4.
After Unwisdom
011
Linden Avery wanted to sit down on the benign grass and cover her face. She was full of shame, and had no right to it. In giving the Harrow what he wanted, if not in wrenching Thomas Covenant out of the Arch of Time, she had known what she was doing. She had made her choice deliberately. She could not excuse herself with blame.
Help me? she wanted to ask, although she hardly knew who might remain able or willing to aid her. Please?
You have companions, Chosen, who have not faltered in your service. If you must have counsel, require it of them.
Among them, only Liand retained any theurgy—and she had ignored his advice. She had not heeded any of her friends.
Too diminished to continue standing in front of the Harrow, Linden walked hesitantly toward Covenant. For the moment, at least, he had become a lesser pain, in spite of his uncontrollable lapses and his leprosy.
And he would be safe in Andelain—all of her companions would be safe—when the Harrow took her away. While Loric’s krill reflected wild magic from Joan’s ring, the Wraiths could refuse any evil. Even Kastenessen and the skurj, even Roger and Esmer, were precluded from bearing their malice among the Hills.
Nevertheless such things did not comfort her. The emptiness of her hands left her vulnerable in more ways than she could count. She was acutely conscious of the floundering dismay with which her friends followed her away from the Harrow. The bullet hole in her shirt had no significance now that the red flannel did not cover Covenant’s wedding band. Instead the wound of her death, like the strip that she had torn from the fabric for the Mahdoubt’s gown, and the small rents plucked by twigs and branches, merely made her look as tattered as her spirit.
In contrast, the grass stains on her jeans had never felt so fatal. They dragged at her steps like omens or arcane stigmata.
She had nothing to hold on to except Jeremiah’s crumpled racecar deep in her pocket. It was her only defense. Her son needed her. She did not know another way to save him.
In the bottom of the hollow, Covenant still paced slowly around the radiance of the krill, studying it as if it had the capacity to anchor him somewhere in time, if only he could discover how to use it. As he moved, he spoke in a low voice; delivered a steady monologue that seemed to serve no purpose except to occupy his companions.
He may have been striving to retain as many of his splintered memories as he could.
The Humbled, Pahni and Bhapa, and three or four Giants stood in a loose circle that encompassed Covenant and the charred stump of Caer-Caveral’s corpse. The attitudes of the Giants and the Cords conveyed the impression that they had given up trying to find a coherent—or pertinent—narrative in Covenant’s musings. The blank stoicism of the Humbled concealed the character of their attention; but they appeared to be waiting for the ur-Lord, the Unbeliever, to become the man he had once been.
Belatedly Linden realized that the Humbled had no reason to assail her now. If they wished to prevent any further misuse of Earthpower and wild magic, they would have to battle the Harrow, who had already demonstrated that he was proof against them. And against Branl, Galt, and Clyme, the Ardent might side with his fellow Insequent. Linden could not imagine what use the Ardent might make of his ribbands, or his other magicks; but she did not doubt that it would be effective. In spite of his lisp and his corpulence, he had convinced her that he did indeed wield enhanced powers, for good or ill. The Harrow would not have acceded to the Ardent’s conditions otherwise.
Yearning wordlessly for some further reassurance from the man whom she had most harmed, Linden studied Covenant closely. She would need his attention soon, before she exhausted the Harrow’s patience—or the Ardent’s. She wanted to believe that she was still capable of a few undestructive decisions; that she could at least ensure the immediate safety of her friends before she went with the Harrow to watch the croyel swallow blood from Jeremiah’s neck. But she feared that her bargain with the Harrow had cost her the last of her credibility. Even Liand, Stave, and Mahrtiir might not heed her now, if Covenant did not take her part.
He would not be able to help her if he could not find his way out of the faults that riddled his mind. But he was still lost in the ramifications of time. He seemed to drift, rudderless, through a Sargasso of memories which were of no use to him.
And his leprosy—Ah, God. His leprosy was growing worse, exacerbated by the pall of Kevin’s Dirt. Here in Andelain, the effects of that dire fug were muted. Perhaps the Wraiths blunted the evil which Kastenessen, Esmer, and moksha Raver had inflicted upon the Upper Land. Nevertheless Kevin’s Dirt remained: Linden tasted it when she peered up at the stars and the night sky. Already Covenant’s hands and feet were almost entirely numb. If his condition continued to deteriorate, it was only a matter of time until his sight began to fail.
He moved awkwardly, as though he had lost or forgotten precise control over his muscles. Yet he seemed unaware of his ailment. Instead his attention was focused on the krill—or on the unpredictable slippage of his thoughts.
“Someone,” he remarked as if this idea followed from what he had been saying. “I forget who. I want to think it was Mhoram, but it may have been Berek. When he was rallying the scraps of his army after he came back from Mount Thunder.
“He said—” Covenant paused; closed his eyes for a moment. Frowning at the effort of coherent recall, he recited, “ ‘There is no doom so black or deep that courage and clear sight may not find another truth beyond it.’” Then he looked at Clyme, Galt, and Branl in turn. “Does that make sense to you? It should. But if it doesn’t—”
Stiffly he started walking again, pacing his circle around Loric’s krill as if he sought to circumscribe his own confusion; contain it somehow. “It’s my fault, really. I asked you to protect Revelstone, but I wasn’t clear. No one can blame you if they don’t like how you kept your promise. I didn’t tell you I wanted you to protect what Revelstone means.”
He seemed to think that the Masters—like Linden—might crave his absolution. Against every obstacle, he struggled to keep faith with the deeds and necessities which had brought the Land to its last crisis.
While Covenant talked, Liand approached Mahrtiir. Softly the Stonedownor asked, “Manethrall, would it not be well to send Bhapa and Pahni in search of hurtloam? Surely some may be found among Andelain’s riches of health and wonder. I know not whether Thomas Covenant’s mind may be healed—or whether, as Linden has averred, the attempt would be unwise. Yet the strange corruption which gnaws at his flesh—”
“No!” With an almost audible jolt, Covenant’s awareness recovered its focus. Suddenly he was present, as vivid as a seer. Wheeling, he faced Liand and Mahrtiir. “No hurtloam,” he said sharply. “I don’t expect you to understand. But I need this.” He brandished his hands. “I need to be numb. It doesn’t just make me who I am. It makes me who I can be.”
Before the Manethrall or the Stonedownor could respond, Covenant strode around the dead stump toward Linden. But he did not advance on her. As soon as he stood between her and the shining dagger, he stopped.
