Sixteen: The Weird of the Waynhim

I won't!

Covenant fought to sit up, struggled against blankets that clogged his movements, hands that restrained him.

I'll never give it up!

Blindly, he wrestled for freedom. But a massive weakness fettered him where he lay. His right arm was pinned by a preterite memory of pain.

I don't care what you do to me!

And the grass under him was fragrant and soporific. The hands could not be refused. An uncertain blur of vision eased the darkness. The face bending over him was gentle and human.

“Rest, ring-wielder,” the man said kindly. “No harm will come upon you in this sanctuary. There will be time enough for urgency when you are somewhat better healed.”

The voice blunted his desperation. The analystic scent of the grass reassured and comforted him. His need to go after Linden mumbled past his lips, but he could no longer hear it.

The next time he awakened, he arrived at consciousness slowly, and all his senses came with him. When he opened his eyes, he was able to see. After blinking for a moment at the smooth dome of stone above him, he understood that he was underground. Though he lay on deep fresh grass, he could not mistake the fact that this spacious chamber had been carved out of the earth. The light came from braziers in the corners of the room.

The face he had seen earlier returned. The man smiled at him, helped him into a sitting position. “Have care, ring-wielder. You have been mortally ill. This weakness will be slow to depart.” The man placed a bowl of dark fluid in Covenant's hands and gently pressed him to drink. The liquid had a musty, alien flavour; but it steadied him as it went down into his emptiness.

He began to look around more closely. His bed was in the certer of the chamber, raised above the floor like a catafalque of grass. The native stone of the walls and dome had been meticulously smoothed and shaped. The ceiling was not high, but he would be able to stand erect. Low entryways marked opposite walls of the room. The braziers were made of unadorned grey stone and supported by iron tripods. The thick, black fluid in them burned without smoke.

When he turned his head far enough, he found Vain near him.

The Demondim-spawn stood with his arms hanging slightly bent. His lips wore a fault, ambiguous smile, and his eyes, black without pupil or iris, looked like the orbs of a blind man.

A quiver of revulsion shook Covenant. “Get—” His voice scraped his throat like a rusty knife. “Get him out of here.”

The man supported him with an arm around his back. “Perhaps it could be done,” he said, smiling wryly. “But great force would be required. Do you have cause to fear him?”

“He—” Covenant winced at chancrous memories: Sunbane victims dancing; Vain's grin. He had difficulty forcing words past the blade in his throat. “Refused to help me.” The thought of his own need made him tremble. “Get rid of him.”

“Ah, ring-wielder,” the man said with a frown, “such questions are not so blithely answered. There is much that I must tell you—and much I wish to be told.”

He faced Covenant; and Covenant observed him clearly for the first time. He had the dark hah—and stocky frame of a Stonedownor, though he wore nothing but a wide piece of leather belted around his waist. The softness of his brown eyes suggested sympathy; but his cheeks had been deeply cut by old grief, and the twitching of his mouth gave the impression that he was too well acquainted with fear and incomprehension. His skin had the distinctive pallor of a man who had once been richly tanned. Covenant felt an immediate surge of empathy for him.

“I am Hamako,” the man said. “My former name was one which the Waynhim could not utter, and I have foresworn it. The Waynhim name you ring-wielder in their tongue—and as ring-wielder you are well known to them. But I will gladly make use of any other name you desire.”

Covenant swallowed, took another drink from the bowl. “Covenant,” he said hoarsely. “I'm Thomas Covenant.”

The man accepted this with a nod. “Covenant.” Then he returned to the question of Vain. “For two days,” he said, “while you have lain in fever, the Waynhim have striven with the riddle of this Demondim-spawn. They have found purpose in him, but not harm. This is an astonishment to them, for they perceive clearly the hands of the ur-viles which made him, and they have no trust for ur-viles. Yet he is an embodiment of lore which the Waynhim comprehend. Only one question disturbs them.” Hamako paused as if reluctant to remind Covenant of past horrors. “When you freed dhraga Waynhim from fire, thus imperilling your own life, dhraga spoke the word of command to this Demondim-spawn, ordering him to preserve you. Why did he not obey?”

The dark fluid salved Covenant's throat, but he still sounded harsh. “I already used the command. He killed six people.”

