Lord Foul's Bane by Stephen R. Donaldson Page A

still swarmed at him as if he were carrion Foul had left behind.
How?
Where do you get dreams like this?
He could not bear to think about it; he would go mad. He fled from it as if it had already started to gnaw on his bones.
Don't think about it. Don't try to understand. Madness- madness is the only danger. Survive! Get going. Do something. Don't look back.
He forced his eyes open; and as he focused on the sunlight, the darkness receded, dropped away into the background and came hovering slowly behind him as if it were waiting for him to turn and face it, fall prey to it.
The girl was kneeling beside him. She had his maimed right hand clamped in both of hers, and concern stood like tears in her eyes. “Berek,” she murmured painfully as he met her gaze, “oh, Berek. What ill assails you? I know not what to do.”
She had already done enough- helped him to master himself, resist the pull of the dangerous questions he could not answer. But his fingers were numb; parts of her clasp on his hand he could not feel at all. He dredged himself into a sitting position, though the exertion made him feel faint. “I'm a leper,” he said weakly. “Don't touch me.”
Hesitantly, she loosened her grip, as if she were not sure he meant what he said, not sure he knew what he was saying.
With an effort that seemed harsh because of his weakness, he withdrew his hand.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth in chagrin. As if she feared she had offended him, she moved back and sat down against the opposite wall.
But he could see that she was consumed with interest in him. She could not remain silent long. After a moment, she asked softly, “Is it wrong to touch you? I meant no harm. You are Berek Halfhand, the Lord-Fatherer. An ill I could not see assailed you. How could I bear to see you tormented so?”
“I'm a leper,” he repeated, trying to conserve his strength. But her expression told him that the word conveyed nothing to her. “I'm sick- I have a disease. You don't know the danger.”
“If I touch you, will I become-'sick'?”
“Who knows?” Then, because he could hardly believe the evidence of his eyes and ears, he asked, “Don't you know what leprosy is?”
“No,” she answered with a return of her earlier wonder. “No.” She shook her head, and her hair swung lightly about her face. “But I am not afraid.”
“Be afraid!” he rasped. The girl's ignorance or innocence made him vehement. Behind her words, he heard wings beating like violence. “It's a disease that gnaws at you. It gnaws at you until your fingers and toes and hands and feet and arms and legs turn rotten and fall off. It makes you blind and ugly.”
“May it be healed? Perhaps the Lords-”
“There's no cure.”
He wanted to go on, to spit out some of the bitterness Foul had left in him. But he was too drained to sustain anger. He needed to rest and think, explore the implications of his dilemma.
“Then how may I aid you? I know not what to do. You are Berek Ha-”
“I'm not,” he sighed. The girl started, and into her surprise he repeated, “I'm not.”
“Then who? You have the omen of the hand, for the legends say that Berek Earthfriend may come again. Are you a Lord?”
With a tired gesture he held her question at bay. He needed to think. But when he closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the parapet, he felt fear crowding up in him. He had to move, go forward- flee along the path of the dream.
He pulled his gaze back into focus on the girl's face. For the first time, he noticed that she was pretty. Even her awe, the way she hung on his words, was pretty. And she had no fear of lepers.
After a last instant of hesitation, he said, “I'm Thomas Covenant.”
“Thomas Covenant?” His name sounded ungainly in her mouth. “It is a strange name- a strange name to match your strange apparel. Thomas Covenant.” She inclined her head in a slow bow to him.
Strange, he thought softly. The strangeness was mutual. He still had no conception