She, too, stopped—helplessly, as if he had commanded a distance between them. With Stave at her shoulder and the troubled bulk of the Giants at her back, she waited to hear what he would say. She did not know how to speak first; to ask for his succor. Her needs were a crowding throng, so many that she could hardly name them.
The light of the krill cast his features into shadow. She could not distinguish his expression. The scar on his forehead was a pale crease across his thoughts.
“Linden.” Limned in argent, he spoke as if her name twisted his heart. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.” His tone accused himself. “If I could have held on to my mind.”
There he appeared to slip, distracted by some errant recollection. “I did practically the same thing myself once. The Land needed me, and I turned my back. We’ve talked about that. I meant to remind you.” His manner suggested that he was trying to say too many different things at once. Linden felt his struggle to organize his thoughts. “Mhoram urged me not to worry about it. He wanted me to know there are some motives that simply can’t serve Lord Foul. No matter how the Despiser squirms, he can’t twist them to give him what he wants.”
Mistaken though it may be, no act of love and horror—or indeed of self-repudiation—is potent to grant the Despiser his desires. He may be freed only by one who is compelled by rage, and contemptuous of consequence.
Then Linden saw Covenant gather his resolve. Awkwardness made him brusque.
“But that’s not what I want to say. I’m going to take the krill.”
At once, everything around him intensified. Several of the Giants caught their breath. Rime Coldspray hissed a wordless objurgation. Anele stirred restlessly in his sleep, as if he had been disturbed by the sound of distant thunder. Liand’s protests were stilled by Mahrtiir’s sudden grasp on his arm. In fright, Pahni moved to stand with the Stonedownor. Bhapa stared, wide-eyed, at the Unbeliever. Linden half expected the Wraiths to return in refusal.
At the same time, the Humbled seemed to take on substance and clarity as if they had been vindicated; as if their faith in the ur-Lord had been confirmed.
“I know,” Covenant muttered. “That’ll leave Andelain unprotected—which personally makes me want to puke. Without it, the Wraiths won’t have the right kind of strength to guard the borders. They won’t be able to prevent—
“But one of us ought to have a weapon of some kind. Wherever we’re going, we’re likely to need it. As long as Joan is still alive—as long as she has her ring—that knife can cut through practically anything.” For a moment, he faltered. “I hope that doesn’t make me ‘contemptuous of consequence.’”
While he appeared to search for words, Linden grasped her opportunity. Quickly she asked, “Where are we going?” She had no intention of taking Covenant—or anyone else—with her. “The Harrow doesn’t want to tell me.”
“Ah, hell, Linden,” Covenant muttered in disgust. “If I knew—if I could remember—I would say so.” With the heel of his halfhand, he thumped his forehead. “It’s such a mess in here.” Briefly a grin like a grimace distorted his face. “If you don’t want to hit me again, threaten me with hurtloam. It’s amazing how that helps me concentrate.
“But we’re going to need a weapon,” he resumed. “That I’m sure of. You shouldn’t have to do everything yourself. And this is my problem. I’ve already done too many things wrong. Even when I was part of the Arch, I was too human—
“I got you into this.” Earlier he had blamed himself for misleading her by speaking to her in her dreams, and through Anele. “I should at least try to help you save your son.”
As if he were bracing himself for an ordeal, he turned to confront Loric’s krill.
“Wait!” Linden said urgently. “Wait a minute. This isn’t what I want.” Mere moments ago, she had believed that she had surrendered everything. Now she saw that she had been mistaken. She also needed to prevent him from accompanying her; from taking any more risks for her sake. “You promised—”
Once, millennia ago in the Land, Thomas Covenant had avowed that he would never use power again.
“I know,” he repeated over his shoulder. “I was trying to make myself innocent. Impotent or helpless. I couldn’t think of any other way to stop Lord Foul.
“But you were right all along. Sometimes just being innocent or ignorant or even good isn’t enough. Maybe that’s always true. Maybe we’re all like Esmer. If we want to do good, we have to take the risk of evil. The risk that we actually are evil.”
In the background of Covenant’s voice, Linden seemed to hear Dr. Berenford. Guilt is power. When the old physician had first asked for her help with Covenant ten years ago, he had described the theme of one of Covenant’s novels. Only the damned can be saved.
Like Covenant, Linden was the prisoner of her memories.
“This won’t be the first promise I’ve broken,” he finished harshly. “Maybe it’ll be the last.”
She wanted to stop him. For Andelain’s sake, she should have shouted objections to the heavens. But he had already reached for the ineffable puissance of the dagger.
Neither the Humbled nor Stave made any attempt to prevent him.
He would not be able to withdraw the krill. He was only human now, and the blade was deeply embedded. Over the centuries, the stump had become as hard as ironwood. In fact, he should not even have been able to touch the knife. Linden had felt its heat. Sunder had carried it wrapped in cloth so that it would not burn his skin. Nevertheless Covenant closed both hands around the weapon’s haft. His shoulders hunched as he began to pull.
Silhouetted against the light, he seemed to loom larger—black and ominous—as he strained to draw the knife from its ancient sheath. Linden could not see his face, but she could feel his muscles tremble. And—
Oh, God!
—she could smell the nauseating sweetness as his flesh began to burn. The dagger was not merely hot: it was suddenly too hot. A new rush of power blazed like incandescence from the gem: Joan’s power. A rightful white gold wielder—No ordinary fabric would have given Covenant enough protection. He would sear the skin from his bones before he moved the krill.
“Linden!” panted Liand. Pahni and Mahrtiir had to hold him back. “Linden.”
The halved clutch of Covenant’s right hand slipped. Smoke curled from his grasp: the odor of cooked meat became more acute. But he did not admit defeat. Hooking the two fingers of his halfhand over the blade’s guards, he continued to pull against the clasp of Caer-Caveral’s death.
I need this. I need to be numb.
Now the krill’s gem burned directly into his palm. In another moment, his hands would catch flame: they would be permanently crippled. But he did not appear to feel the pain; gave no sign that he recognized the smell. His leprosy enabled him to keep his grip, but it also prevented him from knowing how badly he was damaging himself.
“Covenant Giantfriend!” Rime Coldspray towered over him; yet the stark extremity of his efforts made him seem her equal. “Stand aside! This is caamora, the province of Giants. Will you maim yourself and be made useless? Your flesh cannot endure such grief! You must permit me—”
Joan was doing this, Joan. Somehow she—or turiya Herem—recognized Covenant’s grasp on the krill. The Raver surely guided her; but the wild magic was hers.