“Ah,” said Hamako. He turned from Covenant, and called down one of the entryways in a barking tongue. Almost immediately, a Waynhim entered the chamber. The creature sniffed inquiringly in Covenant's direction, then began a rapid conversation with Hamako. Their voices had a roynish sound that grated on Covenant's nerves—he had too many horrid memories of ur-viles—but he suppressed his discomfort, tried not to think balefully of Vain. Shortly, the Waynhim trotted away as if it carried important information. Hamako returned his attention to Covenant.

The man's gaze was full of questions as he said, “Then you came not upon this Demondim-spawn by chance. He did not seek you out without your knowledge.”

Covenant shook his head.

“He was given to you,” Hamako continued, “by those who know his purpose. You comprehend him.”

“No. I mean, yes, he was given to me. I was told how to command him. I was told to trust him.” He scowled at the idea of Vain's trustworthiness. “But nothing else.”

Hamako searched for the right way to phrase his question. “May I ask—who was the giver?”

Covenant felt reluctant to answer directly. He did not distrust Hamako; he simply did not want to discuss his experience with his Dead. So tie replied gruffly, “I was in Andelain.”

“Ah, Andelain,” Hamako breathed. “The Dead.” He nodded in comprehension, but it did not relieve his awkwardness.

Abruptly, Covenant's intuition leaped. “You know what his purpose is.” He had often heard that the lore of the Waynhim was wide and subtle. “But you're not going to tell me.”

Bamako's mouth twitched painfully. “Covenant,” he said, pleading to be understood, “the Dead were your friends, were they not? Their concern for you is ancient and far-seeing. It is sooth—the Waynhim ken much, and guess more. Doubtless there are many questions to which they hold answers. But—”

Covenant interrupted him. “You know how to fight the Sunbane, and you're not going to tell me that either.”

His tone made Hamako wince. "Surely your Dead have given to you all which may be wisely told. Ah, Thomas Covenant! My heart yearns to share with you the lore of the Waynhim. But they have instructed me strictly to forbear. For many reasons.

“They are ever loath to impart knowledge where they cannot control the use to which their knowledge is placed. For the ring-wielder, perhaps they would waive such considerations. But they have not the vision of the Dead, and fear to transgress the strictures which have guided the gifts of the Dead. This is the paradox of lore, that it must be achieved rather than granted, else it misleads. This only I am permitted to say: were I to reveal the purpose of this Demondim-spawn, that revelation could well prevent the accomplishment of his purpose.” Bamako's face held a look of supplication. “That purpose is greatly desirable.”

“At any rate, the ur-viles desire it greatly.” Frustration and weakness made Covenant sarcastic. “Maybe these Waynhim aren't as different as you think.”

He emptied the bowl, then tried to get to his feet. But Hamako held him back. Covenant had touched anger in the man. Stiffly, Hamako said, “I owe life and health and use to the succour of the Waynhim. Aye, and many things more. I will not betray their wishes to ease your mind, ring-wielder though you are.”

Covenant thrust against Hamako's grasp, but could not break free. After an effort like palsy, he collapsed back on the grass. “You said two days,” he panted. Futility enfeebled him. Two more days! “I've got to go. I'm already too far behind.”

“You have been deeply harmed,” Hamako replied. “Your flesh will not yet bear you. What urgency drives you?”

Covenant repressed a querulous retort. He could not denigrate Hamako's refusal to answer crucial questions; he had done such things himself. When he had mastered his gall, he said, “Three friends of mine were kidnapped by a Rider. They're on their way to Revelstone. If I don't catch up with them in time, they'll be killed.”

Hamako absorbed this information, then called again for one of the Waynhim. Another rapid conversation took place. Hamako seemed to be stressing something, urging something; the responses of the Waynhim sounded thoughtful, unpersuaded. But the creature ended on a note which satisfied Hamako. As the Waynhim departed, he turned back to Covenant.

“Durhisitar will consult the Weird of the Waynhim,” the man said, “but I doubt not that aid will be granted. No Waynhim will forget the redemption of dhraga —or the peril of the trap which ensnared you. Rest now, and fear not. This rhysh will accord you power to pursue your companions.”

“How? What can they do?”

