Seven: Elemesnedene

LINDEN clamped her hands over her ears, and the chiming faded—not because of her hands, but because the gesture helped her focus her efforts to block or at least filter the sound. She was sweating in the humid sunlight. The Sun-Sage? Hints of panic flushed across her face. The Sun-Sage?

Covenant swore repeatedly under his breath. His tone was as white as clenched knuckles. When she looked at him, she saw him glaring at the grass where Daphin had vanished as if he meant to blight it with fire.

The Haruchai had not moved. Honninscrave's head had jerked back in astonishment or pain. Seadreamer gazed intently at Linden in search of understanding. Pitchwife stood beside the First as if he were leaning on her. Her eyes knifed warily back and forth between Linden and Covenant.

Vain's black mien wore an aspect of suppressed excitement.

“Sun-Sage?” the First asked rigidly. “What is this 'Sun-Sage?' ”

Linden took a step toward Covenant. He appeared to be cursing at her. She could not bear it. “I'm not:' Her voice sounded naked in the sunshine, devoid of any music which would have given it beauty. ”You know I'm not."

His visage flamed at her. “Damnation! Of course you are. Haven't you learned anything yet?”

His tone made her flinch. Daphin's You are not formed a knot of ire in him that Linden could see as clearly as if it had been outlined on his forehead. He would not be able to alter the Sunbane. And because of him, the Elohim had withdrawn her welcome.

With hard patience, the First demanded again, “What is this 'Sun-Sage'?”

Covenant replied like a snarl, “Somebody who can control the Sunbane.” His features were acute with self-disgust.

“They will not welcome us.” Loss stretched Honninscrave's voice thin. “Oh, Elohim!”

Linden struggled for a way to answer Covenant without berating him. I don't have the power. Sweat ran into her eyes, blurring her vision. The tension of the company felt unnatural to her. This anger and grief seemed to violate the wide mansuetude of Woodenwold and the maidan. But then her senses reached farther, and she thought, No. That's not it. In some way, the valley's tranquillity appeared to be the cause of this intensity. The air was like a balm which was too potent to give anything except pain.

But the opening of her percipience exposed her to the bells again. Or they were drawing closer. Chiming took over her mind. Pitchwife's voice was artificially muffled in her ears as he said, “Mayhap their welcome is not yet forfeit. Behold!”

She blinked her sight clear in time to see two figures come flowing up out of the ground in front of her. Smoothly, they transformed themselves from grass and soil into human shapes.

One was Daphin. Her smile was gone; in its place was a sober calm that resembled regret. But her companion wore a grin like a smirk.

He was a man with eyes as blue as jacinths, the same color as his mantle. Like Daphin's cymar, his robe was not a garment he had donned, but rather an adornment he had created within himself. With self-conscious elegance, he adjusted the folds of the cloth. The gleam in his eyes might have been pleasure of mockery. The distinction was confused by the obligate of the bells.

“I am Chant,” he said lightly. “I have come for truth.”

Both he and Daphin gazed directly at Linden.

The pressure of their regard seemed to expose every fiber of her nature. By contrast, her health-sense was humble and crude. They surpassed all her conceptions.

She reacted in instinctive denial. With a wrench of determination, she thrust the ringing into the background. The

Elohim searched her as Gibbon had once searched her. Are you not evil? No. Not as long as the darkness had no power. “I'm not the Sun-Sage.”

Chant cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

“If anybody is, it's him.” She pointed at Covenant, trying to turn the eyes of the Elohim away. “He has the ring.”

They did not waver. Daphin's mien remained pellucid; but Chant's smile hinted at fierceness. “We have no taste for untruth”—his tone was satin—“and your words are manifestly untrue. Deny not that you are what you are. It does not please us. Explain, rather, why this man holds possession of your white ring.”

At once, Covenant snapped, “It's not her ring. It's mine. It's always been mine.” Beside the Elohim, he sounded petulant and diminished.

Chant's smile deepened, gripping Linden in its peril. “That also is untrue. You are not the Sun-Sage.”

Covenant tensed for a retort. But Daphin forestalled him. Calmly, she said, “No. The ring is his. Its mark lies deeply within him.”

At that, Chant looked toward his companion; and Linden sagged in relief. The shifting of his gaze gave her a palpable release.

