Hollian smiled after them. Softly, Sunder said, “We are fortunate in these Giants. Had Nassic my father spoken to me of such beings, mayhap I would have laughed-or mayhap wept. But I would not have believed.”
“Me neither,” Covenant murmured. Doubt and fear cast their shadows across the background of his gaze; but he appeared to take no hurt from them. “Mhoram was my friend. Banner saved my life. Lena loved me. But Foamfollower made the difference.”
Linden reached out to him, touched her palm briefly to his clean cheek to tell him that she understood. The ache of the Sunbane was so strong in her that she could not speak.
Together, they started after Pitchwife.
The riverbed was a jumble of small stones and large boulders, flat swaths of sand, jutting banks, long pits. But it was a relatively easy road. And by mid-afternoon the west rim began casting deep shade into the channel.
That shade was a balm to Linden's abraded nerves-but for some reason it did not make her any better able to put one foot in front of another. The alternation of shadow and acid heat seemed to numb her mind, and the consequences of two days without rest or sleep came to her as if they had been waiting in the bends and hollows of the watercourse. Eventually, she found herself thinking that of all the phases of the Sunbane the desert sun was the most gentle. Which was absurd: this sun was inherently murderous. Perhaps it was killing her now. Yet it gave less affront to her health-sense than did the other suns. She insisted on this as if someone had tried to contradict her. The desert was simply dead. The dead could inspire grief, but they felt no pain. The sun of rain had the force of incarnate violence; the malign creatures of the sun of pestilence were a pang of revulsion; the fertile sun seemed to wring screams from the whole world. But the desert only made her want to weep.
Then she was weeping. Her face was pressed into the sand, and her hands scrubbed at the ground on either side of her head because they did not have the strength to lift her. But at the same time she was far away from her fallen body, detached and separate from Covenant and Hollian as they called her name, rushed to help her. She was thinking with the precision of a necessary belief. This can't go on. It has got to be stopped. Every time the sun comes up, the Land dies a little deeper. It has got to be stopped.
Covenant's hands took hold of her, rolled her onto her back, shifted her fully into the shadows. She knew they were his hands because they were urgent and numb. When he propped her into a sitting position, she tried to blink her eyes clear. But her tears would not stop.
“Linden,” he breathed. “Are you all right? Damn it to hell! I should've given you a chance to rest.”
She wanted to say. This has got to be stopped. Give me your ring. But that was wrong. She knew it was wrong because the darkness in her leaped up at the idea, avid for power. She could not hold back her grief.
Hugging her hard, he rocked her in his arms and murmured words which meant nothing except that he loved her.
Gradually, the helplessness faded from her muscles, and she was able to raise her head. Around her stood Sunder, Hollian, the First, and Pitchwife. Even Findail was there; and his yellow eyes yearned with conflicts, as if he knew how close she had come-but did not know whether he was relieved or saddened by it. Only Vain ignored her.
She tried to say, I'm sorry. Don't worry. But the desert was in her throat, and no sound came.
Pitchwife knelt beside her, lifted a bowl to her lips. She smelled diamondraught, took a small swallow. The potent liquor gave her back her voice.
“Sorry I scared you. I'm not hurt. Just tired. I didn't realize I was this tired.” The shadow of the west bank enabled her to say such things.
Covenant was not looking at her. To the watercourse and the wide sky, he muttered, “It ought to have my head examined. We should've stayed in Revelstone. One day wouldn't have killed me.“ Then he addressed his companions. “We'll camp here. Maybe tomorrow she'll feel better.”
Linden started to smile reassurance at him. But she was already asleep.
That night, she dreamed repeatedly of power. Over and over again, she possessed Covenant, took his ring, and used it to rip the Sunbane out of the Earth. The sheer violence of what she did was astounding; it filled her with glee and horror. Her father laughed blackness at her. It killed Covenant, left him as betrayed as her mother. She thought she would go mad.
You have committed murder. Are you not evil?
No. Yes. Not unless I choose to be. I can't help it.
This has got to be stopped. Got to be stopped. You are being forged as iron is forged- Got to be stopped.
But sometime during the middle of the night she awoke and found herself enfolded by Covenant's sleeping arms. For a while, she clung to him; but he was too weary to waken. When she went back to sleep, the dreams were gone.
And when dawn came she felt stronger. Stronger and calmer, as if during the night she had somehow made up her mind. She kissed Covenant, nodded soberly in response to the questioning looks of her friends. Then, while the Stonedownors and Giants defended themselves against the sun's first touch by standing on rock, she climbed a slope in the west bank to get an early view of the Sunbane. She wanted to understand it.
It was red and baleful, the colour of pestilence. Its light felt like disease crawling across her nerves.
But she knew its ill did not in fact arise from the sun. Sunlight acted as a catalyst for it, a source of energy, but did not cause the Sunbane, Rather, it was an emanation from the ground, corrupted Earthpower radiating into the heavens. And that corruption sank deeper every day, working its way into the marrow of the Earth's bones.
She bore it without flinching. She intended to do something about it.
Her companions continued to study her as she descended the slope to rejoin them. But when she met their scrutiny, they were reassured. Pitchwife relaxed visibly. Some of the tension flowed out of the muscles of Covenant's shoulders, though he clearly did not trust his superficial vision. And Sunder, who remembered Marid, gazed at her as if she had come back from the brink of something as fatal as venom.
“Chosen, you are well restored,” said the First with gruff pleasure. “The sight gladdens me.”
Together, Hollian and Pitchwife prepared a meal which Linden ate ravenously. Then the company set itself to go on down the watercourse.
For the first part of the morning, the walking was almost easy. This sun was considerably cooler than the previous one; and while the east bank shaded the river bottom, it remained free of vermin. The ragged edges and arid lines of the landscape took on a tinge of the crimson light which made them appear acute and wild, etched with desiccation. Pitchwife joined the First as she ascended the hillside again to keep watch over the company. Although Hollian shared Sunder's visceral abhorrence of the sun of pestilence, they were comfortable with each other. In the shade's protection, they walked and talked, arguing companionably about a name for their son. Initially, Sunder claimed that the child would grow up to be an eh-brand and should therefore be given an eh-Brand's name; but Hollian insisted that the boy would take after his father. Then for no apparent reason they switched positions and continued contradicting each other.