As Linden's eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw the gray walls more clearly. The granite looked wounded and unforgiving, as if it had been unnaturally reft to provide this channel and were now waiting in rigid impatience for any upheaval which would allow it to close back over the water, sealing its dire heart from further intrusion. Studying them with her percipience, she knew that these mountains were angry. Affronted. Only the ancient slowness of their life prevented their umbrage from taking palpable form.
And still the dromond moved with eerie quickness. The cliffs gathered the wind at the Giantship's back, and as the Raw narrowed the force of the blow grew. Honninscrave responded by steadily loosening and shortening the canvas. Yet when Linden looked back toward the open Sea, she saw the maw of the channel shrink into the distance. Soon it disappeared altogether as Starfare's Gem passed a bend in the Raw.
But in spite of the bends and narrowing of the channel, Honninscrave and Sevinhand were able to keep their vessel in the centre, where the water was deepest.
Apart from the giving of commands-shouts which resounded off the walls and chased in the wake of the dromond like bitter warnings, helpless wrath-the Giants were hushed. Even Pitchwife's native volubility was rapt in the concentration of the ship. Linden's legs and back grew stiff with tension. The cliffs had risen a thousand feet above her head, and as the channel narrowed they loomed over the Giantship as if they were listening for the one sound which would release them from their ancient paresis, bring them crashing down in fury and vindication.
A league passed as if Starfare's Gem were being drawn inward involuntarily by the dark water. The only light came from the sun's reflection on the northern peaks. For a few moments, the wet, gray silence acquired an undertone as Covenant muttered abstract curses to himself, venting his trepidation. But soon he lapsed as if he were humbled by the way the granite listened to him. The walls continued to crowd ponderously together.
In another league, the channel had become so strait that Starfare's Gem could not have turned to retreat even if the wind had changed. Linden felt that she was having trouble breathing in the gloom. It raised echoes of the other darkness, hints of crisis. The omen of Bareisle came back to her, Powerless, she was being borne with or without volition into a place of power.
Then, unexpectedly, the dromond navigated another bend; and the Raw opened into a wide lagoon like a natural harbour among the mountains. Beyond the lagoon, the Rawedge Rim tried to close, but did not, leaving a wedge of low ground between the cliffs. From the mouth of this valley came a brisk river which fed the lagoon: the Callowwail. Its banks were thickly grown with trees. And on the trees beyond the mouth of the valley, the sun shone.
Yet the lagoon itself was strangely still, All ardour was absorbed into the black depths of the mountain-roots, imposing mansuetude on the confluence of the waters.
And the air, too, seemed peaceful now. Linden found herself breathing the pellucid and crackling scents of autumn as if her lungs were eager for the odd way in which the atmosphere here tasted telic, deliberate-wrested from the dour
Rim and the Raw by powers she could not begin to comprehend.
At a shout from Honninscrave, Sevinhand spun the wheel, turning Starfare's Gem so that its prow faced the channel again, ready for retreat if the wind shifted. Then all the anchors were lowered. Promptly, several Giants moved to detach one of the longboats from its mooring below the rail of the wheeldeck. Like the dromond, the longboat was formed of stone, moire-marked and lithe. After readying its oars, the Giants set the craft into the water.
With a cumulative sigh like a release of shared suspense, the rest of the crew began to move as if they had awakened into a trance. The irenic air seemed to amaze and relieve them. Linden felt vaguely spellbound as she followed Covenant aft. Tasting the atmosphere, she knew that the woods beyond the mouth of the valley were rife with colour. After the passage of the Raw, she wanted to see those trees.
The First scented the air keenly. Pitchwife was on the verge of laughing aloud, Seadreamer's visage had cleared as if the cloud of Earth-Sight had been temporarily blown from his soul. Even Covenant appeared to have forgotten periclass="underline" his eyes burned like fanned coals of hope. Only the Haruchai betrayed no reaction to the ambience. They bore themselves as if they could not be touched. Or as if they saw the effect of the air on their companions-and did not trust it.
Honninscrave faced the valley with his hands knotted. “Have I not said it?” he breathed softly. “Lovely and perilous.” Then, with an effort, he turned to the First. “Let us not delay. It ill becomes us to relate our purpose in this place.”
“Speak of yourself, Master,” Pitchwife replied like a gleam. “I am very well become to stand and savour such air as this.”
The First nodded as if she were agreeing with her husband. But then she addressed Honninscrave. “It is as you have said. We four, with Covenant Giantfriend, the Chosen, and their Haruchai, will go in search of these Elohim. Caution Sevinhand Anchormaster to give no offense to any being who may chance upon him here.”
The Master bowed in acknowledgment, started toward the wheeldeck. But the First stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“You also I will caution,” she said quietly. “We must be wary of what we attempt to buy and sell with these folk. I will have no offers made, or gifts asked, without my consent.”
At once, Honninscrave’s mien hardened. Linden thought that he would refuse to understand. But he chose a different denial. “This life is mine. I will barter with it as I desire.”
Covenant looked at the Giants with guesses leaping in his gaze. In a tone of studied nonchalance, he said, “Hile Troy felt the same way. So far, it's cost him more than three thousand years.”
“No.” The First ignored Covenant, met Honninscrave squarely. “It is not yours. You are the Master of Starfare's Gem, sworn and dedicate to the Search. I will not lose you.”
Rebellions tautened Honninscrave's forehead, emphasizing the way his brows buttressed his eyes. But after a moment he acceded, “I hear you.” His voice was roughed by conflict. Turning, he went to give his commands to Sevinhand.
The First studied his back as he departed. When he was gone, she spoke to Linden. “Observe him well, Chosen. Inform me of what you see. I must not lose him.”
Not lose him, Linden echoed. Her answering nod had no meaning. If Honninscrave was in danger, then so was she.
While the Master conferred with Sevinhand, a rope-ladder was secured above the longboat. As soon as Honninscrave was ready, Ceer and Hergrom swarmed down to the craft to hold the ladder for the rest of the company. Seadreamer joined them, seated himself at the first set of oars. The First's blunt nod sent Pitchwife after Seadreamer. Then she turned to Covenant and Linden, waiting for them.
Linden felt a sharp emanation of abashment from Covenant. “I'm no good at ladders,” he muttered awkwardly. The fumbling of his hands indicated both their numbness and his old vertigo. But then he shrugged. “So what? Brinn can always catch me.” With his shoulders clenched, he moved to the railing.
Brinn went protectively ahead of the Unbeliever. Bracing his arms on either side of Covenant, he kept the ur-Lord as safe as a hammock. Vaguely, Linden wondered if there were any danger the Haruchai could not match. That they judged her for her weaknesses should have been no surprise.
When her turn came, she followed Cail downward. Pitchwife steadied her as she dropped into the bottom of the slightly rocking boat. Carefully, she seated herself opposite Covenant.