"It cannot now be set aside, nor passed on" Part 1
Posted: Fri Jun 23, 2006 4:47 pm
Submitted for your reading pleasure, comments, critiques and discussions.
Disclaimer: This is a work of Fan Fiction based on the world created by Stephen R Donalsdon in the Thomas Covenant Series. The copyrights are held by him and others. This work is not for wide distribution, and was written for the pleasure of the Author and members of Kevin's Watch.
This story deals with the final part of Koriks mission. The ultimate failure of the mission to seareach has always haunted me, and it has struck me that the mission's fate had been sealed before First mark Morin gave it to Korik. They never had a chance.
"It cannot now be set aside, nor passed on", Part 1.
1.
It was on the third day after their departure from coercri when, trapped between the unremitting malice of the swamp lurker and the cold fact of the seashore, Korik bloodguard and the remainder of the mission encountered the first giant corpse.
The three had staggered out of the swamp and collapsed on a thin rise of coarse sand, oblivious to the rude effigy nailed to the tree on the dune above them. Accustomed to haleness surpassed only by the ranyhyn, the three had been ill used by the odyssey through the swamp and were exhausted. For three days, they had been driven through fetid mud pits; lashed and harassed by giant tentacles that arose from the mire at odd points; had skirted and dodged waves of acidic skesh, and still other horrors. The remainder of Hoerkin's First Eoward had been found, dismembered and staked to trees or frozen limbs and garments embedded in rank pits of mud and ire. Once, Doar had been pulled down into the mud by a grasping whip, and barely recovered; Sill’s ankle was acid-burned and bruised, and even Korik’s gait betrayed some injury to his hip. The three now required rest and the succor of aliantha as they had not since the Vow had taken them.
Korik arose first; waving off Doar's offer of a few small treasure-berries; he stood and approached the dune top. Sill ate his share of the treasure-berries and glared at Korik’s back as he climbed. Korik stopped and regarded the tree, Sill followed his gaze. They saw the corpse at the same moment. Sill touched Doar’s shoulder and indicated the gross form.
Flyblown and headless, it sat cross-legged among the salt-scoured roots of an elder-tree. The corpse’s body was pinned upright against the wizened trunk by a wooden stake, the end bludgeoned by the force that had driven it through the breastbone and into the living wood behind. The left arm was raised, pinned to the trunk by a smaller stake hammered through the open palm. The three smaller fingers had been ripped off, the lone digit lazily marking some far point down the beach. The right arm lay prone in the lap, the open palm supporting the chin of the severed head which glared soullessly back at the haruchai.
Korik studied the corpse briefly, and was soon joined by the other two. He didn’t want their nearness, needed to be alone and brace himself against the ill tide that had been rising since he took up his doom. How he had raged at Sparlimb at their loss of hope, their calm acquiescence, yet now he faced the same battle within, and was giving ground.
His face a mask, he left them, walking wide around the intaglioed roots of the tree to the top of the shallow dune, and looked southward in the direction indicated by the corpse. That way, leagues of dune-top separated rancid swamp from pallid sea; forty leagues beyond, the swamp gave way to ruined plains, then twenty more leagues over laval fields to Gorak Krembal, now named Hotash Slay, which warded Foul’s Crèche on the sea. Sixty leagues further, then, thought Korik. He wondered if his soul could be warded against the ill tied into his tunic for three more days. Overhead, a raven circled erratically, cawing some fading note that partially reached their ears. To Korik, it sounded like Oath-breaker. Vow-Defiler.
Doar and Sill, who had briefly known only one giant, regarded the corpse for a moment longer. But Sill was anxious, needed to hear Korik speak.
‘We are ill led to this place, Korik.’ he said finally, in the mental speech of the Haruchai. His statement hung in their minds, his agitation plain; Korik had sent word to the Warward that they had recovered a fragment of the illearth stone carried by the Giant-Raver, and would bear it to Revelstone for the Lords valuation; yet before the message had been born a league, Korik had turned and led them instead into the swamp. Sill had to know why.