Still Covenant heaved with his whole strength. Strain tore a hoarse snarl between his teeth, but did not free the knife.
A cry rose like bile in Linden’s throat. She swallowed it so that she would not vomit.
“Ironhand!” barked Stave. “Aid me!”
Swift as thought, the former Master sprang to Covenant’s side; dropped to one knee. With both fists, he began punching at the stump as if he imagined that he could batter it apart.
The wood was too hard for him; too old and enduring. It could have resisted an axe as easily as it ignored his blows. But Galt, Branl, and Clyme followed his example: they were no more than a heartbeat behind him. Their pounding shook the dead trunk to its roots. The earth seemed to absorb the pain that should have made Covenant let go.
An instant later, Coldspray’s massive fists hammered down onto the stump; struck with the force of bludgeons. The thunder that troubled Anele filled the hollow.
With the Ironhand’s second blow, the wood splintered. Caer-Caveral’s last legacy was shattered as if it had been blasted by lightning.
In that instant, Linden felt a tremor in the ground: a shudder so fundamental that she heard it in the marrow of her bones rather than with her ears. She sensed realities grinding against each other. Briefly the trees and even the grass of Andelain appeared to tremble as if in dread.
Violently released, Covenant staggered backward. If Frostheart Grueburn had not caught him, he would have fallen. Effort or realized agony ripped a howl from the depths of his chest. The krill spun from his grasp: he could not hold it. Shafts and flashes of silver cartwheeled through the branches of the nearby trees, etching every leaf as they passed. Small scraps of skin smoked and melted like wax on the gem as the dagger fell to the grass.
In shreds of illumination, Linden saw the flesh of Covenant’s palms and fingers bubbling—
A tumult of shouts and consternation answered the sight. Ignoring Covenant’s prohibition, the Manethrall commanded his Cords, “Hurtloam! Now!” As Pahni and Bhapa sped away, Liand rushed to help Grueburn support Covenant. With one hand, the Stonedownor snatched at his orcrest as if it were an instrument of healing. Giants protested the sight of Covenant’s hands.
“Haruchai!” roared the Ironhand. “Swordmainnir! A foe extends evil into the heart of Andelain, regardless of the Wraiths. Watch and ward! An attack may follow!”
Like Linden, Coldspray had discerned Joan’s fury. But the Ironhand did not know that it was Joan’s.
Covenant held out his hands as if he were pleading. His breath came in huge excruciated gasps.
Hardly aware of what she did, Linden reached out for the power of the Staff. The Harrow held it, but it was hers: she could feel its ready possibilities. And once before, in the caves of the Waynhim, she had called Earthpower from the Staff when it was some distance away. She could still make use of it—
She could not. The Harrow’s avid claim blocked her. The black wood was lambent with magic and Law; but neither fire nor healing answered her call.
“I am impatient, lady.” The brown-clad Insequent’s voice was deep loam. “Have done with these delays. Accompany me.”
He tried to sound scornful, but Linden heard him clearly. He was not impatient: he was alarmed. Instinctively she guessed that he did not want Covenant to wield the krill.
She ignored him. If she had known how to do so, she would have summoned the Wraiths. The sight of Covenant’s ruined hands nearly stopped her heart.
With waddling steps, the Ardent approached the cluster around Covenant. And as he drew near, his garish apparel expanded. Amid a cloud of floating colors, he advanced until he gained an unobstructed view of Covenant’s hands. Then with a florid gesture he sent bright ribbands curling and probing toward the Unbeliever.
“Joan,” Covenant panted, fighting to manage more pain than he could contain.
Crimson and opalescent strips found his hands. Two or three of the Swordmainnir started to swat the bands away, then stopped themselves.
Unregarded on the ground, the krill’s heat began to fade. It remained too hot for Linden, Liand, or the Ramen to touch safely; but the rush of force which had damaged Covenant dwindled away.
“She or turiya felt what I was doing.”
Clutching his unused Sunstone, Liand watched as streamers of cloth began to wrap Covenant’s hands, his heat-ravaged fingers.
“She tried to stop me.”
Silken as caresses, the ribbands glided over his skin, twined around each other seamlessly as they formed bandages which were still part of the Ardent’s raiment.
Their theurgy was invisible to Linden’s senses. Nevertheless Covenant’s relief was immediate. While her heart tried to beat, his pain sank away like water into parched sand. A moment of light-headedness nearly broke her balance.
“If that poor woman could concentrate,” he said, sighing. By degrees, he began to breathe more easily. “If Foul hadn’t hurt her so badly.”
“That was well done,” the Ardent announced with plumy satisfaction, “though I alone proclaim it so.” Another gesture detached Covenant’s bandages from the fluttering aura of his garments; sent them to secure themselves. “If you will abide by my counsel, Timewarden, you will not remove my bindings. The easing of pain is a less arduous magic than the mending of flesh. Also it cannot be doubted that you will find subsequent need for such protection. My gift will prove a greater benison if it is permitted to remain as it is.”
Covenant did not appear to hear the Insequent. His voice grew stronger as he finished, “She wanted to kill me, but she’s in too much pain herself. She’ll probably try again later. For now, she’s done as much as she can.”
How he knew this, Linden could not imagine. Nonetheless she agreed with him. She had recognized Joan’s ferocity herself. And she was familiar with the frailty of Joan’s damaged mind.
Marveling, the Manethrall studied Covenant. But what he saw with his eyeless senses appeared to satisfy him. Lifting his face to the sky, he gave a whinnying cry to recall his Cords.
As the sound carried through the night, Linden found herself kneeling on the grass among Giants who seemed as tall as trees. She did not remember sagging to the ground: she simply had no strength to stand. Still she continued to watch Covenant as he stretched and flexed his wrapped fingers in evident wonder. She did not breathe normally until he stooped to grasp the krill again. As he lifted it, its radiance lit his hair like silver fire—but holding it did not hurt him.
With an air of self-congratulation, the Ardent withdrew to consider the company from the slope of the hollow. His manner—and Covenant’s—confirmed that the danger had passed.
Sighing, Linden let herself fall back to sit with her knees hugged against her chest, and her face hidden. She had given in to the Harrow too readily. Now she was useless.
Projecting more confidence, the Harrow repeated, “I am impatient, lady. Do you seek to prolong your son’s plight?”
No one paid any attention to him.
