The Runes of the Earth: The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant - Book One (50 page)

Linden shook her head. “It's not your fault. You couldn't have known. And I'm not badly hurt.” No doubt Hami could see as much. “But I'm very tired. Can we get this over with?” She meant the challenges. “I want us to start trusting each other.”

Hami bowed an acknowledgment. “As do we.

“Come.” Respectfully the Manethrall touched Linden's arm. “The Cords have completed their preparations. Let us eat together, that we may be sustained for the telling of tales.”

When Linden nodded, Hami guided her to a circle of seats in the center of the clearing. There the Manethrall gathered eight or ten of her older Cords, and they all sat down with Linden. At the same time, Liand was taken to another circle nearby, and Stave to a third. As with Linden, one Manethrall and several Cords joined them. Soon each ring was occupied by a Manethrall and his or her Cords.

Within each circle, a fire had been set to illumine the meal. The younger Ramen stood around the rim of the clearing, holding small trenchers of food and bulging waterskins, waiting for some signal to serve the food.

Once everyone in the circles had seated themselves, the Manethralls stood together. In unison, they turned to the northeast, holding their heads high. From a circle near Linden, an older man with grey-streaked hair and a fretwork of scars on his arms raised a voice like an old whinny.

“We are the Ramen,” he called softly to the deepening twilight, “long-exiled from
our ancient home in the Land. For a hundred generations and more have we sojourned without place or welcome, carrying our dispossession upon our backs as nomads, wanderers, and telling to no one but ourselves the long tale of who we are.

“Yet have we kept faith with the past. Still we tell the tale of ourselves, and tell it again, precisely as it was told to us generation after generation, so that we will forget nothing, fail nothing, and our great purpose will never waver.”

The Cords bowed their heads as the older man spoke. But his fellow Manethralls stood tall in the clearing, and reflections of firelight glistened in their eyes.

“We are the Ramen, bereft and redeemed by service, and we will see our home again. This time we have not been promised an end to exile, as we were when High Lord Kevin Landwaster warned us from the Land. Yet we keep faith. Though the Earth may crack, and the Heavens fall, and all the peoples of the world be betrayed, we will hold fast to the tale of who we are. In the end, when our exile has run its course, we will return to the Plains of Ra.

“So our tale was told to our sires and dams, and to theirs, and to theirs again, for a hundred generations and more to the Ramen who first began our wandering. So it will be told to our children, and to theirs, and to theirs again, until the Ramen have been restored to the Land which is theirs.”

Then the gathered Manethralls sang together, raising their voices as one against the dark.

“We roam the world, lost, and learn

We have no place but home.

While time wears out its ceaseless grind

We wander still, the rind

And pulp and juice of our return

Forever unconsumed.

 

“For hope we have not rock but loam

Eroded by our sons

And daughters. Generations pass

And leave us as the grass,

Or as the froth on waves, the foam,

The rede of years unlearned.

 

“To eastward we have sought the sun's

Acceptance. But the seas

We find too restive to give rest.

To southward lie the best

Of lands and hills. Yet endless runs

Still leave us unfulfilled.

 

“And in the west lie bitter leas

And forage that will burn

The throat of each last roaming heart.

Their folk despise our part

In wandering. Nor can we seize

A dwelling undenied.

 

“Thus we return, and still return

While years and ages end.

We cannot let our yearning sleep,

And so we roam, and keep

Our hearts alive, for we must earn

Our dream of home fulfilled.”

In response, the Cords raised their palms before their faces, still holding their heads bowed.

When they looked up again, the Manethralls had seated themselves once more. Then some of the younger Cords hurried forward with their trenchers, carrying food and drink to the circles, while others brought waterskins so that the sitting Ramen and their guests could wash their hands.

Linden rubbed the grime of hard traveling from her hands gratefully, and splashed a bit of water on her face to cool her burned skin; but she did not drop her guard.
You're in trouble
—Here food and even stories were a prelude to threats.

If you do not answer our challenges, all of the Ramen will stand against you.

She did not doubt that she was in serious trouble, in spite of the sincerity of her hosts.

A boy younger than Jeremiah knelt beside her to place a trencher on the ground in front of her. “I am Sahah's brother,” he murmured softly so that only she would hear. “My name is Char.” Then he was gone before Linden could look at his face.

Frowning uncertainly, disturbed without knowing why, she considered her platter.

It held stew, steaming and savory, cupped in a bowl of glutinous white mush which might have been cereal or potatoes, but which smelled like neither. Instead it had a loamy scent that suggested it had been made by boiling and pounding some form of tuber. Glancing at the nearby Cords, she saw that they ate by taking a bit of the mush, shaping it with their fingers, and then using it to scoop stew into their mouths.

She may have been hungrier than she realized.

When she leaned toward one of her neighbors, thinking to ask him what the mush was called, what the stew was made of, she found another Ramen kneeling beside her: the young woman who had guided her to Anele.

The woman's black hair hung past the edges of her face, hiding her features. Apparently she still felt shy in Linden's presence. As Linden looked at her, she whispered, “My sire is brother to Sahah's dam. My name is Pahni.”

Surprised, Linden glared at her involuntarily.

Hurrying in apparent embarrassment, Pahni breathed, “The stew is hare and wild eland and shallots spiced with rosemary and the leaves of
aliantha
dried and ground fine. The
rhee
”—she indicated the mush—“is boiled from the roots of the grass of this valley. It has little virtue alone, but eaten with meat and shallots it is a sustaining food.”