“The Waynhim are capable of much,” returned Hamako, urging Covenant to lie back. “Rest, I say. Hold only this much trust, and put care aside. It will be bitter to you if you are offered aid, and are too weak to avail yourself of it.”

Covenant could not resist. The grass exuded a somnolent air. His body was leaden with weariness; and the roborant he had drunk seemed to undermine his anxiety. He allowed Hamako to settle him upon the bed. But as the man prepared to leave, Covenant said distantly, “At least tell me how I ended up here. The last thing I remember”—he did not look at Vain—“I was as good as dead. How did you save me?”

Hamako sat on the edge of the bed. Once again, his countenance wore an awkward sympathy. “That I will relate,” he said. “But I must tell you openly that we did not save you.”

Covenant jerked up his head. “No?”

“Softly.” Hamako pushed him flat again. “There is no need for this concern.”

Grabbing the man's arms with both hands, Covenant pulled their faces together. “What the hell am I doing alive?”

“Covenant,” said Hamako with a dry smile, “how may I tell the tale if you are so upwrought?”

Slowly, Covenant released him. “All right.” Spectres crowded his head; but he forced himself to relax. “Tell it.”

“It came to pass thus,” the man said. "When dhraga Waynhim was set free by your hand, and learned that this Demondim-spawn would not obey the word of command, it desired you to share its flight. But it could not gain your comprehension. Therefore dhraga summoned all the haste which the harm to its body permitted, and sped to inform the rhysh of your plight. Dhraga had been made the bait of a snare. This snare—"

Covenant interrupted him. “What's a rhysh?”

"Ah, pardon me. For a score of turnings of the moon, I have heard no human voice but those warped by the Sunbane. I forget that you do not speak the Waynhim tongue.

“In our speech, the word rhysh means stead. It gives reference to a community of Waynhim. In all the Land, there are many hundred score Waynhim, but all live in rhysh of one or two score. Each rhysh is private unto itself—though I am told that communication exists between them. In the great war of Revelstone, nigh two score centuries past, five rhysh fought together against the ur-viles of the Despiser. But such sharing is rare. Each rhysh holds to itself and interprets the Weird in its own way. Long has this rhysh lived here, serving its own vision.”

Covenant wanted to ask the meaning of the term Weird; but he already regretted having halted Hamako's tale.

“The rhysh,” Hamako resumed, “was informed of your plight by dhraga. At once we set out to attempt your aid. But the distance was too great. When first dhraga was captured the decision was taken to make no rescue. It was bitter to all the rhysh to abandon one of its own. But we had cause to fear this snare. Long have we lobored all too near a strong number of those warped by the Sunbane.” Unexplained tears blurred his eyes. “Long have the ill souls that captured you striven to undo us. Therefore we believed the snare to be for us. Having no wish to slay or be slain, we abandoned dhraga to its doom.”

Covenant was struck by the closeness with which Hamako identified himself with the rhysh, and by the man's evident grief over the Sunbane victims. But he did not interrupt again.

“Also,” Hamako went on, suppressing his emotion, “for three days of desert sun prior to the setting of this snare, the Waynhim tasted Raver spoor.”

A Raver! Covenant groaned. Hellfire! That explained the trap. And the spider.

“Therefore we feared the snare deeply. But when we learned that the ring-wielder had fallen prey, we comprehended our error, and ran to succour you. But the distance,” he repeated, “was too great. We arrived only in time to behold the manner in which you redeemed yourself with wild magic.”

Redeemed—! An ache wrung Covenant's heart. No!

"Though your arm was terrible and black, your white ring spun a great fire. The bonds dropped from you. The wood was scattered. The Sunbane-warped were cast aside like chaff, and fled in terror. Rocks were riven from the escarpment. Only this Demondim-spawn stood scatheless amid the fire.

“The power ended as you fell. Perceiving your venom-ill, we bore you here, and the Waynhim tended you with all their cunning until your death receded from you. Here you are safe until your strength returns.”

Hamako fell silent. After studying Covenant for a moment, he rose to his feet and began to depart.

“The Raver?” Covenant gritted.

“All spoor of him is gone,” Hamako replied quietly. “I fear his purpose was accomplished.”