Chant frowned as if Daphin's contradiction broke an unspoken agreement. But she went on addressing Linden. “Yet here is a mystery. All our vision has seen the same truth— that the Sun-Sage and ring-wielder who would come among us in quest are one being. Thereon hinge matters of grave import. And our vision does not lie. Rawedge Rim and Woodenwold do not lie. How may this be explained, Sun-Sage?”

Linden felt Covenant clench as if he were on the verge of fire. “What do you want me to do?” he grated. “Give it up?”

Chant did not deign to glance at him. “Such power ill becomes you. Silence would be more seemly. You stand among those who surpass you. Permit the Sun-Sage to speak.” Notes of anger ran through the music of the bells.

Covenant growled a curse. Sensing his ire, Linden twisted herself out of the grip of the Elohim to face him. His visage Was dark with venom.

Again, his vehemence appeared unnatural—a reaction to the air rather than to his situation or the Elohim. That impression sparked an inchoate urgency in her. Something here outweighed her personal denials. Intuitively, she pitched her voice so that Covenant must hear her.

“I wouldn't be here without him.”

Then she began to tremble at the responsibility she had implicitly accepted.

The next moment, Pitchwife was speaking. “Peace, my friends,” he said. His misshapen face was sharp with uncharacteristic apprehension. “We have journeyed far to gain the boon of these Elohim. Far more than our mere lives hang in jeopardy.” His voice beseeched them softly. “Give no offense.”

Covenant peered at Linden as if he were trying to determine the nature of her support and recognition. Suddenly, she wanted to ask him, Do you hear bells? If he did, he gave no sign. But what he saw in her both tightened and steadied him. Deliberately, he shrugged down his power. Without lifting his scrutiny from Linden, he said to the Elohim, “Forgive me. The reason we're here. It's urgent. I don't carry the strain very well.”

The Elohim ignored him, continued watching Linden. But the timbre of anger drifted away along the music. “Perhaps our vision has been incomplete,” said Daphin. Her voice lilted like birdsong. “Perhaps there is a merging to come. Or a death.”

Merging? Linden thought quickly. Death? She felt the same questions leaping in Covenant. She started to ask, What do you mean?

But Chant had resumed his dangerous smile. Still addressing Linden as though she outranked all her companions, he said abruptly, “It is known that your quest is exigent. We are not a hasty people, but neither do we desire your delay.” Turning, he gestured gracefully along the Callowwail. “Will you accompany us to Elemesnedene?”

Linden needed a moment to muster her response. Too much was happening. She had been following Covenant's lead since she had first met him. She was not prepared to make decisions for him or anyone else.

But she had no choice. At her back crowded the emotions of her companions: Honninscrave's tension, the First's difficult silence, Pitchwife's suspense, Covenant's hot doubt. They all withheld themselves, waited for her. And she had her own reasons for being here. With a grimace, she accepted the role she had been given.

“Thank you,” she said formally. "That's what we came for."

Chant bowed as if she had shown graciousness; but she could not shake the impression that he was laughing at her secretly. Then the two Elohim moved away. Walking as buoyantly as if they shared the analystic clarity of the air, they went out into the yellow grass toward the heart of the maidan. Linden followed them with Cail at her side; and her companions joined her.

She wanted to talk to them, ask them for guidance. But she felt too exposed to speak. Treading behind Chant and Daphin at a slight distance, she tried to steady herself on the tough confidence of the Haruchai.

As she walked, she studied the surrounding maidan, hoping to descry something which would enable her to identify an Elohim who was not wearing human form. But she had not perceived any hint of Daphin or Chant before they had accosted the company; and now she was able to discern nothing except the strong autumn grass, the underlying loam, and the Callowwail's purity. Yet her sense of exposure increased. After a while, she discovered that she had been unconsciously clenching her fists.

With an effort, she ungnarled her fingers, looked at them. She could hardly believe that they had ever held a scalpel or hypodermic. When she dropped them, they dangled at her wrists like strangers.

She did not know how to handle the importance the Elohim had ascribed to her. She could not read the faint clear significance of the bells. Following Chant and Daphin, she felt that she was walking into a quagmire.

