For a long moment, he did not move; and Covenant found himself panting as if he sought to breathe for the Giant, send Pitchwife strength. The First had come to the foredeck. Her gaze was clenched on her husband. If the spar snapped, only a miracle could save him from being ripped down by falling stone and flying tackle.
Then he signalled to the Giants below Sevinhand whispered a command; the crew began to raise the shaft again.
Now the bowing of the spar was unmistakable Covenant could hardly believe that it was still intact.
By wary degrees, the shaft was drawn upward. Soon its flat crown ascended above Pitchwife's head. Then its butt reached the level of his chest.
He looked too weak to support his own weight; but somehow he braced himself, reached out his arms to prevent the shaft from swinging over the end of the mast-from scraping off its layer of pitch or mating crookedly. The Giants fisted the lines tighter, raised the shaft another foot; then Sevinhand stopped them. Slowly, Pitchwife shifted his position, aligned the stone with the mast.
He gave an urgent gasp of readiness. Fervently careful, the Giants began to lower the shaft. Alone, he guided it downward.
The flat ends met. At once, he thumbed a sliver of setrock into place; and the line separating stone from stone vanished as if it had never existed. The First let relief hiss through her teeth. A raw cheer sprang from the Giants as they let the tackle go.
The mast stood. It was not as tall as the aftermast but it was tall enough now to carry a second spar. And two spans of canvas forward might give the dromond the balance it needed to survive.
The task was not yet done: the spar had to be attached to the new foremast. But most of the afternoon remained, and the necessary repairs were clearly possible now. Two Giants swarmed upward and helped Pitchwife down to the yard, then lowered him to his jubilant comrades. The First greeted him with a hug which looked urgent enough to crack his spine. A jug of diamondraught appeared from somewhere and was pressed into his hands. He drank hugely, and another cheer was raised around him.
Weak with relief Covenant watched them and let his gratitude for Pitchwife's safety and success wash over him.
A moment later, Pitchwife emerged from the crowd of Giants. He was made unsteady on his feet by exhaustion and sudden diamondraught', but he moved purposefully toward Covenant. He gave the Unbeliever a florid bow which nearly cost him his balance. Then he said, “I will rest now. But ere nightfall I will set the spar. That will complete the labour I can do for Starfare's Gem.” The raw rims of his eyes and the sway of his stance were acute reminders that he had saved the dromond from sinking before this day's work began But he was not done. His voice softened as he added, “Giantfriend, I thank you that you accorded to me this opportunity to be of service to the Giantship.”
Bright in the sunshine and the reflections of me ice, he turned away. Chuckling at the murmured jests and praise of the crew, he linked arms with the First and left the foredeck like a drunken hero. In spite of his deformed stature, he seemed as tall as any Giant.
The sight eased Covenant in a way that made his eyes burn. Gratitude loosened his tension. Pitchwife had proved his fear and anger unnecessary. As Sevinhand and his crew went back to work, stringing new tackle so that they could hoist the spar into place against the foremast Covenant moved away in search of Linden. He wanted to show her what the Giant had accomplished. And to apologize for his earlier harshness.
He found her almost at once. She was in the galley, asleep like a waif on her pallet. Her dreams made her frown with the solemn concentration of a child; but she showed no sign of awakening. She was still recuperating from the abusive cold of the Soulbiter. He let her sleep.
The warmth of the galley reminded him of his own chilled weariness. He stretched out on his pallet, intending to rest for a while and then go back to watch the Giants. But as soon as he closed his eyes, his fatigue arose and carried him away.
Later, in a period of half-consciousness, he thought he heard singing. At first, the songs were ones of gladness and praise, of endurance against exigent seas and safe arrival Home. But after a while the melodies began to grieve, and the songs became ones of parting, of ships lost and kindred sundered; and through them ran a sound like the crackle of flames, the anguish of a caamora, auguring doom. Covenant had attempted a caamora once, on the headrock of Coercri. But that bonfire had not been violent enough to touch him in the night of the Unhomed's dismay, he had succoured everyone but himself. Now as he sank back into dreams he thought perhaps a more absolute blaze was needed, a more searching and destructive conflagration. And he knew where to find that fire. He slept like a man who feared to face what was coming.
But when he awakened at last, the idea was gone.
The way Seasauce and Hearthcoal bustled about their work suggested that a new day had dawned. Abashed by sleep, he fumbled himself into a sitting position, looked across at Linden's pallet and saw that it was empty. She and Mistweave were not in the galley. But Cail stood nearby, as impassive as if impatience were unknown to him.
When Covenant looked at him, the Haruchai said, “You are timely roused, ur-Lord. The night is past Those who will sojourn with you ready themselves for departure.”
A pang went through Covenant Ready, he thought. The people around him did everything possible on his behalf; but he was never ready. Struggling to his feet, he accepted the bowl of porridge Hearthcoal offered him, ate as much as his haste could stomach. Then he went to the door Cail held open for him and stepped out into the sharp morning.
Again, ice-glare and sunlight stung his eyes, but he fought them into focus. After a glance at the new foremast, he picked his way across the frozen afterdeck toward the Giants thronging near the port rail Hails greeted him. The crew parted, admitting him to their midst In a moment, he found himself at the edge of the deck with Linden and Mistweave, the First and Pitchwife, and Honninscrave.
Both Linden and Pitchwife looked stronger than they had the previous day, although she avoided Covenant's gaze as if she did not trust him. The First eyed the west with the keenness of a hawk. But Honninscrave appeared painfully unsolaced, as though he had spent the long night haunted by his conflicting duties.
A glance past the railing showed Covenant that Galewrath’s sleds had already been set down on the ice. Both were heavily laden; but the sacks and bundles of supplies had been arranged to accommodate at least one passenger in each sled, When she had acknowledged Covenant, the First turned to Sevinhand, Galewrath, and the rest of the Giants. “Now has the time of parting come upon us once more.” Her voice rang crisply across the frigid air. “The hazard is great, for no longer stands Cable Seadreamer's Earth-Sight at the helm of the Search. Yet do we pursue our sworn purpose-and for that reason I do not fear. We are mortal, and the visage of failure is heinous to us. But we are not required to succeed. It is required of us only that we hold fast in every gale and let come what may. On all the seas of the world, there are none better for this work than you who remain with Starfare's Gem. How then should I be afraid?
This only do I charge you: when the ice uncloses, come after us. Sail to that littoral which you know, to Seareach and brave Coercri, The Grieve. If there we fail to meet you or send word, then the Search falls to you. Do what you must-and do not fear. While one valiant heart yet defends the Earth, evil can never triumph utterly.”