Terceth turned as the water slithered away in runnels of foam and saw a sun rerisen in the west, monstrous and golden, with huge dark shapes arcing before it. The dark shapes leapt and soared from fountains of foam, jumping again and again, higher and higher. A wail arose from the Frangians on the ship. “Whatever! Oh, Whatever!”
Terceth snarled, strode back down the slope, thrust himself through the waves to the bottom of the neckstone and began to climb.
Above, Genevieve turned and sought Aufors, where he stood in the cave entrance, supported by Joncaster, his eyes fixed on hers. She lifted her hand.
“Aufors,” she cried in that great voice. “Aufors wait for me . . .” And she threw herself out into space, folding the child between her arms, bending her head to cover his, she arrowed down, slipping into the water as into a silken gown, and was gone.
29: The Covenants of Haven
“What was that?” cried Terceth, staring at the horizon where the rerisen sun had just disappeared into the sea. “What in the universe was it!”
The Frangian ship was close enough that its captain heard him. “Whatever,” he shouted exultantly. “Oh, whatever.”
“Te wairua taiao,” sang the malghaste, as they poured down from the cavern above. “Oh, wairua taiao!”
“What are they going on about,” Terceth angrily demanded from Dunnel.
“I don’t know, sir,” Dunnel whispered, his eyes still moving between the horizon and the spot where Genevieve had fallen.
All those from the cave came down the hill, including Aufors, supported by Joncaster and Jorub. Lagging behind were the Prince and the Marshal, keeping a considerable distance from the others.
“What was it?” Terceth demanded of the malghaste.
“The spirit of this world,” Melanie rejoiced. “Together with a company of great whales and many other creatures.”
“What do you mean, the spirit of the world?” he grated, reaching out to grasp her by the shoulder.
Joncaster lowered Aufors on a convenient sitting stone and came to remove Terceth’s hand from Melanie’s shoulder, putting himself purposefully between them. “You saw the spirit of Haven. Your world once had such a spirit also.”
Terceth snarled wordlessly. This was nonsense!
Melanie saw his furious expression over Joncaster’s shoulder. “But it’s true! Your world did have a spirit! You saw it depart.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Our people in Havenor have heard you speak of the night the fires departed from Ares. Surely you remember it.”
“I remember,” said Dunnel, white-faced. “My parents got me up, and we watched it go . . .”
“This is nonsense,” blustered Terceth. “Arrant nonsense.”
Melanie shrugged. “Well, it is easy to know whether I speak truth. If life is dying on your planet, then your world’s spirit has departed.”
“We have a disease,” said Dunnel. “People just . . . stop. They keep trying to remember something . . .”
“Of course,” said Joncaster. “They wake one morning no longer feeling alive. They try to remember the feeling of life. They wander, searching for it. They rove among their human kin, but they cannot find what they are seeking. They take a pet cat into their laps, or lean to pat a dog, and for a moment they feel peace, but only for a moment. At the end, they realize what has been lost and they cry out, most piteously, and soon after they die. Is this not the way of it?”
“How did you know that?” cried Terceth, clenching his fists, ready to assault them all.
“It’s not a secret,” said Melanie, impatiently. “Yours isn’t the only world it’s happened to.”
He jeered, “And I suppose the Marchioness of Wantresse summoned up the spirit of Haven and then went to join it, did she?”
For a moment, Melanie was stunned, then eager surprise lit her face and she gripped Joncaster by the arm, crying, “She did call the spirit, Joncaster! We heard her! But she wasn’t a believer! Could she have . . .”
Joncaster nodded slowly. “It might not matter. Perhaps the spirit doesn’t care why we do the right thing so long as we do it.”
Terceth cried, “The right thing! To drown yourself and your child in the ocean!”