An odd thought crossed her mind. The Elohim had given no word of recognition to Vain. The Demondim-spawn still trailed the company like a shadow; yet Chant and Daphin had not reacted to him at all. She wondered about that, but found no explanation.

Sooner than she had expected, the fountainhead of the Callowwail became visible—a cloud of mist set in the defense of the maidan like an ornament. As she neared it, it stood out more clearly through its spray.

It arose like a geyser from within a high mound of travertine. Its waters arched in clouds and rainbows to fall around the base of the mound, where they collected to form the

River. The water looked as edifying as crystal, as clinquant as faery promises; but the travertine it had formed and dampened appeared obdurate, uncompromising. The mound seemed to huddle into itself as if it could not be moved by any appeal. The whorled and skirling shapes on its sides—cut and deposited by ages of spray, the old scrollwork of the water—gave it an elusive eloquence, but did not alter its essential posture.

Beckoning for the company to follow, Daphin and Chant stepped lightly through the stream and climbed as easily as air up the side of the wet rock.

There without warning they vanished as if they had melded themselves into travertine.

Linden stopped, stared. Her senses caught no trace of the Elohim. The bells were barely audible.

Behind her, Honninscrave cleared his throat. “Elemesnedene,” he said huskily. “The clachan of the Elohim. I had not thought that I would see such sights again.”

Covenant scowled at the Master. “What do we do now?”

For the first time since Starfare's Gem had dropped anchor outside the Raw, Honninscrave laughed. “As our welcomers have done. Enter.”

Linden started to ask him how., then changed her mind. Now that the silence had been broken, another question was more important to her. “Do any of you hear bells?”

The First looked at her sharply. “Bells?”

Pitchwife's expression mirrored the First's ignorance. Seadreamer shook his head. Brinn gave a slight negative shrug.

Slowly, Honninscrave said, “The Elohim are not a musical folk. I have heard no bells or any song here. And all the tales which the Giants tell of Elemesnedene make no mention of bells.”

Linden groaned to herself. Once again, she was alone in what she perceived. Without hope, she turned to Covenant.

He was not looking at her. He was staring like a thunder-head at the fountain. His left hand twisted his ring around and around the last finger of his half-hand.

“Covenant?” she asked.

He did not answer her question. Instead, he muttered between his teeth, “They think I'm going to fail. I don't need that. I didn't come all this way to hear that.” He hated the thought of failure in every line of his gaunt stubborn form.

But then his purpose stiffened. “Let's get going. You're the Sun-Sage.” His tone was full of sharp edges and gall. For the sake of his quest, he fought to accept the roles the Elohim had assigned. “You should go first.”

She started to deny once again that she was any kind of Sun-Sage. That might comfort him—or at least limit the violence coiling inside him. But again her sense of exposure warned her to silence. Instead of speaking, she faced the stream and the mound, took a deep breath, held it. Moving half a step ahead of Cail, she walked into the water,

At once, a hot tingling shot through her calves, soaked down into her feet. For one heartbeat, she almost winced away. But then her nerves told her that the sensation was not harmful. It bristled across the surface of her skin like formication, but did no damage. Biting down on her courage, she strode through the stream and clambered out onto the old intaglio of the travertine. With Cail at her side, she began to ascend the mound.

Suddenly, power seemed to flash around her as if she had been dropped like a coal into a tinderbox. Bells clanged in her head—chimes ringing in cotillion on all sides. Bubbles of glauconite and carbuncle burst in her blood; the air burned like a thurible; the world reeled.

The next instant, she staggered into a wonderland.

Stunned and gaping, she panted for breath. She had been translated by water and travertine to another place altogether—a place of eldritch astonishment.

An opalescent sky stretched over her, undefined by any sun or moon, or by any clear horizons, and yet brightly luminous and warm. The light seemed to combine moonglow and sunshine. It had the suggestive evanescence of night and the specificity of day. And under its magic, wonders thronged in corybantic succession.

Nearby grew a silver sapling. Though not tall, it was as stately as a prince; and its leaves danced about its limbs without touching them. Like flakes of precious metal, the leaves formed a chiaroscuro around the tree, casting glints and spangles as they swirled.

On the other side, a fountain spewed globes of color and light. Bobbing upward, they broke into silent rain and were inhaled again by the fountain.

