Unconsciousness bore no burdens, felt no blame.
He did not drink. He stared into the flames without seeing them, without feeling the clench of grief on his features. He did nothing but listen to the sounds of the night: the lurker bubbling pain softly to itself; Pitchwife's faint stertorous breathing; Linden's gagged scream as Cail started to pull at her foot. Her bones made a noise like the breaking of sodden sticks as they shifted against each other.
Then the First said tightly, “It is done.”
The fire cast streaks of orange and yellow through Covenant's tears. He did not want ever to be able to see again, wished himself forever deaf and numb. But he turned to Pitchwife and lifted the stone cup toward the Giant. “Here. She needs this.”
Pitchwife carried the cup to Linden. Covenant followed like a dry leaf in his wake.
Before Covenant reached her, he was met by Brinn and Cail. They blocked his way; but they spoke deferentially. “Ur-Lord.” Brinn's alien inflection expressed the difficulty of apologizing. “It was necessary to deny you. No disservice was intended.”
Covenant fought the tightness of his throat. “I met Bannor in Andelain. He said, 'Redeem my people. Their plight is an abomination. And they will serve you well.'”
But no words were adequate to articulate what he meant. He fumbled past the Haruchai, went to kneel at Linden's side.
She was just emptying the cup which the First held for her. The skin of her face looked as bloodless as marble; a patina of pain clouded her gaze. But her respiration was growing steadier, and the clench of her muscles had begun to loosen. With numb fingers, he rubbed the tears from his eyes, trying to see her clearly, trying to believe that she would be all right.
The First looked at him. Quietly, she said, “Trust the diamondraught. She will be healed.”
He groped for his voice. “She needs bandages. A splint. That wound should be cleaned.”
“It will be done.” The quaver of stress in Hollian's tone told him that she needed to help. “Sunder and I-”
He nodded mutely, remaining at Linden's side while the Stonedownors went to heat water and prepare bandages and splints. She seemed untouchable in her weakness. He knelt with his arms braced on the ground and watched the diamondraught carry her to sleep.
He also watched the care with which Hollian, Sunder, and Stell washed and bandaged Linden's ankle, then splinted her leg securely. But at the same time, a curious bifurcation came over him-a split like the widening gulf between his uselessness and his power. He was sure now-though he feared to admit it to himself-that he had healed himself with wild magic when he had been summoned to Kevin's Watch with the knife-wound still pouring blood from his chest. He remembered his revulsion at Lord Foul's refrain, You are mine, remembered heat and white flame -
Then why could he not do the same for Linden, knit her bones just as he had sealed his own flesh? For the same reason that he could not draw water from the Earth or oppose the Sunbane. Because his senses were too numb for the work, unattuned to the spirit within the physical needs around him. Clearly, this was deliberate, a crucial part of the Despiser's intent. Clearly, Lord Foul sought at every turn to increase both Covenant's might and his helplessness, stretch him on the rack of self-contradiction and doubt. But why? What purpose did it serve?
He had no answer. He had invested too much hope in Linden, in her capacity for healing. And Lord Foul had chosen her on precisely the same grounds. It was too much. Covenant could not think. He felt weak and abject of soul. For a moment, he listened to the misery of the lurker. Then, numbly, he left Linden's side and returned to the campfire, seeking warmth for his chilled bones.
Sunder and Hollian joined him. They held each other as if they, too, felt the cold of his plight. After a few moments, Harn and Hergrom brought food and water. Covenant and the Stonedownors ate like the survivors of a shipwreck.
Covenant's dullness grew in spite of the meal. His head felt as heavy as prostration; his heart lay under a great weight. He hardly noticed that the First of the Search had come to speak with Honninscrave. He stood, leaning toward the flames like a man contemplating his own dissolution. When Honninscrave addressed him, veils of fatigue obscured the Giant's words.
“The First has spoken,” Honninscrave said. “We must depart. The lurker yet lives. And the skest do not retreat. We must depart while they are thus thinly scattered and may be combated. Should the lurker renew its assault now, all your power — and all the Chosen's pain — will have gained us naught.”
Depart, Covenant mumbled. Now. The importance of the words was hidden. His brain felt like a tombstone.
“You speak truly,” Brinn replied for Covenant. “It would be a gladness to travel with Giants, as the old tellers say Haruchai and Giants travelled together in the ancient days. But perhaps our paths do not lie with each other. Where do you go?”
The First and Honninscrave looked at Seadreamer. Seadreamer closed his eyes as if to ignore them; but with one long arm he pointed toward the west.
Brinn spoke as if he were immune to disappointment. “Then we must part. Our way is eastward, and it is urgent.”
Part? A pang penetrated Covenant's stupor. He wanted the company of the Giants. He had a world of things to tell them. And they were important to him in another way as well, a way he could not seem to articulate. He shook his head. “No.”
Honninscrave cocked an eyebrow. The First frowned at Covenant.
“We just met,” Covenant murmured. But that was not what he had to say. He groped for clarity. “Why west?” Those words disentangled some of his illucidity. “Why are you here?”
“Giantfriend,” the First responded with a hint of iron, “that tale is long, and the time is perilous. This lurker is a jeopardy too vast to be disdained.”
Covenant knotted his fists and tried to insist. “Tell me.”
“Thomas Covenant-” Honninscrave began in a tone of gentle dissuasion.
“I beat that thing once,” Covenant croaked. “I'll beat it again if I have to.” Don't you understand? All your people were killed. “Tell me why you're here.”
The First considered her companions. Honninscrave shrugged. Seadreamer kept his eyes closed, communing with a private pain. Pitchwife hid his face behind a cup of diamondraught.
Stiffly, she said, “Speak briefly, Grimmand Honninscrave.”
Honninscrave bowed, recognizing her right to command him. Then he turned to Covenant. His body took on a formal stance, as if even his muscles and sinews believed that tales were things which should be treated with respect. His resemblance to Foamfollower struck Covenant acutely.
“Hear, then, Thomas Covenant,” Honninscrave said with a cadence in his deep voice, "that we are the leaders of the Search-the Search of the Giants, so called for the purpose which has brought us thus far across the world from our Home. To our people, from time to time among the generations, there is born one possessed of a gift which we name the Earth-Sight- a gift of vision such as only the Elohim comprehend. This gift is strange surpassingly, and may be neither foretold nor bound, but only obeyed. Many are the stories I would wish to tell, so that you might grasp the import of what I say. But I must content myself with this one word: the Earth-Sight has become a command to all Giants, which none would willingly shirk or defy. Therefore we are here.