While Mahrtiir’s call receded among the trees, the Giants began to relax. Cabledarm or Cirrus Kindwind murmured a low jest that Linden did not hear: two or three of the Ironhand’s company chuckled in response. Perhaps to reassure him, Galesend gave Liand’s shoulder a friendly shake that staggered him. Coldspray rolled her head to loosen a heavy burden of tension from her neck.
The Humbled gathered around Covenant as if to guard him from his companions. At the same time, Stave returned among the Giants to stand near Linden. Prostrate on the grass, Anele continued sleeping as though nothing had happened to disturb the respite which he had received from his parents.
There were things that Linden needed to do: she was sure of it. Questions to ask. Decisions to make—or insist upon. Actions to take. The Harrow was right. Surely the time had come to require him to keep his side of the bargain?
But her hands seemed to weigh more now than they did when she had carried the Staff. Without Covenant’s ring on its chain around her neck, she did not know how to lift up her head. Soon, she told herself. Soon—But right now she felt too deprived and beaten to do anything except huddle into herself and try to slip sideways into some realm of memory or helplessness where she could not be held responsible.
Tried to stop me.
He did not know of your intent.
She’ll probably try again later.
The night after the battle of First Woodhelven, Linden had dreamed that she had become carrion. Like Joan, she needed to gather the remnants of her strength—or her mind—and could not.
For a while, Covenant peered at the krill and his bandaged hands as if he had forgotten what they meant; as if he had stumbled into another crevasse and lost his place. But then he seemed to shake himself free from the tug of the past. Frowning, he asked the Humbled for something that he could use to wrap Loric’s weapon. A little extra protection, he said, in case Joan renewed her attack unexpectedly.
Without hesitation, Galt tore off a hand’s width of cloth from the hem of his tunic. Although the material resembled vellum, as tough as canvas in spite of its softness, he ripped it with no sign of strain. Characteristically expressionless, he offered the fabric to Covenant.
Nodding his approval, Covenant folded the ochre cloth around the krill; shrouded the light of the gem. In sudden darkness relieved only by the glittering of the stars, he tucked the bundle into the waist of his jeans. However, he did not thank Galt: apparently his approval had limits. Instead he turned to the Ironhand of the Swordmainnir. Linden felt his continued struggle to remain present as he said abruptly, “Your ancestors weren’t exactly told the truth when they negotiated for your gift of tongues. The Elohim misused you, if they didn’t outright lie.”
In a distant age, our ancestors were misled—
Vaguely Linden wished for the elucidation of Wraiths; for some benevolent light to illumine courage and clear sight. But those instances of the Land’s essential mystery did not come.
—to accept a false bargain with the Elohim.
She did not know why Covenant spoke of such things now.
“Is this needful, Covenant Timewarden?” Night shrouded Coldspray’s voice as well as her face. “It alters naught.”
“Sure,” Covenant assented. “But it’ll help us understand what’s at stake. We’ll be better off in the long run—assuming there is a long run—if we know why Longwrath matters so much. I’m wondering why you didn’t take him to Elemesnedene and ask the Elohim to cure him. Did you know what was wrong with him all along? Did you know they wouldn’t help?” He paused, grappling for a handhold on the rim of an inner flaw. Then he added, “The more you explain, the less I need to remember.”
“The Staff of Law is yours,” the Ardent remarked to the Harrow, “for the nonce. Will you not summon its flame to light these troubled hearts?”
“Their burdens are not mine,” retorted the Harrow. “I desire only to depart.”
Coldspray gazed at Covenant with her fists braced on her hips. Her stance suggested anger, bitterness. But beneath the surface lay a darker emotion.
“What say you, Giants?” she asked as if she were grinding her teeth. “Must I speak of our ancient fault here, in precious Andelain, while the Earth’s last peril mounts against us?”
“Speak as you wish,” put in the Harrow, “when the lady has allowed me to uphold our bargain. Only sway her to accompany me now. When I have forestalled the Worm, you will have leisure enough for any tale.”
The company around Covenant ignored the Insequent. For a moment, Coldspray’s comrades glanced at each other uncomfortably. Like the Haruchai, they seemed to see well enough without the benefit of fire or moonlight or wild magic. Then Frostheart Grueburn said softly, “In this fraught night, I find that I have no stomach for secrets or shame.” Her voice was a low growl at the back of her throat. “Linden Giantfriend has set aside her concealments. She has declared her deepest intentions. Do we fear now to be humbled in her presence? You have claimed some measure of fault for Longwrath’s madness, but the fault is neither yours nor ours. It belongs to the machinations of the Elohim, as honored Grimmand Honninscrave has made plain. Let us reveal our ancient folly and be done with it. Joy is in the ears that hear, not in the mouth that speaks.”
Several of the Swordmainnir murmured agreement. Others may have nodded.
“When I have forestalled the Worm—” the Harrow tried to insist. But the Ardent interrupted him.
“The desires of the lady prevail here, impetuous one.” The Ardent’s lisp became more pronounced, as if he were mocking the Harrow. “She will accompany us when she deigns to do so, in her own fashion, and by her own means. Until that moment, be content to wait.”
“I will not,” said the Harrow hotly.
The Ardent hesitated. When he replied, he spoke in a low voice, almost whispering.
“Must I utter your true name to silence you?”
Anger clenched the Harrow’s fists, knotted the muscles at the corners of his jaw. “You will not. That will be interference beyond question. You will forfeit your life.”
Nevertheless he did not hazard further provocation.
Still no one heeded either of the Insequent. Squaring her shoulders, Rime Coldspray confronted Covenant’s inquiry. As if she were ready to receive or deliver a blow, she said, “Very well, Thomas Covenant, Timewarden and Earthfriend. I will speak of the truth which has been revealed to us. I will explain that Giants are as prone to error and unwisdom as any people of the Earth.”
Resting her forehead on her knees, Linden allowed the night to fill her as though she had become a vessel of darkness. She did not care why Covenant sought to probe the Giants. She cared only that he strove to remain present; that he might find a way to lift her out of her failures. A way to spare her—
You judge harshly, Wildwielder. She should have tried to ease Elena’s long anguish. But there was nothing that Linden could do for Covenant’s daughter until she discovered some form of mercy for herself.
That the bargain was false in all sooth has been made plain to us. Longwrath had tried to kill her because the Elohim wanted her dead.