A furry shape like a jarcol went gambolling past and appeared to trip. Sprawling, it became a profuse scatter of flowers. Blooms that resembled peony and amaryllis sprayed open across the glistening greensward.

Birds flew overhead, warbling incarnate. Cavorting in circles, they swept against each other, merged to form an abrupt pillar of fire in the air. A moment later, the fire leaped into sparks, and the sparks became gems— ruby and morganite, sapphire and porphyry, like a trail of stars—and the gems wafted away, turning to butterflies as they floated.

A hillock slowly pirouetted to itself, taking arcane shapes one after another as it turned.

And these were only the nearest entrancements. Other sights abounded: grand statues of water; a pool with its surface' woven like an arras; shrubs which flowed through a myriad elegant forms; catenulate sequences of marble, draped from nowhere to nowhere; animals that leaped into the air as birds and drifted down again as snow; swept-wing shapes of malachite flying in gracile curves; sunflowers the size of Giants, with imbricated ophite petals.

And everywhere rang the music of bells— cymbals in carillon, chimes wefted into tapestries of tinkling, tones scattered on all sides— the metal-and-crystal language of Elemesnedene.

Linden could not take it all in: it dazzled her senses, left her gasping. When the silver sapling near her poured itself into human form and became Chant, she recoiled. She could hardly grasp the truth of what she saw.

These—?

Oh my God.

As if in confirmation, a tumble of starlings swept to the ground and transformed themselves into Daphin.

Then Covenant's voice breathed softly behind her, “Hellfire and bloody damnation,” and she became aware of her companions.

Turning, she saw them all—the Giants, the Haruchai, even Vain. But of the way they had come there was no sign. The fountainhead of the Callowwail, the mound of travertine, even the maidan did not exist in this place. The company stood on a low knoll surrounded by astonishments.

For a moment, she remained dumbfounded. But then Covenant clutched her forearm with his half-hand, clung to her. “What—?” he groped to ask, not looking at her. His grip gave her an anchor on which to steady herself.

“The Elohim,” she answered. “They're the Elohim.”

Honninscrave nodded as if he were speechless with memory and hope.

Pitchwife was laughing soundlessly. His eyes feasted on Elemesnedene. But the First's mien was grim—tensely aware that the company had no line of retreat and could not afford to give any offense. And Seadreamer's orbs above the old scar were smudged with contradictions, as if his Giantish accessibility to exaltation were in conflict with the Earth-Sight.

“Be welcome in our clachan,'” said Chant. He took pleasure in the amazement of the company. “Set all care aside. You have no need of it here. However urgent your purpose, Elemesnedene is not a place which any mortal may regret to behold.”

“Nor will we regret it,” the First replied carefully. “We are Giants and know the value of wonder. Yet our urgency is a burden we dare not shirk. May we speak of the need which has brought us among you?”

A slight frown creased Chant's forehead. "Your haste gives scant worth to our welcome. We are not Giants or other children, to be so questioned in what we do.

“Also,” he went on, fixing Linden with his jacinth-eyes, “none are admitted to the Elohimfest, in which counsel and gifts are bespoken and considered, until they have submitted themselves to our examination. We behold the truth in you. But the spirit in which you bear that truth must be laid bare. Will you accept to be examined?”

Examined? Linden queried herself. She did not know how to meet the demand of Chant's gaze. Uncertainly, she turned to Honninscrave.

He answered her mute question with a smile. “It is as I have remembered it. There is no need of fear.”

Covenant started to speak, then stopped. The hunching of his shoulders said plainly that he could think of reasons to fear any examination.

“The Giant remembers truly.” Daphin's voice was irenic and reassuring. “It is said among us that the heart cherishes secrets not worth the telling. We intend no intrusion. We desire only to have private speech with you, so that in the rise and fall of your words we may judge the spirit within you. Come.” Smiling like a sunrise, she stepped forward, took Linden's arm. “Will you not accompany me?”

When Linden hesitated, the Elohim added, “Have no concern for your comrades. In your name they are as safe among us as their separate needs permit.”

Events were moving too quickly. Linden did not know how to respond. She could not absorb all the sights and enhancements around her, could barely hold back the bells so that they did not deafen her mind. She was not prepared for such decisions.