Or else he's afraid of me, Covenant rasped inwardly. He did not see Hamako leave the chamber. He was consumed by his thoughts. Damnation! First Marid, then the bees, now this. Each attack worse than the one before. And a Raver involved each time. Hell and blood! Why? Bile rose in him. Why else? Lord Foul did not want him dead, not if his ring might fall to a Raver. The Despiser wanted something entirely different. He wanted surrender, voluntary abdication. Therefore the purpose of these attacks lay in their effect on him, in the way they drew power from his delirium, violence over which he had no control.

No control!

Was Foul trying to scare him into giving up his ring?

God bloody damn it to hell! He had always felt an almost overwhelming distrust of power. In the past, he had reconciled himself to the might with which he had defeated Lord Foul only because he had refrained from making full use of it; rather than attempting to crush the Despiser utterly, he had withheld the final blow, though in so doing he had ensured that Lord Foul would rise to threaten the Land again. Deliberately, he had made himself culpable for Lord Foul's future ill. And he had chosen that course because the alternative was so much worse.

For he believed that Lord Foul was part of himself, an embodiment of the moral peril lurking for the outcast in the complex rage against being outcast, a leper's doom of Despite for everything including himself. Restraint was the only possible escape from such a doom. If he had allowed his power to rise unchecked, committed himself completely to wild magic in his battle against Lord Foul, he would have accomplished nothing but the feeding of his own inner Despiser. The part of him which judged, believed, affirmed, was the part which refrained. Utter power, boundless and unscrupulous rage, would have corrupted him, and he would have changed in one stroke from victim to victimizes He knew how easy it was for a man to become the thing he hated.

Therefore he profoundly feared his wild magic, his capacity for power and violence. And that was precisely the point of Foul's attack. The venom called up his might when he was beyond all restraint—called it up and increased it. In Mithil Stonedown, he had almost failed to light Sunder's orcrest; but two days ago he had apparently broken boulders. Without volition.

And still he did not know why. Perhaps in saving Joan, he had sold himself; perhaps he was no longer free. But no lack of freedom could force him to surrender. And every increase in his power improved his chances of besting the Despiser again.

His danger lay in the venom, the loss of restraint. But if he could avoid further relapses, learn control—He was a leper. Control and discipline were the tools of his life. Let Lord Foul consider that before he counted his victory.

With such thoughts, Covenant grew grim and calm. Slowly, the effects of his illness came over him. The scent of the grass soothed him like an anodyne. After a time, he slept.

When Hamako nudged him awake again, he had the impression that he had slept for a long time. Nothing in the chamber had changed; yet his instincts were sure. Groaning at the way everything conspired to increase the peril of his friends, he groped into a sitting position, “How many days have I lost now?”

Hamako placed a large bowl of the dark, musty liquid in Covenant's hands. “You have been among us for three days of the sun of pestilence,” he answered. “Dawn is not yet nigh, but I have awakened you because there is much I wish to show and say before you depart. Drink.”

Three days. Terrific! Dismally, Covenant took a deep swallow from the bowl.

But as the liquid passed into him, he recognized the improvement in his condition. He held the bowl steadily: his whole body felt stable. He looked up at Hamako. To satisfy his curiosity, he asked, “What is this stuff?”

“It is vitrim.” Hamako was smiling: he seemed pleased by what he saw in Covenant. “It resembles an essence of aliantha, but has been created by the lore of the Waynhim rather than drawn, from the aliantha itself.”

In a long draught, Covenant drained the bowl, and felt immediately more substantial. He returned the bowl, and rose to his feet. “When can I get started? I'm running out of excuses.”

“Soon after the sun's rising, you will renew your sojourn,” answered Hamako. “I assure you that you will hold your days among us in scant regret.” He handed the bowl to a Waynhim standing nearby and accepted a leather pouch like a wineskin. This he gave to Covenant. “Vitrim,” he said. “If you consume it prudently, you will require no other aliment for three days.”

Covenant acknowledged the gift with a nod and tied the pouch to his belt by its drawstring. As he did so, Hamako said, “Thomas Covenant, it pains me that we have refused to answer your most urgent questions. Therefore I desire you to comprehend the Weird of the Waynhim ere you depart. Then perhaps you will grasp my conviction that their wisdom must be trusted. Are you willing?”

