock’s chest. “My life is not the equal of this rock.”

Triock did not need to think or speak. If Covenant himself had been standing at his back, he would not have acted differently; he could not distrust an Unfettered One any more than he could have distrusted a Lord.

Without hesitation, he drew out the High Wood rod and placed it in the tall man’s hands. Then, very quietly, he said, “The foes who pursue me also seek this lomillialor . It is a perilous thing I have given you.”

The One did not appear to hear. As his fingers closed on the wood, his eyes rolled shut, and a quiver passed through his frame; he seemed to be drinking in the High Wood’s unique strength through his hands.

But then he turned outward again. With several deep breaths he steadied himself until he was gazing calmly into Triock’s face.

“Perilous,” he said. “I hear you. You spoke of the Land’s need. Do you require aid to fight your foes?”

“I require a message.” All at once, Triock’s own urgency came boiling up in him, and he spouted, “The whole Land is at war! The Staff of Law has been lost again, and with it the Law of Death has been broken! Creatures that destroy stone have attacked Mithil Stonedown. Revelstone itself is besieged! I need-!”

“I hear you,” the tall man repeated. His earlier awkwardness was gone; possession of the High Wood seemed to make him confident, capable. “Do not fear. I have found that I must help you also. Speak your need.”

With an effort, Triock wrenched himself into a semblance of control. “You have heard the Wraiths,” he rasped. “They spoke to you of ur-viles- and white gold. The bearer of that white gold is a stranger to the Land, and he has returned. The Lords do not know this. They must be told.”

“Yes.” The One held Triock’s hot gaze. “How?”

“The Loresraat formed this High Wood so that messages may be spoken through it. I have no lore for such work. I am a Stonedownor, and my hands are not apt for wood. I-“