But she had spent her life learning to make choices and face the consequences. And her experiences in the Land had retaught her the importance of movement. Keep going. Take things as they come. Find out what happens. Abruptly, she acquiesced to Daphin's slight pressure on her arm. “I'll come. You can ask me anything you want.”

“Ah, Sun-Sage,” the Elohim rejoined with a light laugh, “I will ask you nothing. You will ask me.”

Nothing? Linden did not understand. And Covenant's glare burned against the back of her neck as if she were participating in the way the Elohim demeaned him. He had travelled an arduous road to his power and did not deserve such treatment. But she would not retreat. She had risked his life for Mistweave's. Now she risked his pride, though the angry confusion he emitted hurt her. Accepting Daphin's touch, she started away down the knoll.

At the same time, other shapes in the area resolved themselves into human form—more Elohim coming to examine the rest of the company. Though she was now braced for the sight, she was still dazed to see trees, fountains, dancing aggregations of gems melt so unexpectedly into more familiar beings. As Cail placed himself protectively at her side opposite Daphin, she found a keen comfort in his presence. He was as reliable as stone. Amid the wild modulations of the clachan, she needed his stability.

They had not reached the bottom of the slope when Chant said sharply, “No.”

At once, Daphin stopped. Deftly, she turned Linden to face the company.

Chant was looking at Linden. His gaze had the biting force of an augur. “Sun-Sage.” He sounded distant through the warning clatter of the bells. “You must accompany Daphin alone. Each of your companions must be examined alone.”

Alone? she protested. It was too much. How could such a stricture include Cail? He was one of the Haruchai. And she needed him. The sudden acuity of her need for him took her by surprise. She was already so alone—

She gathered herself to remonstrate. But Cail preceded her. “The Chosen is in my care,” he said in a voice as flat as a wall. “I will accompany her.”

His intransigence drew Chant's attention. The Elohim's easy elegance tightened toward hauteur. “No,” he repeated. “I care nothing for such care. It is not binding here. Like the Sun-Sage, you will go alone to be examined.”

Covenant moved. The First made a warding gesture, urging forbearance. He ignored her. Softly, he grated, “Or else?”

“Or else,” Chant mimicked in subtle mockery, “he will be banished to the place of shades, from whence none return.”

“By hell!” Covenant rasped. “Over my dead—”

Before he could finish, the four Haruchai burst into motion. On the spur of a shared impulse, they hurled themselves forward in attack. Brinn launched a flying kick at Chant's chest. Ceer and Hergrom threw body-blocks toward other Elohim. Cail slashed at Daphin's legs, aiming to cut her feet from under her.

None of their blows had any effect.

Chant misted as Brinn struck. The Haruchai plunged straight through him, touching nothing. Then Chant became a tangle of vines that caught and immobilized Brinn. Daphin sprouted wings and rose lightly above Cail's blow. Before he could recover, she poured down on him like viscid spilth, clogging his movements until he was paralyzed. And the Elohim assailed by Ceer and Hergrom slumped effortlessly into quicksand, snaring them at once.

The Giants watched. Honninscrave stared in dismay, unready for the violence which boiled so easily past the smooth surface of Elemesnedene. Seadreamer tried to charge to the aid of the Haruchai; but the First and Pitchwife held him back.

“No” Among the Giants, Covenant stood like imminent fire, facing the Elohim with wild magic poised in every muscle. His passion dominated the knoll. In a low voice, as dangerous as a viper, he articulated, “You can discount me. That's been done before. But the Haruchai are my friends. You will not harm them.”

“That choice is not yours to make!” Chant retorted. But now it was he who sounded petulant and diminished.

Chant.“ Daphin's voice came quietly from the sludge imprisoning Cail. ”Bethink you. It is enough. No further purpose is served."

For a moment, Chant did not respond. But the bells took on a coercive note; and abruptly he shrugged himself back into human shape. At the same time, Daphin flowed away from Cail, and the other two Elohim arose from the quicksand as men. The Haruchai were free.

“Sun-Sage,” said Chant, nailing Linden with his gaze, “these beings stand under the shelter of your name. They will suffer no harm. But this offense surpasses all endurance. Elemesnedene will not permit it. What is your will?”