Covenant faced Hamako with a rueful grimace. “Hamako, you saved my life. I may be a natural-born ingrate, but I can still appreciate the significance of not being dead. I'll try to understand anything you want to tell me.” Half involuntarily, he added, “Just don't take too long. If I don't do something soon, I won't be able to live with myself.”

“Then come,” Hamako said, and strode out of the chamber.

Covenant paused to tuck in his shirt, then followed.

As he stooped to pass through the entryway, he noted sourly that Vain was right behind him.

He found himself in a corridor, scrupulously delved out of native rock, where he could barely walk erect. The passage was long, and lit at intervals by small censers set into the walls. In them, a dark fluid burned warmly, without smoke.

After some distance, the passage branched, became a network of tunnels. As Covenant and Hamako passed, they began to meet Waynhim. Some went by in silence; others exchanged a few comments with Hamako in their roynish tongue; but all of them bowed to the ring-wielder.

Abruptly, the tunnel opened into an immense cavern. It was brightly-lit by vats of burning liquid. It appeared to be more than a hundred feet high and three times that across. At least a score of Waynhim were busily at work around the area.

With a thrill of astonishment, Covenant saw that the whole cavern was a garden.

Thick grass covered the floor. Flowerbeds lay everywhere, hedged by many different varieties of bushes. Trees—pairs of Gilden, oak, peach, sycamore, elm, apple, jacaranda, spruce, and others—stretched their limbs toward the vaulted ceiling. Vines and creepers grew up the walls.

The Waynhim were tending the plants. From plot to tree they moved, barking chants and wielding short iron staves; and dark droplets of power sprang from the metal, nourishing flowers and shrubs and vines like a distilled admixture of loam and sunshine.

The effect was incomparably strange. On the surface of the Land, the Sunbane made everything unnatural; nothing grew without violating the Law of its own being, nothing died without ruin. Yet here, where there was no sunlight, no free air, no pollinating insects, no age-nurtured soil, the garden of the Waynhim blossomed lush and lovely, as natural as if these plants had been born to fructify under a stone sky.

Covenant gazed about with undisguised wonder; but when he started to ask a question, Hamako gestured him silent, and led him into the garden.

Slowly, they walked among the flowers and trees. The murmurous chanting of the Waynhim filled the air; but none of the creatures spoke to each other or to Hamako; they were rapt in the concentration of their work. And in their concentration, Covenant caught a glimpse of the prodigious difficulty of the task they had set for themselves. To keep such a garden healthy underground must have required miracles of devotion and lore.

But Hamako had more to show. He guided Covenant and Vain to the far end of the cavern, into a new series of corridors. These angled steadily upward; and as he ascended, Covenant became aware of a growing annual smell. He had already guessed what he was about to see when Hamako entered another large cave, not as high as the garden, but equally broad.

It was a zoo. The Waynhim here were feeding hundreds of different animals. In small pens cunningly devised to resemble their natural dens and habitats lived pairs of badgers, foxes, hounds, marmosets, moles, raccoons, otters, rabbits, lynx, muskrats. And many of them had young.

The zoo was less successful than the garden. Animals without space to roam could not be healthy. But that problem paled beside the amazing fact that these creatures were alive at all. The Sunbane was fatal to animal life. The Waynhim preserved these species from complete extinction.

Once again, Hamako silenced Covenant's questions. They left the cave, and continued to work upward. They met no Waynhim in these tunnels. Soon their ascent became so pronounced that Covenant wondered just how deep in the Earth he had slept for three days. He felt a pang over the insensitivity of his senses; he missed the ability to gauge the rock weight above him, assess the nature of the vitrim, probe the spirits of his companions. That regret made him ache for Linden. She might have known whether or not he could trust Vain.

Then the passageway became a spiral stair which rose to a small round chamber. No egress was visible; but Hamako placed his hands against a section of the wall, barked several Waynhim words, and thrust outward. The stone divided along an unseen crack and opened.

Leaving the chamber, Covenant found himself under the stars. Along the eastern horizon, the heavens had begun to pale. Dawn was approaching. At the sight, he felt an unexpected reluctance to leave the safety and wonder of the Waynhim demesne. Grimly, he tightened his resolve. He did not look back when Hamako sealed the entrance behind him.