As soon as she finished speaking, she withdrew.

First Sahah's brother: then her cousin. What was going on?

Linden turned her head and found three Cords standing directly behind her: Pahni, Char, and a man who looked old enough to be a Manethrall. When Linden met his gaze, he also knelt to introduce himself.

“Like Char,” he said, smiling awkwardly, “I am Sahah's brother. We are children of the same dam, though we do not share sires. My name is Bhapa.”

Linden stared at them dumbly. She could not think of any polite way to ask, What the hell is going on? What are the three of you doing?

Did they consider themselves responsible for her because she had tried to help Sahah? Or was it the other way around? Had she somehow become responsible for them?

However, they seemed to expect nothing from her. When he had given her his name, Bhapa rose to his feet. With Char and Pahni, he simply stood behind Linden as though the three of them had been asked to guard her back, and had no other interest in her.

Troubled for reasons which she could not name, Linden turned back to her food.

As an experiment, she tasted a bit of the
rhee
by itself. In spite of its smell, it had virtually no flavor. But when she combined it with the stew, she found that it added a taste like spelt bread to the spiced meat and shallots.

She was definitely hungrier than she had realized.

At intervals while she ate, Char or Bhapa or Pahni offered her a drink from a waterskin. She thanked them impersonally, trying not to think about the possible implications of their service. Whatever else may have been true about them, the Ramen clearly valued kinship.

Finally the meal was over. When the younger Cords had passed around more water for the washing of hands, they cleared away the trenchers and waterskins. The other Ramen remained seated, however, now obviously waiting.

Hami gave Linden a long, probing look. Then the Manethrall rose lightly to her feet and moved into the center of the circle so that she stood near the small fire.

As she did so, the Ramen in the clearing turned their seats so that the whole gathering faced her together.

To Linden, Hami announced, “It is not the way of the Ramen to give trust where trust has not first been offered. At another time, we would not speak of ourselves until you had described to us your past and purposes.”

Then she raised her voice and her eyes so that she addressed her assembled people. “But she is Linden Avery, called the Chosen by the sleepless ones. And she is the Ringthane. The presence of her white ring is plain to all who behold her. And with my Cords, I have witnessed her argent flame.

“The name of the Ringthane we remember with reverence. Seeing that the Ranyhyn both honored and feared him, Covenant Ringthane refused their service. He rode no Ranyhyn into peril and death. Instead he hazarded only himself against the Render. Therefore he is honored among us. Though our lives are as brief as grass upon the Earth, our memories are long, for we have told the tale until it cannot be forgotten.”

Manethrall Hami held her head up to the valley and the dark mountains. “And there is more. With her companions, Linden Avery Ringthane came among us hunted by
kresh.
She has befriended the mad old man whose plight has long touched our hearts. She consumes
aliantha
with respect and gladness. And she retrieved Sahah of my Cords from death when Sahah's wounds had surpassed our skills.

“For these reasons, I will speak first, in gratitude and acknowledgment.”

Around the clearing, Manethralls and Cords nodded their acquiescence. And Linden nodded as well, although she had not been asked for her assent. She was simply glad that she would not be required to account for herself before she knew what was at stake.

“I will speak briefly, however,” Hami promised, “as our lives are brief, for the matters which must be resolved here are urgent and compelling.

“This place we name the Verge of Wandering.” Her words may have been meant for Linden, but she gave them to the whole assembly. “It is here that the Ramen first gathered when the Sunbane had driven us from the Plains of Ra. Here we considered how we might fulfill the meaning of our lives in exile.”

Hami paused to drop a faggot or two onto the campfire so that its flames rose higher. As she continued, her voice became bleak, almost desolate, devoid of the nickering inflections which occasionally enlivened it.

“Twice before, we had fled the Land, but now there were no Lords to promise us an ending. As we withdrew to this place, we prayed that one day the Sunbane would be quenched—that the Ringthane or another like him would arise to again cast down the Render—but our hopes did not console us. We could see no outcome to the Sunbane except extinction.”

Now her desolation was unmistakable. Recalled loss ached in her words.

“Our memories were long then, as they are now. Here we told the tale of ourselves, and found that the toll of bloodshed had become greater than we could countenance. The Render had exacted too much death. His slaying of the Ranyhyn must cease.

“Therefore we determined that we would never again subject the meaning of our lives to Fangthane's ravage.”

The Manethrall sighed. “Yet we had no power against him, no means by which we might end his malice. We could not impose the relief we craved.” The muscles at the corners of her jaw bunched with remembered resolve. “For that reason, we swore then, as each generation has sworn anew, that we would not return to the Plains of Ra until the Land's foe had met his last doom, and would nevermore arise to shed the blood of Ranyhyn.”

Linden listened with growing discomfort. The Ramen were as draconian as the
Haruchai,
as absolute in their judgments. Both people rejected the reality of Lord Foul's malevolence and the Land's vulnerability. Where the Masters sought to alter that reality, however, the Ramen had simply turned their backs on it.

Compared to the stance which the
Haruchai
had chosen, that of the Ramen was more human; certainly less ambitious. Nevertheless it disturbed Linden profoundly. The Land would never be saved by people who believed and judged as the Ramen did.

She feared suddenly that her need for help had misled her; that the Ramen were not the allies she required. Even the intransigence of the Masters might be of more use to her.