Linden almost choked on the raw edges of the retort she wished to make. She wanted words which would scathe Chant, shame all the Elohim. She needed Cail with her. And the extravagance of his outrage was vivid behind the flatness of his face. The service of the Haruchai deserved more respect than this. But she clung to forbearance. The company had too much to lose. None of them could afford an open break with the Elohim. In spite of the secret perils of the clachan, she made her decision.

“Put them back on the maidan. Near the fountain. Let them wait for us. Safely.”

Covenant's visage flamed protest at her, then fell into a grimace of resignation. But it made no difference. Chant had already nodded.

At once, the four Haruchai began to float away from the knoll. They were not moving themselves. The ground under their feet swept them backward, as if they were receding along a tide. And as they went, they faded like vapour.

But before they were dispelled, Linden caught one piercing glance from Cail—a look of reproach as if he had been betrayed. His voice lingered in her after he was gone.

“We do not trust these Elohim”

Chant snorted. “Let him speak of trust when he has become less a fool. These matters are too high for him, and so he thinks in his arrogance to scorn them. He must count himself fortunate that he has not paid the price of our displeasure.”

“Your displeasure!” Linden controlled herself with difficulty. “You're just looking for excuses to be displeased.” Cail's last look panged her deeply. And the magnitude of what she had just done made her tremble. "We came here in good faith. And the Haruchai are good faith. They don't deserve to be dismissed. I'll be lucky if they ever forgive me. They're never going to forgive you,"

The First made a cautioning gesture. But when Linden looked stiffly in that direction, she saw a grim satisfaction in the First's eyes. Honninscrave appeared distressed; but Seadreamer was nodding, and Covenant's features were keen with indignation and approval.

“Your pardon.” In an instant, Chant donned an urbane calm like a second mantle. “My welcoming has been unseemly. Though you know it not, my intent has been to serve the purpose which impels you. Let me make amends. Ring-wielder, will you accompany me?”

The invitation startled Covenant. But then he gritted, “Try to stop me.”

Riding the effect of his approval, Linden turned to Daphin. “I'm ready when you are.”

Daphin's countenance betrayed neither conflict nor disdain. “You are gracious. I am pleased.” Taking Linden's arm once again, she led her away from the company.

When Linden glanced backward, she saw that all her companions were moving in different directions, each accompanied by an Elohim. A dim sense of incompleteness, of something missing, afflicted her momentarily; but she attributed it to the absence of the Haruchai and let Daphin guide her away among the wonders of Elemesnedene.

But she detached her arm from the Elohim's touch. She did not want Daphin to feel her reactions. For all its amazements, the clachan suddenly seemed a cold and joyless place, where beings of inbred life and convoluted intent mimed an exuberance they were unable to share.

And yet on every hand Elemesnedene contradicted her. Sportive and gratuitous incarnations were everywhere as far as she could see—pools casting rainbows of iridescent fish; mists composed of a myriad ice crystals; flowers whose every leaf and petal burned like a cruse. And each of them was an Elohim, enacting transformations for reasons which eluded her. The whole of the clachan appeared to be one luxurious entertainment.

But who was meant to be entertained by it? Daphin moved as if she were bemused by her own thoughts, unaware of what transpired around her. And each performance appeared hermetic and self-complete. In no discernible way did they co-operate with or observe each other. Was this entire display performed for no other reason than the simple joy of wonder and play?

Her inability to answer such questions disturbed Linden. Like the language of the bells, the Elohim surpassed her. She had been learning to rely on. the Land-born penetration of her senses; but here that ability did not suffice. When she looked at a fountain of feathers or a glode of ophite, she only knew that it was one of the Elohim because she had already witnessed similar incarnations. She could not see a sentient being in the gavotte of butterflies or the budding of liquid saplings, just as she had not seen Chant and Daphin in the earth near her feet. And she could not pierce Daphin's blank beauty to whatever lay within. The spirit of what she saw and heard was beyond her reach. All she could descry clearly was power—an essential puissance that seemed to transcend every structure or law of existence. Whatever the Elohim were, they were too much for her.

Then she began to wonder if that were the purpose of her examination—to learn how much of the truth she could discern, how much she was worthy of the role the Elohim had seen in her. If so, the test was one she had already failed.

But she refused to be daunted. Covenant would not have surrendered his resolve. She could see him limned in danger and old refusal, prepared to battle doom itself in order to wrest out survival for the Land he loved. Very well. She would do no less.

