One Tree by Stephen R. Donaldson

We have seen that he holds you in his heart.”
    In his heart? Linden almost cried out. But still Cail addressed her as if he had been charged with a speech and meant to deliver it in the name of his duty.
    “Yet perhaps in that we are misled. Perhaps he would strike at you also. Yet you must make the attempt. You are possessed of a sight which no
Haruchai
or Giant can share or comprehend. When the Sunbane-sickness came upon you, you perceived that
voure
would restore you. When your ankle was beyond all other aid, you guided its setting.” The demand in his expressionless mien was as plain as a fist. “Chosen, you must gaze upon him. You must find the means to succor him.”
    “Must?” she returned huskily. Cail’s flat insistence made her wild. “You don’t know what you’re saying. The only way I can help him is go into him and take over. Like the Sunbane. Or a Raver. It would bebad enough if I were as innocent as a baby. But what do you think I’ll turn into if I get that much power?”
    She might have gone on, might have cried at him, And he’ll hate me for it! He’ll never trust me again! Or himself. But the simple uselessness of shouting at Cail stopped her. Her intensity seemed to have no purpose. His uncompromising visage leeched it away from her. Instead of protesting further, she murmured dimly, “I’m already too much like Gibbon.”
    Cail’s gaze did not waver from her face. “Then he will die.”
    I know. God help me. She turned from the
Haruchai
, hung her arms over the cross-supports of the rail to keep herself from sagging to her knees.
Possess
him?
    After a moment, she felt Cail withdrawing toward the afterdeck. Her hands twisted against each other as if their futility threatened to drive them mad. She had spent so many years training them, teaching them to heal, trusting them. Now they were good for nothing. She could not so much as touch Covenant.
    Starfare’s Gem remained becalmed throughout the day. The heat baked down until Linden thought that her bones would melt; but she could not resolve the contradictions in her. Around the ship, the Giants were strangely silent. They seemed to wait with bated breath for Covenant’s eruptions of fire, his ranting shouts. No hint of wind stirred the sails. At times, she wanted to fall overboard—not to immerse herself in the Sea’s coolness, though anything cool would have been bliss to her aching nerves—but simply to break the unrelieved stillness of the water. Through the stone, she could feel Covenant’s delirium worsening.
    At noon and again at eventide, Cail brought her food. He performed this task as if no conflict between them could alter his duty; but she did not eat. Though she had not taken one step toward Covenant, she shared his ordeal. The same rack of venom and madness on which he was stretched tortured her as well. That was her punishment for failure—to participate in the anguish she feared to confront.
    The old man on Haven Farm had said,
You will not fail, however he may assail you. There is also love in the world
. Not fail? she ached to herself. Good God! As for love, she had already denied it. She did not know how to turn her life around.
    So the day ended, and later the waxing moon began to ascend over the lifeless Sea, and still she stood at the railing on the long foredeck, staring sightlessly into the blank distance. Her hands knotted together and unknotted like a nest of snakes. Sweat darkened the hair at her temples, drew faint lines down through the erosions which marked her face; but she paid no heed. The black water lay unmoving and benighted, as empty of life as the air. The moon shone as if it were engrossed in its own thoughts; but its reflection sprawled on the flat surface like a stillborn. High above her, the sails hung limp among their shrouds, untouched by any rumor or foretaste of wind. Again and again, Covenant’s voice rose ranting into the hot night. Occasional white lightning paled the stars. Yet she