One Tree (18 page)

Covenant peered at Linden as if he were trying to determine the nature of her support and recognition. Suddenly she wanted to ask him, Do you hear bells? If he did, he gave no sign. But what he saw in her both tightened and steadied him. Deliberately he shrugged down his power. Without lifting his scrutiny from Linden, he said to the
Elohim
, “Forgive me. The reason we’re here. It’s urgent. I don’t carry the strain very well.”

The
Elohim
ignored him, continued watching Linden. But the timbre of anger drifted away along the music. “Perhaps our vision has been incomplete,” said Daphin. Her voice lilted like birdsong. “Perhaps there is a merging to come. Or a death.”

Merging? Linden thought quickly. Death? She felt the same questions leaping in Covenant. She started to ask, What do you mean?

But Chant had resumed his dangerous smile. Still addressing Linden as though she outranked all her companions, he said abruptly, “It is known that your quest is exigent. We are not a hasty people, but neither do we desire your delay.” Turning, he gestured gracefully along the Callowwail. “Will you accompany us to
Elemesnedene
?”

Linden needed a moment to muster her response. Too much was happening. She had been following Covenant’s lead since she had first met him. She was not prepared to make decisions for him or anyone else.

But she had no choice. At her back crowded the emotions of her companions: Honninscrave’s tension, the First’s difficult silence, Pitchwife’s suspense, Covenant’s hot doubt. They all withheld themselves, waited for her. And she had her own reasons for being here. With a grimace, she accepted the role she had been given.

“Thank you,” she said formally. “That’s what we came for.”

Chant bowed as if she had shown graciousness; but she could not shake the impression that he was laughing at her secretly. Then the two
Elohim
moved away. Walking as buoyantly as if they shared the analystic clarity of the air, they went out into the yellow grass toward the heart of the
maidan
. Linden followed them with Cail at her side; and her companions joined her.

She wanted to talk to them, ask them for guidance. But she felt too exposed to speak. Treading behind Chant and Daphin at a slight distance, she tried to steady herself on the tough confidence of the
Haruchai
.

As she walked, she studied the surrounding
maidan
, hoping to descry something which would enable her to identify an
Elohim
who was not wearing human form. But she had not perceived any hint of Daphin or Chant before they had accosted the company; and now she was able to discern nothing except the strong autumn grass, the underlying loam, and the Callowwail’s purity. Yet her sense of exposure increased. After a while, she discovered that she had been unconsciously clenching her fists.

With an effort, she ungnarled her fingers, looked at them. She could hardly believe that they had ever held a scalpel or hypodermic. When she dropped them, they dangled at her wrists like strangers.

She did not know how to handle the importance the
Elohim
had ascribed to her. She could not read the faint clear significance of the bells. Following Chant and Daphin, she felt that she was walking into a quagmire.

An odd thought crossed her mind. The
Elohim
had given no word of recognition to Vain. The Demondim-spawn still trailed the company like a shadow; yet Chant and Daphin had not reacted to him at all. She wondered about that, but found no explanation.

Sooner than she had expected, the fountainhead of the Callowwail became visible—a cloud of mist set in the center of the
maidan
like an ornament. As she neared it, it stood out more clearly through its spray.

It arose like a geyser from within a high mound of travertine. Its waters arched in clouds and rainbows to fall around the base of the mound, where they collected to form the River. The water looked as edifying as crystal, as clinquant as faery promises; but the travertine it had formed and dampened appeared obdurate, uncompromising. The mound seemed to huddle into itself as if it could not be moved by any appeal. The whorled and skirling shapes on its sides—cut and deposited by ages of spray, the old scrollwork of the water—gave it an elusive eloquence, but did not alter its essential posture.

Beckoning for the company to follow, Daphin and Chant stepped lightly through the stream and climbed as easily as air up the side of the wet rock.

There without warning they vanished as if they had melded themselves into travertine.

Linden stopped, stared. Her senses caught no trace of the
Elohim
. The bells were barely audible.

Behind her, Honninscrave cleared his throat. “
Elemesnedene
,” he said huskily. “The
clachan
of the
Elohim
. I had not thought that I would see such sights again.”