“Your query,” Coldspray began, “concerns the gift of tongues for which the Giants once bargained with the Elohim. In the many journeys of our kind, we have learned that the peoples of the Earth tell their tales to please or comfort or obscure themselves, suppressing aspects which they mislike and glorifying portions which give them pleasure. For uncounted millennia, we have held to a different creed. Believing that joy is in the ears that hear, not in the mouth that speaks, we have told our tales fully or not at all—and have taken pride in doing so.
“Now we must hear joy in the knowledge that our ancestors were blind to machination and distorted truth. More, we must honor them for a blindness which was in some degree voluntary. So delighted were they with the gift of tongues, and with themselves, that they did not closely examine the proffer of the Elohim.
“We must hear joy in the recognition that Longwrath was in part betrayed to suffering and madness by his own people.”
Linden listened with only part of her attention. She remembered the deranged Giant’s lust for her death more vividly than the account of this bargain that she had heard from Grimmand Honninscrave long ago. In a moment of imposed sanity, Anele had warned her, All who live share the Land’s plight. Its cost will be borne by all who live. This you cannot alter. In the attempt, you may achieve only ruin. Nevertheless she was determined to leave her friends behind when she went with the Harrow. As soon as she gathered her strength—She already had too many victims. Jeremiah needed her. Other lives might have been better served if Longwrath had killed her.
Grimly the Ironhand explained, “You and Linden Avery, who was then the Sun-Sage, were informed that we received our gift in return for our tale of Bahgoon the Unbearable, and of Thelma Twofist, who tamed him. That is sooth—to the extent that our ancestors chose to believe it so. But we have learned that it is also falsehood. We perceive now that the Elohim found worth, not in the tale itself, but rather in one facet of it—and in our willingness to speak of that facet mirthfully. In their eyes, our mirth justified their intent.
“The tale itself I will not tell. Here I seek only to account for the feigned generosity of the Elohim. The pith of the matter is this. For the many deeds and attributes which caused him to be named Unbearable, Bahgoon was delivered involuntarily and forcibly into the un-tender care of Thelma Twofist.
“She was a Giant of enormous might, legendary belligerence, and indeed extreme ugliness. By her own choice, she lived apart from all others, for all who knew her feared her, and she felt only disdain for their alarm, which she deemed cowardice. Bahgoon she was given to be her servant, against his vehement protests and frantic opposition, because our ancestors could no longer endure his presence, because no other Giant could restrain his conduct—and because our ancestors considered his new place in Thelma’s service a fit reward for his multitude of offenses.”
Coldspray sighed. “That she found means to tame him, and that they discovered together an embattled and extravagant happiness, inspires our delight in their tale. However, the Elohim misheard the humor of the Giants—or elected to interpret it in another fashion. The aspect of the tale which intrigued them, and which swayed them to proffer their gift of tongues, was the coercion of Bahgoon, not its unforeseen outcome. They discerned clearly our eagerness—indeed our hunger—for friendship and knowledge throughout the Earth. And they assured themselves that we did not scruple to send our own to apparent woe when we saw no other course. They shared a similar trait, as the doom of each Appointed demonstrates. But they did not speak of such matters. Rather they expressed only their own delight. And they offered this bargain, the gift of tongues in exchange for the tale of Bahgoon and Thelma—and for all that the tale implied.”
The Ironhand did not meet Covenant’s gaze, or Linden’s. Instead she studied the grass at the feet of the Haruchai like a woman who expected to be judged. Her manner said clearly that she and her comrades had already judged themselves.
“Because our ancestors had been dazzled by the splendor of the Elohim,” she continued, “and because they were avid for the offered gift, they did not inquire into the perceived implications of the tale. Glad, and gladly blind, they accepted the bargain. Only now, when the harm cannot be recalled, have we heard the truth of the exchange. The eagerness of our ancestors to accept the terms, the Elohim interpreted as consent to the unwilling servitude of an unnamed Giant in a distant and uncertain future. Involuntarily misled,” she stated harshly, “or perhaps voluntarily, our ancestors condoned the sacrifice of Lostson Longwrath’s life to any use which the Elohim craved.”
Finally she raised her eyes to Covenant’s. With an air of troubled defiance, as though she meant to face any accusation squarely, she concluded, “This understanding Grimmand Honninscrave gave to us, or perhaps inflicted upon us, that we might better comprehend the choices required of Linden Giantfriend. Aye, and her deeds also. He strongly desired us to grasp that the errors, and indeed the faults, of the Giants are many and grievous. Long ago, we traded the life and pain of a kinsman for one mere gift of the Elohim. For that reason, we must be chary of finding faults and errors in others, and especially in Linden Giantfriend, whose folly may yet prove wisdom, just as the thoughtless delight of our ancestors has birthed only sorrow.”
Lit by nothing more than starlight, only Covenant’s silvered hair seemed to define him. Nevertheless Linden knew before he spoke that he would not castigate Rime Coldspray or any of her people. Rather his whole body seemed to yearn with empathy and resisted slippage as he said gruffly, “Thank you. That helps. Now I remember why I’ve always loved Giants so much. Saltheart Foamfollower was my friend at a time when I didn’t even know what friendship was. And he found a better use for his life than anything I could have imagined.”
A moment later, he added, “In any case, Longwrath didn’t succeed. If we can keep Linden alive long enough, the Elohim won’t have any reason to care what he does. Maybe then they’ll let him go, and he can find a little peace.”
Linden hoped that Coldspray would laugh now. A little peace. Before the world ended. Surely the Giants would appreciate the joke? She wanted one more chance to hear their open-hearted mirth before she left them behind. But neither the Ironhand nor any of the other Giants appeared to hear joy in Covenant’s response.
Instead Coldspray said like a promise, “By that measure, Saltheart Foamfollower was among the greatest of Giants. We honor him as we do Grimmand Honninscrave and Cable Seadreamer. If the days which remain to us are kind, we will be granted opportunity to make amends, as they did, for the unwisdom of our forebears.”
Before Covenant could reply, Mahrtiir stepped forward. “Your words are sorrow in my ears, Giant.” He sounded reluctant, hampered by emotions which he did not wish to express. Nonetheless he said, “All who live fall prey to unwisdom. It is not otherwise with the Ramen. Had we not guided the Ranyhyn to remain apart from the Land after the bale of the Sunbane had passed, much that has transpired in this age might have been averted. Their presence would surely have tempered the thoughts and purposes of the Masters.
“If your striving to ease Longwrath’s plight does not suffice as vindication, your bravery and bereavement against the skurj must. No single act of folly may outweigh a thousand—no, a thousand thousand—deeds of valor and generosity.
