Torrents gnashed at the decks. “Saltroamrest!” the First barked. At once, she strode toward the nearest hatchway.
Covenant followed as if no mere storm, no simple battering of wind and rain, no plunge and roll of footing, could keep him from her.
A deluge pursued him through the hatch, tried to tear him from the ladder as he struggled downward. Then it was cut off as Seadreamer heaved the hatch shut. Instantly, the sounds of the storm were muffled by granite. Yet the companion way pitched as the dromond crashed through the seas. The lanterns hanging from the walls swung wildly. Starfare's Gem's peril felt more personal in the constriction of the underdecks-unreadable, not to be escaped. Covenant hurried after the First and Galewrath, but did not catch up with them until they reached the huge bunkhold of Saltroamrest.
The space appeared as large as a cavern — a hall where nearly twoscore Giants slung their hammocks without intruding on each other. Lamps hung from all the pillars which supported the hammocks, making Saltroamrest bright. It was virtually empty. The crew was busy fighting for the dromond, either at the pumps or aloft. In the centre of the hall, a longtable had been formed into the floor. The First and the Storesmaster hastened to this table, laid Brinn and Cail carefully atop it.
Covenant went to the edge of the longtable. It was as high as the middle of his chest. While he blinked at the water dripping from his hair, the prone Haruchai retained their semblance of death. Their brown limbs lay perfect and devoid of life.
But then he saw that they were breathing. Their chests rose and fell gently. Their nostrils flared slightly at each inhalation,
A different salt stung Covenant's eyes. “Brinn,” he said, “Cail.” Oh dear God.
They lay as if they were wrapped in the sleep of the damned and did not move.
From an emotional distance, he heard the First say, “Bring diamond? — aught.”“ Pitchwife went to obey. ”Storesmaster,“ she continued, ”can you waken them?"
Galewrath approached the longtable. She studied the Haruchai bluntly, raised their eyelids, chaffed their wrists. After a moment spent listening to their respirations, she announced that their lungs were free of water. With the First's permission, she slapped Cail's face gently, then harder and harder until his head lolled soddenly from side to side. But no flicker of consciousness touched his visage. He and Brinn were twinned in sopor.
She stepped back with a frown knotted between her brows.
“Merewives,” the First muttered. “How could we have believed that comrades as staunch as these Haruchai would fall prey?”
Pitchwife returned at a swift, awkward gait, carrying a pouch in one hand. The First took it from him. While Galewrath propped Brinn into a sitting position, the First raised the leather mouth to his lips. The smell of diamondraught filled the air. Brinn swallowed reflexively. But he did not awaken. Cail also swallowed the liquor which was poured into his mouth. Nothing changed.
Covenant was beating his fists lightly against his thighs, trying to contain his urgency. He did not know what to do. The Giants scowled their ignorance at each other. “Linden,” he said as if they had spoken to him. “We need Linden.”
As if in answer to his need, a door at the aft end of Saltroamrest opened. The Chosen entered the hall, lurching against the pitch of the dromond's pace. Mistweave came with her, shadowing her in Cail's place. She was drenched and storm-battered- hair bedraggled, robe scattering water about her legs. But she came purposefully forward.
Covenant did not trust himself to speak. He remained silent and desperate as she approached the longtable.
After a moment, the First found her voice. “Stone and Sea, Chosen,” she muttered harshly, “you are not come too soon. We know not how to rouse them. Diamondraught they have been given, but it avails nothing. We have no lore for such somnolence.”
Linden stopped, stared at the First. Roughly, the Swordmain continued, “It is our fear that the hand of the merewives yet holds them-and that their peril is also the peril of Starfare's Gem. Mayhap we will not escape the wrath of the Dancers while they remain thus bound to the Haruchai. How else to regain what they desire, but to break the dromond with their storms?”
At that, Linden flinched. Her eyes flashed splinters of the unsteady lantern-light. “And you want me to go into them.” Covenant saw a vein in her temple throbbing like a small labour of fear. “Break the hold. Is that it?” Her glare demanded, Again? How much more do you think I can stand?
Covenant felt her protest acutely. At times in the past, he had experienced the health-sense which dismayed her, though he had never possessed it as keenly as she did. And the Haruchai had inflicted so much distrust upon her. But he was more helpless here than she. Blinded by the truncation of his nerves, he could not use his white fire for anything except destruction. Brinn and Cail lay as if they were less alive than Vain. He held Linden's hot gaze, made a broken gesture toward the Haruchai. Thickly, he replied, “Please.”
For a moment longer, she did not move. Pitchwife and the First held themselves still. Then Linden shrugged like a wince, as if her shoulders were sore. “It can't be any worse than what I've already done.” Deliberately, she stepped to the edge of the longtable.
Covenant watched her hungrily as she explored Brinn and Cail with her hands and eyes. As soon as she accepted the risk, apprehension for her rose up in him. Her every movement was distinct and hazardous. He had felt the power of the merewives, knew what it could do. And he remembered how she had looked in the dungeon of the Sandhold, after she had rescued him from the silence of the Elohim. Behind her rigid mouth and tormented past, behind her fear and grimness, she had a capacity for self-expenditure that shamed him.
But as she studied the Haruchai her manner softened. Her expression eased. The surety of the Haruchai seemed to flow into her through her hands. Softly, she said to herself, “At least those merewives know health when they see it.” Then she stepped back.
She did not look at her companions. In a tone of abrupt command, she told Pitchwife to take hold of Brinn's left arm, anchor the Haruchai to the table.
Pitchwife complied, mystification in his eyes. The First said nothing. Galewrath frowned noncommittally. Seadreamer's gaze shifted back and forth between Linden and Brinn as if he were trying to guess her intentions.
She did not hesitate. Grasping Brinn's right limb, she pulled it over the edge of the table, leaned her weight on it to stretch it against its socket. When she was sure of her position, she put her mouth close to his ear. Slowly, explicitly, she articulated, “Now I'm going to break your arm.”
The instant violence of Brinn's reaction took Pitchwife by surprise, broke his hold. He failed to stop the hard arc of Brinn's fist as the Haruchai flipped toward Linden, struck at her face.
His blow caught her on the forehead. She reeled backward, crashed against one of the pillars. Holding her ears as if the lanterns were caterwauling like banshees, she slumped to the floor.