Then she stopped, looked down at Pitchwife as if she were surprised by her own words. For answer, he gave her a gleam of pure pleasure. Sevinhand's eyes reflected hints of the cunning skill which had saved Starfare's Gem from the warships of the Bhrathair. Galewrath glowered stolidly at the future as though it had no power to daunt her. Weary and imperilled though they were, the crewmembers held up their heads and let their pride shine Covenant suddenly did not know how he could bear to leave them.
But he had to. The First started down the ladder with Pitchwife behind her; and Covenant had no choice. They were not responsible for the Earth's peril; but their lives were at stake as much as his. When Cail offered him the ladder, he gestured the Haruchai ahead to catch him if he fell. Then he stooped through the railing, set his numb feet into the rungs, and fought his vertigo and his cold bones downward.
The ice felt as dead as the nerves of his soles, and in the shadow of the Giantship the breeze was as sharp as the sea; but he strode and slipped across the treacherous surface to one of the sleds. Linden followed him, her hair fluttering like the banner of her determination. Then came Mistweave, still stubborn in his resolve to serve the Chosen.
Honninscrave was last. He seemed hardly able to refrain from giving Galewrath and Sevinhand a host of unnecessary final instructions. But after a moment of silence like a mute cry he wrenched himself away from his ship and joined the company.
Abruptly, several Giants shifted out of Vain's way as he approached the rail He vaulted over the side, landed lightly on the ice, and at once resumed his characteristic immobility, his black orbs gazing at nothing.
A shadow glided out of the air: Findail melted back into his human form near Vain as if he and the Demondim-spawn belonged to each other.
Obeying the First's murmured instructions Covenant climbed into one of the sleds, sat down among the supplies. Linden settled herself in the other sled. Honninscrave and Mistweave picked up the leads, harnessed themselves into the lines. The First and Pitchwife went to the fore. Cail stood between the sleds; Vain and Findail brought up the rear.
Runners crunched against the ice as Covenant and his companions left the Giantship in search of hope.
Sixty-three days had passed since they had said farewell to Sunder and Hollian and Seareach. They were at least eighteen-score leagues from Revelstone.
Five: Landward
THE First set a rapid pace. Steam panted from Honninscrave's and Mistweave's lungs as they hauled the sleds along; but they did not hang back. All the Giants were eager to get out of sight of the dromond, to put behind them their crippled vessel and imperilled people. The runners of the sleds pounded through hollows in the ice, bit and slewed across pressure-ridges Covenant and Linden were tossed urgently from side to side among the supplies. But Linden clung to the rails, made no protest. And Covenant wanted every stride of speed the Giants could attain. The Land and Lord Foul had taught him many things; but he had never learned how to leave behind friends who needed him. Hunching down into the heavy robes and blankets he had been given, he kept his face turned "blear-eyed and cold bitten toward the west and let Honninscrave draw him at a hungry trot into the white wilderland.
Yet at last the thought of what he was doing impelled him to look back toward the dromond. Stark in the distance beyond Vain and Findail, the vessel shrank as if it were being slowly swallowed by the bleak floe; and the sight of its abandonment stuck in his throat. But then he descried the pennon flying from the aftermast. Sevinhand must have raised it as a salute to the departing company. Vivid with colour and jaunty in the wind, it captured for a moment the spirit of Starfare's Gem like a promise of valour and endurance. When Covenant's vision became too blurred to make out the Giantship any longer, he was able to face forward again and let the stone vessel go.
Linden studied him across the gap between their sleds; but he had nothing to say to her which would support being shouted over the hard scrunching of the runners, the rhythmic thud of the Giants’ feet and the gasp of their breathing. Once again he was being borne toward his goal and his fear, not by any effort of his own, but by the exertions of people who cared about him. At every crisis along his way, it was the same: for all his passion and power, he would have come to nothing without help. And what recompense did he make for that help? Only pain and peril and at least one lie; nothing more. But that was not something which his sore heart could cry out under these conditions, under the bitter blue of the sky and the gazes of his companions.
They were travelling due west. When they had left the vantage of Starfare's Gem, a strip of open water had still been visible against the southern horizon; and they could be certain that the closer they went to the sea the less reliable the floe would become. Under the circumstances Covenant only hoped that they would not be forced northward to find a safe passage.
The First had pushed several paces ahead of her companions to watch for flaws and fissures in the frozen expanse. Behind her trotted Pitchwife. Though he bore no burden except his own deformation, his gait betrayed that he was already being pressed to his limits. By comparison, Mistweave and Honninscrave appeared able to sustain this speed for days, dragging the heavy sleds behind them and never faltering. And Cail was one of the Haruchai, born to ice and arduous survival. Only the vapour that plumed from his nostrils and the white crystals which formed along his cheeks showed that he was breathing more deeply than usual.
As for Vain and Findail, they moved as though the long trek ahead meant nothing to them. Vain's wooden forearm dangled uselessly from his elbow, but in every other way he remained the structurally immaculate enigma which the ur-viles had created for their own secret reasons. And the Appointed had long since demonstrated his conclusive immunity to any physical peril or stress.
Around them, the plain of ice seemed featureless and devoid of any content except cold to the edges of the world. The sun came down hard on the white floe, making the ice glare, forcing Covenant to squint until his temples throbbed. And the cold soaked into him through every fold and clasp of his coverings. The beat of the Giants’ feet and the expulsion of their breath marked out the frigid silence. The sled jostled him incessantly against a bundle of firewood packed beside him. Grimly, he hugged his blankets and huddled into himself.
The First's fall took him by surprise. She was nothing more than a grey blur across his disfocused stare as she stepped into a fissure.
Scattering snow, she plunged heavily forward. Her chest struck the rim of the break. For an instant, she scrabbled frantically at the edge, then dropped out of sight Pitchwife was four or five strides behind her; but immediately be dove after her, skidding headlong to snatch at her disappearing arms.
He was too late. And he could not stop himself. In a flurry of limbs and snow, he toppled after his wife.
Slewing over the slick surface, Honninscrave and Mistweave wheeled the sleds to a halt The one bearing Linden was nearly overturned; but Cail caught it, slammed it back onto its runners.
Covenant pitched out of his sled, landed on the ice, lurched to his feet. Ahead of him, the Master and Mistweave wrestled at the bindings which harnessed them to then burdens. Findail and Vain had stopped; but Cail was already halfway to the fissure.
Covenant and the Giants reached the rim together, with Linden a scant step behind them. Cail stood there gazing downward as if he had forgotten urgency.
The First and Pitchwife hung a few feet below the edge. The fissure was only a little wider than her shoulders, and she had clamped herself between the walls, holding her position by main strength. Pitchwife's arms clasped her hips; he dangled awkwardly between her thighs.