“It is to your ancestors’ credit, I deem, that the Elohim could not win their desires without prevarication.”
Linden nodded, assenting vaguely. She remembered hearing Mahrtiir admit, I seek a tale which will remain in the memories of the Ramen when my life has ended. He may have yearned to make amends for the long absence of his people and the Ranyhyn.
He had called his people too cautious to be remembered.
In response, Coldspray bowed. “For your courtesy, Manethrall of the Ramen, I thank you. Our remorse—aye, and our ire—are our own. We do not lightly set them aside. Yet your kindness and counsel hold great merit in our hearts. We will treasure them.”
Abruptly the Harrow snapped, “Have done with these petty considerations. Even now, the Worm bestirs itself. As Infelice has informed you, its size is not vast. Yet its puissance will outrun its mere bulk. If we do not act, and act soon, none of you will survive to bemoan your faults and errors.”
His voice hurt the night: it tarnished Mahrtiir’s compassion as well as Coldspray’s troubled honesty. Linden was on her feet before she realized that she had surged up from the grass; before she recognized her own anger.
Across the distance between them, she demanded, “Stop this. You haven’t earned the right to sneer at any of us. You’ve been just about as honest as the Elohim, and that’s not saying much, so shut up already.”
Apparently the lessons of Gallows Howe continued to guide her past the boundaries of her weakness; her fathomless chagrin.
“Yet, lady,” retorted the Harrow, “it is I who hold white gold and the Staff of Law, and you who are powerless.” Darkness shrouded his features, but his gaze felt like a threat, black and bottomless. “Scorn me now, if that is your wish. The day will come when you will implore me to make any use of your son that chances to please me. On that day, you will learn that you have cause to repent your vexation and delay, for much will be lost that might have been saved.”
“Doubtless that is your belief,” the Ardent put in. Something had changed for him. His tumid assurance was gone, replaced by an air of worry. Perhaps he had frightened himself by threatening to reveal the Harrow’s true name. “Certain of the Insequent have delved deeply into matters of augury, prescience, and consequence, seeking an awareness of Time to compare with the Theomach’s. Among those adepts, however, some foresee one outcome, and some another. Deprived of the Timewarden, the Arch is weakened. Possibilities multiply at every word and deed. You would do well to consider that your haste may promote events and choices which do not please you.”
The ferocity of the Harrow’s glower bit at Linden’s senses: she could hear the way he ground his teeth, feel his fingertips drumming on his beads. Nevertheless he contained himself.
If the Ardent spoke the Harrow’s true name, that would constitute interference by any definition that Linden understood. It would doom the Ardent. But it would also give her power over the Harrow.
She was fed up with both of them. In disgust, she turned back to Covenant and her other companions. Unexpected anger had roused her from her emptiness. She was ready now; as ready as she would ever be.
—much will be lost that might have been saved.
When she looked at Covenant, she saw that he had fallen out of the present again. His mind wandered a trackless wilderness as fractured as the rubble where Joan exerted her madness, flinging out anguish to destroy discrete instances of time. For the moment, at least, he was lost; unreachable.
In contrast, Anele had finally awakened. Rising to his feet, he gazed about him as if he sought a direction or destination imperceptible to any sight but his blindness. Eased, perhaps, by the benignant air and grass of Andelain, or by the intercession of Sunder and Hollian, he seemed almost sane as he murmured, “The time has come. Anele must have stone. He remembers both his father and his mother. He must have stone.”
Then he scented the air, apparently attracted to the smell of the aliantha that Pahni still held.
Covenant jerked up his head. “What’s that?” he asked. “What’s that? Did you say stone?” He sounded confused, trapped amid conflicting recognitions. “I remember your father and mother too. Why do you need stone?”
If Anele heard Covenant, he did not show it. Instead the old man approached Pahni, mutely holding out his hands. When she gave him her treasure-berries, he began to eat as if he had been fasting for days.
Linden sighed. In what seemed like a previous life, Anele had urged her to Seek deep rock. The oldest stone. Only there the memory remains.
The last days of the Land are counted. Without forbidding, there is too little time.
In retrospect, he seemed prescient. Still she had no idea what he meant.
“Covenant.” Deliberately she tried to make her voice sound like a slap, hoping to bring him back from his inner maze. “Do you understand what Anele is talking about?”
Covenant gazed at her without any expression that she could interpret. “Sunder had orcrest,” he muttered. “Hollian had lianar. They weren’t Lords, but they were full of Earthpower. It’s all about wood and stone.” Without warning, he raised his fists, punched himself on both temples simultaneously. “If I could just damn remember—!”
Linden flinched at his sudden vehemence. Pahni did the same. “Thomas Covenant,” protested Coldspray softly. “Giantfriend.” Branl, Galt, and Clyme moved to protect Covenant from himself.
Straining, Covenant panted through his teeth, “The Harrow knows. The Elohim aren’t the only food. The Worm can always get what it needs. But they’re the right food. As long as it can find them, the Worm won’t want to feed on anything else. The better they hide, the more time we have.
“But when it’s eaten enough—”
He tried to finish the sentence. In spite of his efforts, however, he seemed to gag on what he wanted to say; or his mind skidded out from under him as if he stood on a surface as slick as the tunnel leading to the EarthBlood.
Linden understood him no better than she did Anele. Nonetheless he had given her an idea. Obliquely he had supplied her with an argument; a lever.
Now, she told herself. Now or never. Jeremiah needed her; or she needed him. More delays would only increase her doubts. They might cost her her ability to take any action at all.
As if she were speaking to the darkness, she asked, “Liand, will you give us some light?”
Andelain lacked none of its numinous mystery in the absence of the krill’s brilliance. The Hills seemed complete as they were. Doubtless the young Stonedownor had not felt the need to see more brightly than his health-sense allowed. No one except Linden felt that need. Yet he complied without hesitation. Taking his piece of Sunstone from the pouch at his waist, he held it up in the palm of his hand and invoked his heritage.
From the orcrest came a glow so pure that it appeared to have been washed clean. Steadily the shining expanded into the vale. And as it did so, it revealed Linden’s companions as if it had reified them. Lit white, they looked ghostly for a moment, as spectral as the Dead: a small throng like omens or supplicants around Covenant and Linden. Then they resumed their substance.
To Liand, Linden said like Covenant, “Thank you. That helps.”
She wanted everyone with her to see that she had made her decision and would not be dissuaded.