Covenant scowled at the Master. “What do we do now?”

For the first time since Starfare’s Gem had dropped anchor outside the
Raw
, Honninscrave laughed. “As our welcomers have done. Enter.”

Linden started to ask him how, then changed her mind. Now that the silence had been broken, another question was more important to her. “Do any of you hear bells?”

The First looked at her sharply. “Bells?”

Pitchwife’s expression mirrored the First’s ignorance. Seadreamer shook his head. Brinn gave a slight negative shrug.

Slowly Honninscrave said, “The
Elohim
are not a musical folk. I have heard no bells or any song here. And all the tales which the Giants tell of
Elemesnedene
make no mention of bells.”

Linden groaned to herself. Once again, she was alone in what she perceived. Without hope, she turned to Covenant.

He was not looking at her. He was staring like a thunderhead at the fountain. His left hand twisted his ring around and around the last finger of his half-hand.

“Covenant?” she asked.

He did not answer her question. Instead he muttered between his teeth, “They think I’m going to fail. I don’t need that. I didn’t come all this way to hear that.” He hated the thought of failure in every line of his gaunt stubborn form.

But then his purpose stiffened. “Let’s get going. You’re the Sun-Sage.” His tone was full of sharp edges and gall. For the sake of his quest, he fought to accept the roles the
Elohim
had assigned. “You should go first.”

She started to deny once again that she was any kind of Sun-Sage. That might comfort him—or at least limit the violence coiling inside him. But again her sense of exposure warned her to silence. Instead of speaking, she faced the stream and the mound, took a deep breath, held it. Moving half a step ahead of Cail, she walked into the water.

At once, a hot tingling shot through her calves, soaked down into her feet. For one heartbeat, she almost winced away. But then her nerves told her that the sensation was not harmful. It bristled across the surface of her skin like formication, but did no damage. Biting down on her courage, she strode through the stream and clambered out onto the old intaglio of the travertine. With Cail at her side, she began to ascend the mound.

Suddenly power seemed to flash around her as if she had been dropped like a coal into a tinderbox. Bells clanged in her head—chimes ringing in cotillion on all sides. Bubbles of glauconite and carbuncle burst in her blood; the air burned like a thurible; the world reeled.

The next instant, she staggered into a wonderland.

Stunned and gaping, she panted for breath. She had been translated by water and travertine to another place altogether—a place of eldritch astonishment.

An opalescent sky stretched over her, undefined by any sun or moon, or by any clear horizons, and yet brightly luminous and warm. The light seemed to combine moonglow and sunshine. It had the suggestive evanescence of night and the specificity of day. And under its magic, wonders thronged in corybantic succession.

Nearby grew a silver sapling. Though not tall, it was as stately as a prince; and its leaves danced about its limbs without touching them. Like flakes of precious metal, the leaves formed a chiaroscuro around the tree, casting glints and spangles as they swirled.

On the other side, a fountain spewed glodes of color and light. Bobbing upward, they broke into silent rain and were inhaled again by the fountain.

A furry shape like a jacol went gamboling past and appeared to trip. Sprawling, it became a profuse scatter of flowers. Blooms that resembled peony and amaryllis sprayed open across the glistening greensward.

Birds flew overhead, warbling incarnate. Cavorting in circles, they swept against each other, merged to form an abrupt pillar of fire in the air. A moment later, the fire leaped into sparks, and the sparks became gems—ruby and morganite, sapphire and porphyry, like a trail of stars—and the gems wafted away, turning to butterflies as they floated.

A hillock slowly pirouetted to itself, taking arcane shapes one after another as it turned.

And these were only the nearest entrancements. Other sights abounded: grand statues of water; a pool with its surface woven like an arras; shrubs which flowed through a myriad elegant forms; catenulate sequences of marble, draped from nowhere to nowhere; animals that leaped into the air as birds and drifted down again as snow; swept-wing shapes of malachite flying in gracile curves; sunflowers the size of Giants, with imbricated ophite petals.

