He thought he would be able to sleep, if only because the cold was so persuasive. But Linden made her bed near his, and soon he felt her watching him as if she sought to fathom his isolation. When he opened his eyes. he saw the look of intention in her fire-lit face.
Her gaze was focused on him like an appeal; but the words she murmured softly took him by surprise.
“I never even learned her name.”
Covenant raised his head, blinked his incomprehension at her.
“That Giant,” she explained, “the one who was hurt when the foremast broke.” The one she had healed with his ring. “I never found out who she was. I've been doing that all. my life. Treating people as if they were pieces of sick or damaged meat instead of actual individuals. I thought I was a doctor, but it was only the disease or the hurt I cared about Only the fight against death. Not the person.”
He gave her the best answer he had. “Is that bad?” He recognized the attitude she described. “You aren't God. You can't help people because of who they are. You can only help them because they're hurt and they need you.” Deliberately, he concluded, “Otherwise you would've let Mistweave die.”
“Covenant.” Now her tone was aimed at him as squarely as her gaze. “At some point, you're going to have to deal with me. With who I am. We've been lovers. I've never stopped loving you. It hurts that you lied to me-that you let me believe something that wasn't true. Let me believe we had a future together. But I haven't stopped loving you.” Low flames from the campfire glistened out of the dampness in her eyes. Yet she was resolutely unemotional, sparing him her recrimination or sorrow. “I think the only reason you loved me was because I was hurt. You loved me because of my parents. Not because of who I am.”
Abruptly, she rolled onto her back, covered her face with her hands. Need muffled the self-control of her whisper. “Maybe that kind of love is wonderful and altruistic. I don't know. But it isn't enough.”
Covenant looked at her, at the hands clasped over her pain and the hair curling around her ear, and thought. Have to deal with you. Have to. But he could not. He did not know how. Since the loss of the One Tree, their positions had been reversed. Now it was she who knew what she wanted, he who was lost.
Above him, the stars glittered out their long bereavement But for them also he did not know what to do.
When he awakened in the early dawn, he discovered that Honninscrave was gone.
A wind had come up. Accumulated snow gusted away over the half-buried remains of the campfire as Covenant thrashed out of his blankets and ground-sheet. The First, Pitchwife, and Linden were still asleep. Mistweave lay felled in his canvas cover as if during the night his desire to match Cail had suffered a defeat. Only Cail, the Demondim-spawn, and Findail were on their feet.
Covenant turned to Cail. “Where-?”
In response, Cail nodded upward.
Quickly, Covenant scanned the massive chaos of the ridge. For a moment, he missed the place Cail had indicated. But then his gaze leaped to the highest point above the camp; and there he saw Honninscrave.
The Master sat atop a small tor of ice with his back to the south and the company. The wind tumbled down off the crest into Covenant's face, bearing with it a faint smell of smoke.
Blood and damnation! Grimly, Covenant demanded, “What in hell does he think he's doing?” But he already knew the answer. Cail's reply only confirmed it.
“Some while since, he arose and assayed the ice, promising a prompt return With him he bore wood and a fire-pot such as the Giants use.”
Caamora. Honninscrave was trying to burn away his grief.
At the sound of Cail's voice, the First looked up from her bed, an inquiry in her eyes Covenant found suddenly that he could not open his throat. Mutely, he directed the First's gaze up at Honninscrave.
When she saw the Master, she rasped a curse and sprang to her feet. Awakening Pitchwife with a slap of her hand, she asked Covenant and Cail how long Honninscrave had been gone.
Inflexibly, the Haruchai repeated what he had told Covenant “Stone and Sea!” she snarled as Pitchwife and then Linden arose to join her. “Has he forgotten his own words? This north is perilous.”
Pitchwife squinted apprehensively up at Honninscrave; but his tone was reassuring. “The Master is a Giant He is equal to the peril. And his heart has found no relief from Cable Seadreamer's end. Perchance in this way he will gain peace.”
The First glared at him. But she did not call Honninscrave down from his perch.
Eyes glazed with sleep and vision. Linden gazed up at the Master and said nothing.
Shortly, Honninscrave rose to his feet Passing beyond the crest, he found his way downward. Soon he emerged from a nearby valley and came woodenly toward the company.
His hands swung at his sides. As he neared the camp, Covenant saw that they had been scoured raw by fire.
When he reached his companions, he stopped, raised his hands before him like a gesture of a futility. His gaze was shrouded. His fingers were essentially undamaged; but the after-effects of his pain were vivid. Linden hugged her own hands under her arms in instinctive empathy.
The First's voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Is it well with you, Grimmand Honninscrave?”
He shook his head in simple bafflement “It does not suffice. Naught suffices. It bums in my breast-and will not burn out.”
Then as if the will which held him upright had broken he dropped to his knees and thrust his hands into a drift of snow. Tattered wisps of steam rose around his wrists.
Dumb with helpless concern, the Giants stood around him. Linden bit her lips. The wind drew a cold scud across the ice, and the air was sharp with rue Covenant's eyes blurred and ran. In self-defence there were many things for which he could claim he was not culpable; but Seadreamer's death was not among them.
At last, the First spoke. “Come, Master,” she breathed thickly. “Arise and be about your work. We must hope or die.”
Hope or die. Kneeling on the frozen waste, Honninscrave looked like he had lost his way between those choices. But then slowly he gathered his legs under him, stretched his tall frame erect. His eyes had hardened, and his visage was rigid and ominous. For a moment, he stood still, let all the company witness the manner in which he bore himself. Then without a word he went and began to break camp.
Covenant caught a glimpse of the distress in Linden's gaze. But when she met his look of inquiry, she shook her head, unable to articulate what she had perceived in Honninscrave.
Together, they followed the Master's example.
While Honninscrave packed the canvas and bedding, Mistweave set out a cold breakfast. His red-rimmed eyes and weary demeanour held a cast of abashment: he was a Giant and had not expected Fail's endurance to be greater than his. Now he appeared determined to work harder in compensation-and in support of Honninscrave. While Covenant, Linden, and the other Giants ate, Mistweave toiled about the camp, readying everything for departure.
As Covenant and Linden settled into their sleds, bundled themselves against the mounting edge of the wind, the First addressed Honninscrave once more. She spoke softly, and the wind frayed away the sound of her voice.
“From the vantage of your caamora, saw you any sign?”
His new hardness made his reply sound oddly brutaclass="underline"
“None.”
He and Mistweave shrugged themselves into the lines of the sleds. The First and Pitchwife went ahead. With Cail between the sleds and Vain and Findail in the rear, the company set off.