For a moment, she met Stave’s single gaze, the flat stares of the Humbled, Rime Coldspray’s troubled frown, the anxieties of the Cords. One by one, she scanned the Ironhand’s comrades, and Mahrtiir, and Covenant. To Anele she nodded, although she had no reason to think that he was aware of her. In her living room, Jeremiah had once built a construct of Mount Thunder. He had given her a hint—
Seek deep rock.
Leaving everyone else behind, she could still take Anele with her.
Finally she fixed her attention on Liand as if he were the spokesman for all of her friends and uncertainties; as if he were the only one who needed to be convinced. While Covenant wandered in the world’s past, he could not countermand her.
“It’s time,” she said carefully; almost steadily. “Anele and I are going with the Harrow.” And with the Ardent, presumably. “But we’re going alone.”
She felt reactions as quick as heartbeats around her; but she kept her gaze on Liand. If she could persuade him—
Ah, Liand. I wish I could spare you. Hell, I wish any of us could spare you.
—the others might follow his example.
His stark eyebrows arched in surprise. Objections crowded into his mouth so swiftly that for the moment he could not articulate any of them. The light of his orcrest faltered briefly. In that instant of wavering, he looked somehow younger and more vulnerable, as though he had been personally spurned.
Tightening her grip on herself, Linden said, “The rest of you have more important things to do. You’re going to stay here.” Where Andelain would preserve them for a while. “Jeremiah is my son. I can’t abandon him. I’ve already made that bargain. But I won’t risk you for him.
“And the Land still needs defenders,” she went on, hurrying to forestall Liand’s expostulations. “It needs you and your Sunstone. It needs Covenant and the krill. It needs Giants and Haruchai and Ramen and Ranyhyn. Even if we didn’t have so many enemies and monsters to worry about, someone has to do something about the Worm. Someone has to preserve the Elohim, as many as possible,” to slow or weaken the Worm, “and that someone isn’t me. I don’t have any power now.” No power—and no idea how she might reclaim her son from the croyel. “I’m not the one who saves worlds.
“I can’t actually imagine what hope is anymore,” she finished, bracing herself for a storm of protests. She had staked her whole heart on Covenant—and she had failed him. “But if there is such a thing—if it still exists—it depends on you. I have to go to Jeremiah. I can’t do anything else. You have to stay here.”
Her particular intensity seemed to seal Liand’s throat. His mouth opened and closed on stillborn arguments. She saw in his eyes that her assertion had shocked him more profoundly, or more intimately, than Covenant’s resurrection.
The impassivity of the Masters may have expressed approval: Stave’s did not. Like Liand, Mahrtiir was silent. Behind his bandage, he appeared to weigh Linden’s needs against the Land’s; her desires against his own. Pahni made no attempt to conceal her visceral eagerness, her hope that Liand would be spared. Anxious and torn, Bhapa studied Linden for signs that she might waver.
But the Giants—
Rime Coldspray was the first to burst out laughing. Almost immediately, however, her comrades joined her. Stentorian and unconstrained, their loud humor filled the night: it seemed to cast back every darkness. Together they laughed until tears streamed down their faces; laughed as if laughter were another form of caamora, able to purge and cleanse until only wholeness remained. Under the stars, the vale rang with Giantish peals.
Earlier Linden had ached to hear the Swordmainnir laugh. Now their mirth daunted her: it seemed to defeat her. Once she had been stone. Now she had become as breakable as unfired clay. How could she hold up her head, or insist on protecting her friends, when the Giants found such glee in her arguments; her pleading?
“Ah, Linden Giantfriend,” the Ironhand chuckled as she subsided. “You are a wonderment in all sooth. Your words resemble a tale of woe, but they are not. They are a flight of fancy. Do you conceive that any Giant would turn aside from such a quest as yours? Ha! The lure of extravagant hazards is too great. And we can do naught to preserve the Elohim. We have no virtue to discover their many coverts—and no wish to do so. Both the World’s End and the Land’s many other perils will await our return from your son’s imprisonment. If they do not, they are too immense to be opposed by any force within our compass.
“We will accompany you, Linden Giantfriend, with your consent or without it. We cannot do otherwise, lest we lose the gift of joy entirely.”
The other women chortled their assent as if it were delight.
Hearing them, Liand’s face cleared. Their laughter banished his dismay. And for Mahrtiir also, the tension of an inner conflict eased. He was palpably relieved to turn away from responsibilities which exceeded his image of himself; and his devotion to Linden was strong. Bhapa’s reaction resembled Mahrtiir’s. As for Pahni, she was a Ramen Cord: she would follow where her Manethrall led, in spite of her fear for Liand.
Groaning to herself, Linden saw the four of them side with the Giants. She would not be able to dissuade them now. She could only compel them to remain behind by telling the Harrow that her interpretation of his bargain required him to exclude them.
If she did so, the Ardent would support her. She could draw on his magicks when she had none of her own.
Yet the Giants had moved her: she felt fundamentally shaken. Their laughter seemed as irrefusable as Jeremiah’s plight.
Dourly the Humbled nodded. “In this circumstance,” Galt said, “we will regret your departure. It is madness compounded with madness. Beyond question, some better use for your lives and efforts might be found. Understand, then, that neither we nor the ur-Lord will join your folly. Here he and the Wraiths of Andelain and High Lord Loric’s krill may yet provide a bastion against havoc. Mayhap new counsels may now be gained among the Dead. And we do not fear to place our faith in the Unbeliever, though he has been severed from himself, making him less than he was.
“While the Earth endures, the Masters stand with Thomas Covenant. But we will do so here rather than under the thrall of any Insequent.”
As Galt spoke, Linden’s heart twisted. Surely this was what she wanted? To keep Covenant safe in Andelain? She owed him at least that much after everything that she had done to damage and misuse him. And yet she did not want to part from him. She did not. Even Jeremiah would not fill Covenant’s place in her heart.
Like him, she was caught in a flaw within herself. But hers was an emotional fissure, not a broken memory. She wanted—and did not want—and could not choose.
For his part, the Harrow did not hesitate. In a loud voice, he proclaimed, “Your debates are empty breath, wasted while time crowds against us. You seek to persuade the lady, but I do not heed you. My oath I have given to her alone. I will not accept the burden of her companions.”
“Aye,” the Ardent interjected, “if that is her interpretation.” Like his assurance, his lisp was fading. “Should she wish to seek her son without accompaniment, her desires will be enforced. But should she find herself loath to proceed both friendless and bereft—” His voice trailed away like the fluttering of his ribbands.