Korik ignored the remark. He had not the strength to fight other battles now. He struggled to keep the surge of his emotions at bay. His hand dropped to his tunic, where the fragment hung, tied into a small pouch. His hip had been scalded by its proximity, the skin angry and moiled; he longed for the healing and easement of aliantha, the only sustenance the Bloodguard needed, but it had rejected him in the swamp, a dark confirmation. His midsection still pained from an hour of retching while constantly on the run. The internal workings of the haruchai were no longer used to dealing with such afflictions, and the dry heaves had brought both blood and shame to his lips. He had hidden it from the others. “Do not touch, -- take --” Lord Hyrim had said, before his scorched body succumbed to the blast of emerald vileness that had quenched his fire and shattered his staff; but Korik had touched, had taken; his path lay open before him since then, with no need of the grim gestures that now marked his way.
Sill again broke the mental silence of the party. ‘Sparlimb spoke of the doom of those who fled the coming of Kinslaughterer. But their violation did not end in the Swamp as he avowed. And in sooth they were taught the long name of despair ere they died. I ask again where you lead us, Korik.’
Korik stared down the beach. The two younger haruchai started up the dune, wary at their leader’s silence, but Korik turned after they had taken a step, and stayed them with a gesture.
He lifted the tunic to present his hip, against which the tied pouch carrying the fragment lay. The skin was raw and shone wetly, welts tracing the veins outward from his hip down to his ashen thigh, as if the blood itself had been corrupted. He detached the small pouch that held the fragment, and thrust it before Sill. Emotion colored his feature, his brow clenched. He enunciated the words as if each were a dirk thrust into his gut.
‘We cannot bear this ill to Revelstone. I am accosted by the malice that broke the fealty of Giants.’ A single tear welled and traced a path down the dust on his face, as foreign as blood on granite. ‘The Vow quails at its nearness, -- do you not feel it as well? There is little time –‘
Dour cut him off, his tone sharp as flint. ‘The way south lays unopposed; the plains beyond the swamp may be gained in a day and night. The Ranyhyn -‘
‘will not bear us!’ cried Korik. Me. They will not bear me. His voice was full of emotion, each word sharp in their minds. ‘I would not shame them with this ill. Nor would they bear me with it.’ He paused, gasping against some internal assault, and then continuing when it had abated.
‘But it cannot now be set aside, nor passed on; we are the Bloodguard. We must see this done. Our path now lies to the south. To the halls of Corruption itself we will carry this fragment. The Grey Slayer will answer to Bloodguard for the desecration of Giants.’
“Betrayal!’ Sill cried. Sill and Doar advanced as one, bodies tensed for action, but Korik stayed them again. Tears born of frustration and despair shone against his flat features.
‘I ask you: Should I have left it, as Hyrim wished? No. Another would have claimed it, less than Haruchai, more easily mastered. No, our fate was sealed ere we left Revelstone. But I cannot much longer resist this bane which rent fealty from the Unhomed. It is too long. We would gain Revelstone as corruption-slaves, bringing doom upon the Lords, the hope of the Land. In that way we would serve Corruption. ‘
His face tightened against his next words, as if the sharing of it would hasten their doom.
‘But there is another thing. It seeks the Vow within me. The Earthpower that sustains it. I do not know in good sooth if it may be corrupted by such lore, yet we cannot allow it. Corruption will seek your souls when my will fails. And then to the others. I must hold until we gain Ridjeck Thome. I will lure him forth, and you, unaffected, will slay Corruption as we broke Kinslaughterer, and redeem our Vow.
‘The Grieve has taught you despair, Nimishi-in!’ Sill cried, his tone thick with repulsion. He moved suddenly, slapping Korik full across the face with his open palm, and then flowed easily into the challenge posture of the leadership trial. The form he chose was that of the appointed leader, who challenged those to accept or prove their skill against him, as was the way among Nimishi; it was a grave insult.
Despite earlier sentiments of frailty, Korik’s next movement swept the challenger from his feet and laid him rudely prostrate. He then turned slightly, anticipating Doar, but the younger one was already in motion. Doar feigned, then swept around, his hardened heel connecting solidly below Korik’s ribs, then, rolling in midair, his other foot sliced the air before the leader’s face. Sill was up, ready, but abstained while Doar engaged the older man.