Vague in the darkness, Hamako led him through an impression of large, crouching shapes to a relatively open area. There he sat down, facing the east. As he joined Hamako, Covenant discovered that they were on a flat expanse of rock—protection against the first touch of the Sunbane.

Vain stood off to one side as if he neither knew nor cared about the need for such protection.

“Now I will speak,” Hamako said. His words went softly into the night. “Have no fear of the Sunbane-warped who sought your life. Never again will they enter this place. That much at least of mind and fear they retain.” His tone suggested that he held the area sacred to some private and inextinguishable sorrow.

Covenant settled himself to listen; and after a deep pause Hamako began.

“A vast gulf,” he breathed, a darker shape amid the dark crouching of the night, "lies between creatures that are born and those that are made. Born creatures, such as we are, do not suffer torment at the simple fact of physical form. Perhaps you desire keener sight, greater might of arm, but the embodiment of eyes and limbs is not anguish to you. You are born by Law to be as you are. Only a madman loathes the nature of his birth.

"It is far otherwise with the Waynhim. They were made—as the ur-viles were made—by deliberate act in the breeding dens of the Demondim. And the Demondim were themselves formed by lore rather than blood from the Viles who went before them. Thus the Waynhim are not creatures of law. They are entirely alien in the world. And they are unnaturally long of life. Some among this rhysh remember the Lords and the ancient glory of Revelstone. Some tell the tale of the five rhysh which fought before the gates of Revelstone in the great siege—and of the blue Lord who rode to their aid in folly and valour. But let that pass.

“The numbers of the Waynhim are only replenished because the ur-viles continue the work of their Demondim makers. Much breeding is yet done in the deeps of the Earth, and some are ur-viles, some Waynhim—and some are altogether new, enfleshed visions of lore and power. Such a one is your companion. A conscious making to accomplish a chosen aim.”

In the east, the sky slowly blanched. The last stars were fading. The shapes around Covenant and Hamako grew more distinct, modulating toward revelation.

"That is the Weird of all Demondim-spawn. Each Waynhim and ur-vile beholds itself and sees that it need not have been what it is. It is the fruit of choices it did not make. From this fact both Waynhim and ur-viles draw their divergent spirits. It has inspired in the ur-viles a quenchless loathing for their own forms and an overweening lust for perfection, for the power to create what they are not. Their passion is extreme, careless of costs. Therefore they have given millennia of service to the Despiser, for Lord Foul repays them with both knowledge and material for their breedings. Thus comes your companion.

"And therefore the Waynhim have been greatly astonished to find no ill in him. He is an—an apotheosis. In him, it appears that the ur-viles have at last transcended their unscrupuling violence and achieved perfection. He is the Weird of the ur-viles incarnate. More of him I may not say.

“But the spirit of the Waynhim is different entirely. They are not reckless of costs; from the great Desecration which Kevin Landwaster and Lord Foul conceived upon the Land, they learned a horror of such passions. They foresaw clearly the price the ur-viles paid, and will ever pay, for self-loathing, and they turned in another way. Sharing the Weird, they chose to meet it differently. To seek self-justification.”

Hamako shifted his position, turned more squarely toward the east.

"In the Waynhim tongue, Weird has several meanings. It is fate or destiny—but it is also choice, and is used to signify council or decision-making. It is a contradiction—fate and choice. A man may be fated to die, but no fate can determine whether he will die in courage or cowardice. The Waynhim choose the manner in which they meet their doom.

“In their loneness, they have chosen to serve the Law of which they do not partake. Each rhysh performs its own devoir. Thus the garden and the animals. In defiance of the Sunbane and all Lord Foul's ill, this rhysh seeks to preserve things which grow by Law from natural seed, in the form which they were born to hold. Should the end of Sunbane ever come, the Land's future will be assured of its natural life.”

Covenant listened with a tightness in his throat. He was moved by both the scantness and the nobility of what the Waynhim were doing. In the myriad square leagues which comprised the vast ruin of the Sunbane, one cavern of healthy plants was a paltry thing. And yet that cavern represented such commitment, such faith in the Land, that it became grandeur. He wanted to express his appreciation, but could find no adequate words. Nothing could ever be adequate except the repeal of the Sunbane, allowing the Waynhim to have the future they served. The fear that their self-consecration might prove futile in the end blurred his vision, made him cover his eyes with his hands.