And everywhere rang the music of bells—cymbals in carillon, chimes wefted into tapestries of tinkling, tones scattered on all sides—the metal-and-crystal language of
Elemesnedene
.

Linden could not take it all in: it dazzled her senses, left her gasping. When the silver sapling near her poured itself into human form and became Chant, she recoiled. She could hardly grasp the truth of what she saw.

These—?

Oh my God.

As if in confirmation, a tumble of starlings swept to the ground and transformed themselves into Daphin.

Then Covenant’s voice breathed softly behind her, “Hellfire and bloody damnation,” and she became aware of her companions.

Turning, she saw them all—the Giants, the
Haruchai
, even Vain. But of the way they had come there was no sign. The fountainhead of the Callowwail, the mound of travertine, even the
maidan
did not exist in
this place. The company stood on a low knoll surrounded by astonishments.

For a moment, she remained dumbfounded. But then Covenant clutched her forearm with his half-hand, clung to her. “What—?” he groped to ask, not looking at her. His grip gave her an anchor on which to steady herself.

“The
Elohim
,” she answered. “They’re the
Elohim
.”

Honninscrave nodded as if he were speechless with memory and hope.

Pitchwife was laughing soundlessly. His eyes feasted on
Elemesnedene
. But the First’s mien was grim—tensely aware that the company had no line of retreat and could not afford to give any offense. And Seadreamer’s orbs above the old scar were smudged with contradictions, as if his Giantish accessibility to exaltation were in conflict with the Earth-Sight.

“Be welcome in our
clachan
,” said Chant. He took pleasure in the amazement of the company. “Set all care aside. You have no need of it here. However urgent your purpose,
Elemesnedene
is not a place which any mortal may regret to behold.”

“Nor will we regret it,” the First replied carefully. “We are Giants and know the value of wonder. Yet our urgency is a burden we dare not shirk. May we speak of the need which has brought us among you?”

A slight frown creased Chant’s forehead. “Your haste gives scant worth to our welcome. We are not Giants or other children, to be so questioned in what we do.

“Also,” he went on, fixing Linden with his jacinth-eyes, “none are admitted to the
Elohimfest
, in which counsel and gifts are bespoken and considered, until they have submitted themselves to our examination. We behold the truth in you. But the spirit in which you bear that truth must be laid bare. Will you accept to be examined?”

Examined? Linden queried herself. She did not know how to meet the demand of Chant’s gaze. Uncertainly she turned to Honninscrave.

He answered her mute question with a smile. “It is as I have remembered it. There is no need of fear.”

Covenant started to speak, then stopped. The hunching of his shoulders said plainly that he could think of reasons to fear any examination.

“The Giant remembers truly.” Daphin’s voice was irenic and reassuring. “It is said among us that the heart cherishes secrets not worth the telling. We intend no intrusion. We desire only to have private speech with you, so that in the rise and fall of your words we may judge the spirit within you. Come.” Smiling like a sunrise, she stepped forward, took Linden’s arm. “Will you not accompany me?”

When Linden hesitated, the
Elohim
added, “Have no concern for your comrades. In your name they are as safe among us as their separate needs permit.”

Events were moving too quickly. Linden did not know how to respond. She could not absorb all the sights and enhancements around her, could barely hold back the bells so that they did not deafen her mind. She was not prepared for such decisions.

But she had spent her life learning to make choices and face the consequences. And her experiences in the Land had retaught her the importance of movement. Keep going. Take things as they come. Find out what happens. Abruptly, she acquiesced to Daphin’s slight pressure on her arm. “I’ll come. You can ask me anything you want.”

“Ah, Sun-Sage,” the
Elohim
rejoined with a light laugh, “I will ask you nothing. You will ask me.”

Nothing? Linden did not understand. And Covenant’s glare burned against the back of her neck as if she were participating in the way the
Elohim
demeaned him. He had traveled an arduous road to his power and did not deserve such treatment. But she would not retreat. She had risked his life for Mistweave’s. Now she risked his pride, though the angry confusion he emitted hurt her. Accepting Daphin’s touch, she started away down the knoll.