The three men fought as they had not in Revelstone; Sill and Doar took turns in challenging the older Haruchai, each jumping in as the other retreated. Korik was constantly engaged, and soon began to fall back from the assault. After several long moments, Sill penetrated Korik’s defenses, landing punishing blows to his midsection and kidneys, finally striking him so hard on the chin that the older man’s head snapped back and he lost his footing. Korik fell, attempted to rise; the two challengers sprang to the fallen man, pinning him to the coarse sand of the beach. Sill moved in, his expression hot and determined. He grasped the tight curls of Korik’s hair, forced his head still, exposing the neck. The trapped man struggled, his eyes shut tight against tears and sand. Sill drew back, his hand tight and drawn as a dirk. He forced Korik’s head back slightly, revealing the telltale rift he sought below the jaw, where spine entered skull.
Korik’s eyes snapped open, the former whites around his almond pupils now shot through with bright emerald. He met Sill’s gaze with crazed intensity. Doar’s hand snaked in between them and clutched the prone man’s throat, his grip a closing vise. Blackness poured into the fringes of his vision; he struggling against them desperately as his consciousness began to fail. Within, a wall was breached; Korik screamed.
A detonation of olivine vileness and wet sand cast the two men from him, sending them back over the small dunes to land roughly several yards away. Doar landed badly, striking his head on a sand-covered rock, which left him bereft of wits. Sill struck the reposing corpse, and crashed among the roots of the elder trunk and lay still.
targetless, his rage subsided, the green tint melted slowly from his eyes. Korik squatted on the beach. Soon, the other two began to rise and move towards him, the former air of challenge abated. Despondently, they sat attentive as Korik spoke in low tones.
Later, they crossed the dune-tops, moving southward. Korik set the pace, having had no sustenance for days longer, and bearing more wounds. They stopped when the sun had slid beneath the hills to the west, Sill and Dour taking a few of the remaining berries before resuming their flight across the sands. By the time they encountered the second giant-corpse, Sill had begun to retch.
PART 2: kevinswatch.ihugny.com/phpBB2/viewtopic ... 483#447483
Disclaimer: This is a work of Fan Fiction based on the world created by Stephen R Donalsdon in the Thomas Covenant Series. The copyrights are held by him and others. This work is not for wide distribution, and was written for the pleasure of the Author and members of Kevin's Watch.
This story deals with the final part of Koriks mission. The ultimate failure of the mission to seareach has always haunted me, and it has struck me that the mission's fate had been sealed before First mark Morin gave it to Korik. They never had a chance.
"It cannot now be set aside, nor passed on", Part 1.
1.
It was on the third day after their departure from coercri when, trapped between the unremitting malice of the swamp lurker and the cold fact of the seashore, Korik bloodguard and the remainder of the mission encountered the first giant corpse.
The three had staggered out of the swamp and collapsed on a thin rise of coarse sand, oblivious to the rude effigy nailed to the tree on the dune above them. Accustomed to haleness surpassed only by the ranyhyn, the three had been ill used by the odyssey through the swamp and were exhausted. For three days, they had been driven through fetid mud pits; lashed and harassed by giant tentacles that arose from the mire at odd points; had skirted and dodged waves of acidic skesh, and still other horrors. The remainder of Hoerkin's First Eoward had been found, dismembered and staked to trees or frozen limbs and garments embedded in rank pits of mud and ire. Once, Doar had been pulled down into the mud by a grasping whip, and barely recovered; Sill’s ankle was acid-burned and bruised, and even Korik’s gait betrayed some injury to his hip. The three now required rest and the succor of aliantha as they had not since the Vow had taken them.
Korik arose first; waving off Doar's offer of a few small treasure-berries; he stood and approached the dune top. Sill ate his share of the treasure-berries and glared at Korik’s back as he climbed. Korik stopped and regarded the tree, Sill followed his gaze. They saw the corpse at the same moment. Sill touched Doar’s shoulder and indicated the gross form.