When he looked up again, the sun was rising.

It came in pale brown across the Plains, a desert sun. Land features were lifted out of darkness as the night bled away. When he glanced about him, he saw that he was sitting in the certer of a wrecked Stonedown.

Houses lay in rubble; lone walls stood without ceilings to support; architraves sprawled like corpses; slabs of stone containing windows canted against each other. At first, he guessed that the village had been hit by an earthquake. But as the light grew stronger, he saw more clearly.

Ragged holes the size of his palm riddled all the stone as if a hail of vitriol had fallen on the village, chewing through the ceilings until they collapsed, tearing the walls into broken chunks, burning divots out of the hard ground. The place where he sat was pocked with acid marks. Every piece of rock in the area which had ever stood upright had been sieved into ruin.

“Hellfire!” he murmured weakly. “What happened here?”

Hamako had not moved; but his head was bowed. When he spoke, his tone said plainly that he was acutely familiar with the scene. “This also I desire to tell,” he sighed. “For this purpose I brought you here.”

Behind him, a hillock cracked and opened, revealing within it the chamber from which he and Covenant had left the underground corridors. Eight Waynhim filed into the sunrise, closing the entrance after them. But Hamako seemed unaware of them.

“This is During Stonedown, home of the Sunbane-warped who sought your life. They are my people.”

The Waynhim ranged themselves in a circle around Hamako and Covenant. After an initial glance, Covenant concentrated on Hamako. He wanted to hear what the man was saying.

“My people,” the former Stonedownor repeated. "A proud people—all of us. A score of turnings of the moon ago, we were hale and bold. Proud. It was a matter of great pride to us that we had chosen to defy the Clave.

“Mayhap you have heard of the way in which the Clave acquires blood. All submit to this annexation, as did we for many generations. But it was gall and abhorrence to us, and at last we arose in refusal. Ah, pride. The Rider departed from us, and During Stonedown fell under the na-Mhoram's Grim”

His voice shuddered. “It may be that you have no knowledge of such abominations. A fertile sun was upon us, and we were abroad from our homes, planting and reaping our sustenance—recking little of our peril. Then of a sudden the green of the sun became black—blackest ill—and a fell cloud ran from Revelstone toward During Stonedown, crossing against the wind.”

He clenched his hand over his face, gripping his forehead in an effort to control the pain of memory.

“Those who remained in their homes—infants, mothers, the injured and the infirm—perished as During Stonedown perished, in agony. All the rest were rendered homeless,”

The events he described were vivid to him, but he did not permit himself to dwell on them. With an effort of will, he continued, "Then despair came upon us. For a day and a night, we wandered the brokenness of our minds, heeding nothing. We had not the heart to heed. Thus the Sunbane took my people unprotected. They became as you have seen them.

“Yet I was spared. Stumbling alone in my loss—bemoaning the death of wife and daughter—I came by chance upon three of the Waynhim ere the sun rose. Seeing my plight, they compelled me to shelter.”

He raised his head, made an attempt to clear his throat of grief. “From that time, I have lived and worked among the rhysh, learning the tongue and lore and Weird of the Waynhim. ln heart and will, I have become one of them as much as a man may. But if that were the extent of my tale”—he glanced painfully at Covenant—“I would not have told it. I have another purpose.”

Abruptly, he stood and gazed around the gathered Waynhim. When Covenant joined him, he said, “Thomas Covenant, I say to you that I have become of the Waynhim. And they have welcomed me as kindred. More. They have made my loss a part of then—Weird. The Sunbane-warped live dire lives, committing all possible harm ere they die. In my name, this rhysh has taken upon itself the burden of my people. They are watched and warded—preserved from hurt, sustained in life—prevented from wreaking the damage of their wildness. For my sake, they are kept much as the animals are kept, both aided and controlled. Therefore they remain alive in such numbers. Therefore the rhysh was unwilling to redeem dhraga. And therefore”—he looked squarely at Covenant—“both rhysh and I are to blame for the harm you suffered.”

