he went on downward.
He marked his progress in the intensifying weight of the rain. The fine cold sting of spray against his sore face became a pelting of heavy drops like a shower of pebbles. Soon he was drenched and battered. Lightning and thunder shouted across him, articulating savagery. But the promise of the ledge drew him on.
At last, his feet found it. Thrusting away from the spire, he pressed his back to the wall of the cliff, gaping upward.
A flail of blue-white fire rendered Linden out of the darkness. She was just above the level of his head.
When she reached the ledge, he caught her so that she would not stumble over the precipice. She gripped him urgently. “Covenant!” The wind ripped her shout away; he could barely hear her. “Are you all right?”
He put his mouth to her ear. “Stay against the cliff! We’ve got to find shelter!”
She nodded sharply.
Clenching her right hand in his left, he turned his back on the fall and began to shuttle west along the ledge.
Lightning burned overhead, to give him a glimpse of his situation. The ledge was two or three feet wide and ran roughly level across the cliff face. From its edge, the mountain disappeared into the abyss of the clouds.
Thunder hammered at him like the voice of his vertigo, commanding him to lose his balance. Wind and rain as shrill as chaos lashed his back. But Linden’s hand anchored him. He squeezed himself like yearning against the cliff and crept slowly forward.
At every lightning blast, he peered ahead through the rain, trying to see the end of the ledge.
There: a vertical line like a scar in the cliff face.
He reached it, pulled Linden past the corner, up a slope of mud and scree which gushed water as if it were a stream bed. At once, the wind became a constricted yowl. The next blue glare revealed that they had entered a narrow ravine sluicing upward through the mountainside. Water frothed like rapids past the boulders which cramped the floor of the ravine.
He struggled ahead until he and Linden were above a boulder that appeared large enough to be secure. There he halted and sat down in the current with his back braced on the wall. She joined him. Water flooded over their legs; rain blinded their faces. He did not care. He had to rest.
After a few moments, she shifted, put her face to his ear. “Now what?”
Now what? He did not know. Exhaustion numbed his mind. But she was right; they could not remain where they were. He mustered a wan shout. “There’s a path somewhere!”
“You don’t know the way? You said you’ve been here before!”
“Ten years ago!” And he had been unconscious the second time; Saltheart Foamfollower had carried him.
Lightning lit her face for an instant. Her visage was smeared with rain. “What are we going to do?”
The thought of Foamfollower, the Giant who had been his friend, gave him what he needed. “Try!” Bracing himself on her shoulder, he lurched to his feet. She seemed to support his weight easily. “Maybe I’ll remember!”
She stood up beside him, leaned close to yell, “I don’t like this storm! It doesn’t feel right!”
Doesn’t feel—? He blinked at her. For a moment, he did not understand. To him, it was just a storm, natural violence like any other. But then he caught her meaning. To her, the storm felt
un
natural. It offended some instinctive sensitivity in her.
Already she was ahead of him; her senses were growing attuned to the Land, while his remained flat and dull, blind to the spirit of what he perceived. Ten years ago, he had been able to do what she had just done: identify the rightness or wrongness, the health or corruption, of physical things and processes, of wind, rain, stone, wood, flesh. But now he could feel nothing except the storm’s vehemence, as if such force had no meaning, no implications. No soul.
He muttered tired curses at himself. Were his senses merely slow in making the adjustment? Or had he lost the ability to be in harmony
He marked his progress in the intensifying weight of the rain. The fine cold sting of spray against his sore face became a pelting of heavy drops like a shower of pebbles. Soon he was drenched and battered. Lightning and thunder shouted across him, articulating savagery. But the promise of the ledge drew him on.
At last, his feet found it. Thrusting away from the spire, he pressed his back to the wall of the cliff, gaping upward.
A flail of blue-white fire rendered Linden out of the darkness. She was just above the level of his head.
When she reached the ledge, he caught her so that she would not stumble over the precipice. She gripped him urgently. “Covenant!” The wind ripped her shout away; he could barely hear her. “Are you all right?”
He put his mouth to her ear. “Stay against the cliff! We’ve got to find shelter!”
She nodded sharply.
Clenching her right hand in his left, he turned his back on the fall and began to shuttle west along the ledge.
Lightning burned overhead, to give him a glimpse of his situation. The ledge was two or three feet wide and ran roughly level across the cliff face. From its edge, the mountain disappeared into the abyss of the clouds.
Thunder hammered at him like the voice of his vertigo, commanding him to lose his balance. Wind and rain as shrill as chaos lashed his back. But Linden’s hand anchored him. He squeezed himself like yearning against the cliff and crept slowly forward.
At every lightning blast, he peered ahead through the rain, trying to see the end of the ledge.
There: a vertical line like a scar in the cliff face.
He reached it, pulled Linden past the corner, up a slope of mud and scree which gushed water as if it were a stream bed. At once, the wind became a constricted yowl. The next blue glare revealed that they had entered a narrow ravine sluicing upward through the mountainside. Water frothed like rapids past the boulders which cramped the floor of the ravine.
He struggled ahead until he and Linden were above a boulder that appeared large enough to be secure. There he halted and sat down in the current with his back braced on the wall. She joined him. Water flooded over their legs; rain blinded their faces. He did not care. He had to rest.
After a few moments, she shifted, put her face to his ear. “Now what?”
Now what? He did not know. Exhaustion numbed his mind. But she was right; they could not remain where they were. He mustered a wan shout. “There’s a path somewhere!”
“You don’t know the way? You said you’ve been here before!”
“Ten years ago!” And he had been unconscious the second time; Saltheart Foamfollower had carried him.
Lightning lit her face for an instant. Her visage was smeared with rain. “What are we going to do?”
The thought of Foamfollower, the Giant who had been his friend, gave him what he needed. “Try!” Bracing himself on her shoulder, he lurched to his feet. She seemed to support his weight easily. “Maybe I’ll remember!”
She stood up beside him, leaned close to yell, “I don’t like this storm! It doesn’t feel right!”
Doesn’t feel—? He blinked at her. For a moment, he did not understand. To him, it was just a storm, natural violence like any other. But then he caught her meaning. To her, the storm felt
un
natural. It offended some instinctive sensitivity in her.
Already she was ahead of him; her senses were growing attuned to the Land, while his remained flat and dull, blind to the spirit of what he perceived. Ten years ago, he had been able to do what she had just done: identify the rightness or wrongness, the health or corruption, of physical things and processes, of wind, rain, stone, wood, flesh. But now he could feel nothing except the storm’s vehemence, as if such force had no meaning, no implications. No soul.
He muttered tired curses at himself. Were his senses merely slow in making the adjustment? Or had he lost the ability to be in harmony
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