Flyblown and headless, it sat cross-legged among the salt-scoured roots of an elder-tree. The corpse’s body was pinned upright against the wizened trunk by a wooden stake, the end bludgeoned by the force that had driven it through the breastbone and into the living wood behind. The left arm was raised, pinned to the trunk by a smaller stake hammered through the open palm. The three smaller fingers had been ripped off, the lone digit lazily marking some far point down the beach. The right arm lay prone in the lap, the open palm supporting the chin of the severed head which glared soullessly back at the haruchai.
Korik studied the corpse briefly, and was soon joined by the other two. He didn’t want their nearness, needed to be alone and brace himself against the ill tide that had been rising since he took up his doom. How he had raged at Sparlimb at their loss of hope, their calm acquiescence, yet now he faced the same battle within, and was giving ground.
His face a mask, he left them, walking wide around the intaglioed roots of the tree to the top of the shallow dune, and looked southward in the direction indicated by the corpse. That way, leagues of dune-top separated rancid swamp from pallid sea; forty leagues beyond, the swamp gave way to ruined plains, then twenty more leagues over laval fields to Gorak Krembal, now named Hotash Slay, which warded Foul’s Crèche on the sea. Sixty leagues further, then, thought Korik. He wondered if his soul could be warded against the ill tied into his tunic for three more days. Overhead, a raven circled erratically, cawing some fading note that partially reached their ears. To Korik, it sounded like Oath-breaker. Vow-Defiler.
Doar and Sill, who had briefly known only one giant, regarded the corpse for a moment longer. But Sill was anxious, needed to hear Korik speak.
‘We are ill led to this place, Korik.’ he said finally, in the mental speech of the Haruchai. His statement hung in their minds, his agitation plain; Korik had sent word to the Warward that they had recovered a fragment of the illearth stone carried by the Giant-Raver, and would bear it to Revelstone for the Lords valuation; yet before the message had been born a league, Korik had turned and led them instead into the swamp. Sill had to know why.
Korik ignored the remark. He had not the strength to fight other battles now. He struggled to keep the surge of his emotions at bay. His hand dropped to his tunic, where the fragment hung, tied into a small pouch. His hip had been scalded by its proximity, the skin angry and moiled; he longed for the healing and easement of aliantha, the only sustenance the Bloodguard needed, but it had rejected him in the swamp, a dark confirmation. His midsection still pained from an hour of retching while constantly on the run. The internal workings of the haruchai were no longer used to dealing with such afflictions, and the dry heaves had brought both blood and shame to his lips. He had hidden it from the others. “Do not touch, -- take --” Lord Hyrim had said, before his scorched body succumbed to the blast of emerald vileness that had quenched his fire and shattered his staff; but Korik had touched, had taken; his path lay open before him since then, with no need of the grim gestures that now marked his way.
Sill again broke the mental silence of the party. ‘Sparlimb spoke of the doom of those who fled the coming of Kinslaughterer. But their violation did not end in the Swamp as he avowed. And in sooth they were taught the long name of despair ere they died. I ask again where you lead us, Korik.’
Korik stared down the beach. The two younger haruchai started up the dune, wary at their leader’s silence, but Korik turned after they had taken a step, and stayed them with a gesture.
He lifted the tunic to present his hip, against which the tied pouch carrying the fragment lay. The skin was raw and shone wetly, welts tracing the veins outward from his hip down to his ashen thigh, as if the blood itself had been corrupted. He detached the small pouch that held the fragment, and thrust it before Sill. Emotion colored his feature, his brow clenched. He enunciated the words as if each were a dirk thrust into his gut.
‘We cannot bear this ill to Revelstone. I am accosted by the malice that broke the fealty of Giants.’ A single tear welled and traced a path down the dust on his face, as foreign as blood on granite. ‘The Vow quails at its nearness, -- do you not feel it as well? There is little time –‘
Dour cut him off, his tone sharp as flint. ‘The way south lays unopposed; the plains beyond the swamp may be gained in a day and night. The Ranyhyn -‘
‘will not bear us!’ cried Korik. Me. They will not bear me. His voice was full of emotion, each word sharp in their minds. ‘I would not shame them with this ill. Nor would they bear me with it.’ He paused, gasping against some internal assault, and then continuing when it had abated.