“No,” Covenant protested. “It wasn't your fault. You can't blame yourself for things you can't foresee.”

Hamako brushed this objection aside. “The Waynhim did not foresee their own creation. Yet the Weird remains.” But then, somehow, he managed a smile. “Ah, Covenant,” he said, “I do not speak for any love of blame. I desire only your comprehension.” He gestured around him. “The Waynhim have come to offer their aid in pursuit of your companions. I wish you to know what lies behind this offer, so that you may accept it in the spirit of its giving, and forgive us for what we have withheld from you.”

A surge of respect and empathy blurred Covenant's responses again. Because he had no other way to express what he felt, he .said formally, as Atiaran had taught him, “I thank you. The giving of this gift honors me. Accepting it, I return honor to the givers.” Then he added, “You've earned the right.”

Slowly, the strain faded from Hamako's smile. Without releasing Covenant's gaze, he spoke to the Waynhim; and they answered in a tone of readiness. One of them stepped forward, placed something in his hand. When Hamako raised his hand, Covenant saw that the object was a stone dirk.

He winced inwardly. But Hamako's smile was the smile of a friend. Seeing Covenant's uncertainty, the man said, “There is no harm for you in this. May I have your hand?”

Consciously repressing a tremor, Covenant extended his right hand, palm downward.

Hamako grasped his wrist, looked for a moment at the scars left by Joan's nails, then abruptly drew a cut across the veins.

Covenant flinched; but Hamako held him., did not permit him to withdraw.

His anxiety turned to amazement as he saw that the cut did not bleed. Its edges opened, but no blood came from the wound.

Dhraga approached. Its broken arm hung in a splint, but its other wounds were healing.

It raised its uninjured hand. Carefully, Hamako made an incision in the exposed palm. At once, dark blood swarmed down dhraga's forearm.

Without hesitation, the Waynhim reached out, placed its cut directly on Covenant's. Hot blood smeared the back of his hand.

At that instant, he became aware of the other Waynhim. They were chanting softly in the clear desert dawn. Simultaneously, strength rushed up his arm, kicked his heart like a burst of elation. He felt suddenly taller, more muscular. His vision seemed to expand, encompassing more of the terrain. He could easily have wrested free of Bamako's grasp. But he had no need to do so.

Dhraga lifted its hand away.

The bleeding had stopped. Its blood was being sucked into his cut.

Dhraga withdrew. Hamako gave the dirk to durhisitar. While durhisitar cut its palm just as dhraga's had been cut, Hamako said, “Soon the power will come to appear unbearable, but I ask you to bear it. Remain quiet until all the Waynhim have shared this giving. If the ritual is completed, you will have the strength you require for a day—perhaps two.”

Durhisitar put its cut upon Covenant's. More might surged into him. He felt abruptly giddy with energy, capable of anything, everything. His incision absorbed durhisitar's blood. When the creature stepped back, he could hardly hold himself still for the next Waynhim.

Only after the third infusion did he realize that he was receiving something more than power. Dhraga he had recognized by its injuries—but how had he known durhisitar? He had never looked closely at that particular Waynhim. Yet he had known it by name, just as he knew the third Waynhim, dhubha, and the fourth, vraith. He felt ecstatic with knowledge.

Drhami was fifth; ghohritsar, sixth. He was dancing with uncontainable might. Hamako's knuckles whitened; but his grip had the weight of a feather. Covenant had to leash himself firmly to keep from exploding free and cavorting around the ruins like a wild man. The range of his hearing had become so wide that he could hardly distinguish words spoken nearby.

Hamako was saying, “—remember your companions. Waste not this power. While it remains, stop for neither night nor doom.”

Ghramin.

Covenant felt as colossal as Gravin Threndor, as mighty as Fire-Lions. He felt that he could crush boulders in his arms, destroy Ravers with his hands.

Dhurng: eighth and last.

Hamako snatched back his hand as if the power in Covenant burned him. “Go now!” he cried. “Go for Land and Law, and may no malison prevail against you!”

Covenant threw back his head, gave a shout that seemed to echo for leagues:

“Linden!”

Swinging around to the north-west, he released the flood-fire of his given strength and erupted, running toward Revelstone like a coruscation in the air.