Girding herself in severity, she turned her mind to her examination.

Daphin had said, I will ask you nothing. You will ask me. That made more sense to her now. She might reveal much in her questions. But she accepted the risk and looked for ways to gain information while exposing as little as possible.

She took a moment to formulate her words clearly against the incessant background of the bells, then asked in her flat professional voice, “Where are we going?”

“Going?” replied Daphin lightly. “We are not 'going' at all. We merely walk.” When Linden stared at her, she continued, “This is Elemesnedene itself. Here there is no other 'where' to which we might go.”

Deliberately, Linden exaggerated her surface incomprehension. "There has to be. We're moving. My friends are somewhere else. How will we get back to them? How will we find that Elohimfest Chant mentioned?"

“Ah, Sun-Sage,” Daphin chuckled. Her laugh sounded like a moonrise in this place which had neither moon nor sun. “In Elemesnedene all ways are one. We will meet with your companions when that meeting has ripened. And there will be no need to seek the place of the Elohimfest. It will be held at the defense, and in Elemesnedene all places are the defense. We walk from the defense to the defense, and where we now walk is also the defense.”

Is that what happened to those Giants who decided to stay here? Linden barely stopped herself from speaking aloud. Did they just start walking and never find each other again until they died?

But she kept the thought to herself. It revealed too much of her apprehension and distrust. Instead, she chose an entirely different reaction. In a level tone, as if she were simply reporting symptoms, she said, “Well, I've been walking all day, and I'm tired. I need some rest.”

This was not true. Though she had not eaten or rested since the quest had left Starfare's Gem, she felt as fresh as if she had just arisen from a good sleep and a satisfying meal. Somehow, the atmosphere of the clachan met all her physical needs. She made her assertion simply to see how Daphin would respond.

The Elohim appeared to perceive the lie; yet she delicately refrained from challenging it. “There is no weariness in Elemesnedene,''' she said, ”and walking is pleasant. Yet it is also pleasant to sit or to recline. Here is a soothing place." She indicated the slope of a low grassy hill nearby. On the hillcrest stood a large willow leaved entirely in butterfly-wings; and at the foot of the slope lay a still vlei with colors floating across its surface like a lacustrine portrait of the clachan itself. Daphin moved onto the hillside and sat down, disposing her cymar gracefully about her.

Linden followed. When she had found a comfortable position upon the lush grass, she framed her next question.

Pointing toward the vlei, she asked, “Is that a man or a woman?” Her words sounded crude beside Daphin's beauty; but she made no attempt to soften them. She did not like exposing her impercipience; but she guessed that her past actions had already made the Elohim aware of this limitation.

“Morninglight?” replied Daphin, gazing at the color-swept water. “You would name him a man.”

“What's he doing?”

Daphin returned her apple-green eyes to Linden. “Sun-Sage, what question is this? Are we not in Elemesnedene ? In the sense of your word, there is no 'doing' here. This is not an act with a purpose such as you name purpose. Morninglight performs self-contemplation. He enacts the truth of his being as he beholds it, and thus he explores that truth, beholding and enacting new truth. We are the Elohim. For certain visions we look elsewhere. The 'doing' of which you speak is more easily read on the surface of the Earth than in its heart. But all truths are within us, and for these truths we seek into ourselves.”

“Then,” Linden asked, reacting to a curious detachment in Daphin's tone, “you don't watch him? You don't pay attention to each other? This”—she indicated Morninglight's water-show—“isn't intended to communicate something?”

The question seemed to give Daphin a gentle surprise. “What is the need? I also am the heart of the Earth, as he is. Wherefore should I desire his truth, when I may freely seek my own?”

This answer appeared consistent to Linden; and yet its self-sufficiency baffled her. How could any being be so complete? Daphin sat there in her loveliness and her inward repose, as if she had never asked herself a question for which she did not already know the answer. Her personal radiance shone like hints of sunlight, and when she spoke her voice was full of moonbeams. Linden did not trust her. But now she comprehended the wonder and excitement, the awe bordering on adoration, which Honninscrave had learned to feel toward these people.

Still she could not shake off her tremorous inner disquiet. The bells would not leave her alone. They came so close to meaning, but she could not decipher their message. Her nerves tightened involuntarily.