‘But it cannot now be set aside, nor passed on; we are the Bloodguard. We must see this done. Our path now lies to the south. To the halls of Corruption itself we will carry this fragment. The Grey Slayer will answer to Bloodguard for the desecration of Giants.’
“Betrayal!’ Sill cried. Sill and Doar advanced as one, bodies tensed for action, but Korik stayed them again. Tears born of frustration and despair shone against his flat features.
‘I ask you: Should I have left it, as Hyrim wished? No. Another would have claimed it, less than Haruchai, more easily mastered. No, our fate was sealed ere we left Revelstone. But I cannot much longer resist this bane which rent fealty from the Unhomed. It is too long. We would gain Revelstone as corruption-slaves, bringing doom upon the Lords, the hope of the Land. In that way we would serve Corruption. ‘
His face tightened against his next words, as if the sharing of it would hasten their doom.
‘But there is another thing. It seeks the Vow within me. The Earthpower that sustains it. I do not know in good sooth if it may be corrupted by such lore, yet we cannot allow it. Corruption will seek your souls when my will fails. And then to the others. I must hold until we gain Ridjeck Thome. I will lure him forth, and you, unaffected, will slay Corruption as we broke Kinslaughterer, and redeem our Vow.
‘The Grieve has taught you despair, Nimishi-in!’ Sill cried, his tone thick with repulsion. He moved suddenly, slapping Korik full across the face with his open palm, and then flowed easily into the challenge posture of the leadership trial. The form he chose was that of the appointed leader, who challenged those to accept or prove their skill against him, as was the way among Nimishi; it was a grave insult.
Despite earlier sentiments of frailty, Korik’s next movement swept the challenger from his feet and laid him rudely prostrate. He then turned slightly, anticipating Doar, but the younger one was already in motion. Doar feigned, then swept around, his hardened heel connecting solidly below Korik’s ribs, then, rolling in midair, his other foot sliced the air before the leader’s face. Sill was up, ready, but abstained while Doar engaged the older man.
The three men fought as they had not in Revelstone; Sill and Doar took turns in challenging the older Haruchai, each jumping in as the other retreated. Korik was constantly engaged, and soon began to fall back from the assault. After several long moments, Sill penetrated Korik’s defenses, landing punishing blows to his midsection and kidneys, finally striking him so hard on the chin that the older man’s head snapped back and he lost his footing. Korik fell, attempted to rise; the two challengers sprang to the fallen man, pinning him to the coarse sand of the beach. Sill moved in, his expression hot and determined. He grasped the tight curls of Korik’s hair, forced his head still, exposing the neck. The trapped man struggled, his eyes shut tight against tears and sand. Sill drew back, his hand tight and drawn as a dirk. He forced Korik’s head back slightly, revealing the telltale rift he sought below the jaw, where spine entered skull.
Korik’s eyes snapped open, the former whites around his almond pupils now shot through with bright emerald. He met Sill’s gaze with crazed intensity. Doar’s hand snaked in between them and clutched the prone man’s throat, his grip a closing vise. Blackness poured into the fringes of his vision; he struggling against them desperately as his consciousness began to fail. Within, a wall was breached; Korik screamed.
A detonation of olivine vileness and wet sand cast the two men from him, sending them back over the small dunes to land roughly several yards away. Doar landed badly, striking his head on a sand-covered rock, which left him bereft of wits. Sill struck the reposing corpse, and crashed among the roots of the elder trunk and lay still.
targetless, his rage subsided, the green tint melted slowly from his eyes. Korik squatted on the beach. Soon, the other two began to rise and move towards him, the former air of challenge abated. Despondently, they sat attentive as Korik spoke in low tones.
Later, they crossed the dune-tops, moving southward. Korik set the pace, having had no sustenance for days longer, and bearing more wounds. They stopped when the sun had slid beneath the hills to the west, Sill and Dour taking a few of the remaining berries before resuming their flight across the sands. By the time they encountered the second giant-corpse, Sill had begun to retch.
PART 2: kevinswatch.ihugny.com/phpBB2/viewtopic ... 483#447483