“That's not what Chant thinks. He thinks his truth is the only one there is.”

Daphin's limpid gaze did not waver. “Perhaps that is true. Where is the harm? He is but one Elohim among many. And yet,” she went on after a moment's consideration, "he was not always so. He has found within himself a place of shadow which he must explore. All who live contain some darkness, and much lies hidden there. Surely it is perilous, as any shadow which encroaches upon the light is perilous. But in us it has not been a matter of exigency—for are we not equal to all things? Yet for Chant that shadow has become exigent. Risking much, as he does, he grows impatient with those who have not yet beheld or entered the shadows cast by their own truths. And others tread this path with him.

“Sun-Sage.” Now a new intentness shone from Daphin—the light of a clear desire. "This you must comprehend. We are the Elohim, the heart of the Earth. We stand at the defense of all that lives and moves and is. We live in peace because there are none who can do us hurt, and if it were our choice to sit within Elemesnedene and watch the Earth age until the end of Time, there would be none to gainsay us. No other being or need may judge us, just as the hand may not judge the heart which gives it life.

"But because we are the heart, we do not shirk the burden of the truth within us. We have said that our vision foreknew the coming of Sun-Sage and ring-wielder. It is cause for concern that they are separate. There is great need that Sun-Sage and ring-wielder should be one. Nevertheless the coming itself was known. In the mountains which cradle our clachan, we see the peril of this Sunbane which requires you to your quest. And in the trees of Woodenwold we have read your arrival.

"Yet had such knowing comprised the limit of our knowledge, you would have been welcomed here merely as other visitors are welcomed, in simple kindness and curiosity. But our knowledge is not so small. We have found within ourselves this shadow upon the heart of the Earth, and it has altered our thoughts. It has taught us to conceive of the Sunbane in new ways—and to reply to the Earth's peril in a manner other than our wont.

“You have doubted us. And your doubt will remain. Perhaps it will grow until it resembles loathing. Yet I say to you, Sun-Sage, that you judge us falsely. That you should presume to judge us at all is incondign and displeasing. We are the heart of the Earth and not to be judged.”

Daphin spoke strongly; but she did not appear vexed. Rather, she asked for understanding in the way a parent might ask a child for good behaviour. Her tone abashed Linden. But she also rebelled. Daphin was asking her to give up her responsibility for discernment and action; and she would not. That responsibility was her reason for being here, and she had earned it.

Then the bells seemed to rise up in her like the disapproval of Elemesnedene. “What are you?” she inquired in a constrained voice. “The heart of the Earth. The defense. The truth. What does all that mean?”

“Sun-Sage,” replied Daphin, “we are the Wurd of the Earth.”

She spoke clearly, but her tone was confusing. Her Wurd sounded like Wyrd or Word.

Wyrd? Linden thought. Destiny— doom? Or Word?

Or both.

Into the silence, Daphin placed her story. It was an account of the creation of the Earth; and Linden soon realised that it was the same tale Pitchwife had told her during the calling of the Nicor. Yet it contained one baffling difference. Daphin did not speak of a Worm. Rather, she used that blurred sound, Wurd, which seemed to signify both Wyrd and Word.

This Wurd had awakened at the dawning of the eon and begun to consume the stars as if it intended to devour the cosmos whole. After a time, it had grown satiated and had curled around itself to rest, thus forming the Earth. And thus the Earth would remain until the Wurd roused to resume its feeding.

It was precisely the same story Pitchwife had told. Had the Giants who had first brought that tale out of Elemesnedene misheard it? Or had the Elohim pronounced it differently to other visitors?

As if in answer, Daphin concluded, “Sun-Sage, we are the Wurd—the direct offspring of the creation of the Earth. From it we arose, and in it we have our being. Thus we are the heart, and the defense, and the truth, and therefore we are what we are. We are all answers, just as we are every question. For that reason, you must not judge the reply which we will give to your need.”

Linden hardly heard the Elohim. Her mind was awhirl with implications. Intuitions rang against the limits of her understanding like the clamour of bells. We are the Wurd. Morning—light swirling with color like a portrait of the clachan in metaphor. A willow leaved in butterflies. Self-contemplation.

Power.