As if by incantation, Linden’s indecisions were dispelled. The Harrow’s tone enabled her to stand on ground as solid as it was unexpected. In an instant, she discarded her previous resolve. He wished to leave her companions behind—and she did not trust him. His hungers were too extreme: he needed her helplessness. Without it, he could not be confident that she would eventually surrender Jeremiah to his designs.
The Giants and the Ramen, Liand and Stave: they might be able to aid her son in ways that she could not yet imagine. She believed that Anele would be granted deep rock. And while Covenant remained in Andelain with the Humbled and the krill, she could feel sure that the Land had not been utterly forsaken.
She could bear to leave Covenant behind if it meant preserving some manner of hope for the Land.
Turning to the Harrow, she surrendered again; but not to him. Not to him.
“In that case,” she said distinctly, “I’ve changed my mind. I want my friends with me.”
All who live share the Land’s plight.
“And I have said,” the Harrow retorted in fury, “that I do not heed you. This purpose is mine. The knowledge necessary to accomplish it is mine. I will not countenance the corruption of all that I have craved and sought.”
The Ardent flinched. His eyes rolled. For a moment, he looked like he might turn his back and flee. But then some form of courage or coercion came to his aid. Thickly he intoned, “Lady, it is both my pleasure and my task by the will of the Insequent to inform you that the Harrow’s true name is—”
The Harrow wheeled on his ribboned opponent. “Silence, fool!” he roared. “If you betray me in this fashion, you betray yourself as well. Revealing my name, you will empower the lady to command me. Thus you will destroy my intent—and you will perish, damned by your own deed.
“But I will not permit it. Rather than suffer ruin at your hand, I will forsake my design utterly.
“What then, fat one, fool, meddler? Will you drive me to depart, abandoning the Earth to its end, merely to gratify your gangrel corpulence? Must I leave the lady to grieve for her son while she may? Are you blind to the truth that neither you nor the combined will of the Insequent suffice to alter the world’s doom? You cannot discover the prison of the lady’s son. Without him, you are lost. All is lost.”
Wreathed in bands of color like anxiety, the Ardent replied, “This outcome some among the Insequent have foreseen. Others disagree. One matter on which all concur, however, is that of the lady’s import. To an extent which you fear to acknowledge, the fate of life rests with her as much as with her son.
“Yet that is not the substance of our contention. Its crux is this. Do my pronouncements, or the lady’s desires, suffice to daunt you? Is your purpose, or your pride, so fragile that you cannot suffer obstruction? If not, you must concede that your avarice forbids you to turn from your chosen path.”
“My avarice?” barked the Harrow scornfully. His fingers twitched, eager for the magic of his beads and fringes. “I am not a living embodiment of gluttony. There can be no comparison between us. Where I have hazarded my life assiduously for centuries, you have merely feasted. You cannot out-face me. You prize your gross flesh too highly.”
Feigning confidence, the Ardent answered, “Thus you display ignorance rather than knowledge. Truly I prize my flesh, as I do all sustenance. But I do not fear death when I am able to spend the last of my days feasting. I will happily perish in surfeit and satiation while the Worm devours the Earth.”
Then his manner changed. Between one word and the next, sharpness emerged like a knife from the concealment of his garb.
“However, I also do not scruple to betray you. I fear, but I do not scruple. If I must, I will ensure that you cannot abandon your purpose. Depart if you wish. Forsake your intent. You will gain naught. I need only speak your true name, and the lady will receive from you all that she requires.”
“And when you have uttered my true name,” countered the Harrow viciously, “I will reveal yours.” He seemed barely able to contain his rage: it congested his voice like alluvial mud.
But his antagonist did not falter. “Thus the lady will be empowered to compel us both equally. For me, nothing will be lost. As you have observed, I will be damned by my own deed. For you, however, all that you have ever craved will fray and fade.”
The Ardent may have been bluffing: Linden could not tell. Beneath his flamboyant magicks, he was as mundane as she was; as legible as Liand or the Ramen. But the acquired power of his ribbands obscured aspects of his aura, distracted her senses.
Nevertheless she was already sure of the outcome. The Harrow would acquiesce. His hungers were as bottomless as his eyes. They ruled him.
Turning her back on both of the Insequent, she forced herself to face Covenant again. She wanted to find some way to say goodbye, if not to him then to the love that they had once shared.
Long ago, she had heard Pitchwife singing,
I know not how to say Farewell,
When Farewell is the word
That stays alone for me to say
Or will be heard.
She hoped that she would return to Andelain with Jeremiah. But she no longer had any power to impose her will on events: no power apart from the Ardent’s support. Anything might happen after the Harrow fulfilled his part of their bargain.
Covenant’s attention still wandered the maze of his memories, dissociated and lost. He might not hear her. Nevertheless she had to try. She could too easily imagine that this would be her last chance—
Hoarse with strain, she began, “Covenant”—oh, Covenant!—“I’m sorry. I’ve done everything wrong,” ever since the Mahdoubt had returned her to her proper time. “I should have trusted you.” She should have at least tried to understand the silence of the Dead. “Now it’s come to this.”
Her friends hovered around her. Behind them, the Harrow and the Ardent had fallen silent. Bitterly the Harrow chafed at this new delay. In his own fashion, he, too, had surrendered—But Linden had no attention to spare for anyone except Covenant.
“The only thing that doesn’t scare me is leaving you here. You’re struggling now, but you’ll find your way out of it.” She made a ragged effort to smile. “By the time I get back, you’ll probably know how to save the Land.” The Harrow’s plans she distrusted: intuitively she suspected that he would not be allowed to carry them out. The Land had too many powerful foes. “That wouldn’t surprise me. If you can’t do it, no one can.”
With a suddenness that startled her, nearly made her flinch, Covenant’s eyes sprang into focus. His chin came up, emphasizing the severity of his features, the exigency of his grey gaze. Before she could react, he answered like a growl, “Oh, hell, no.”
She seemed to hear gruff affection in his voice.
“After all the trouble of resurrecting me,” he announced, “the least you can do is take me with you. I may not look like much, but you need me. And God knows I need you. Right now, I’m not coherent enough to do anything on my own. You’re about the only power there is that can actually hold me together. For a few minutes, anyway. And we’ve got time—”
The response of the Masters was swift. Galt stepped between Linden and Covenant as if to deny her claim on the Unbeliever. One on each side, Branl and Clyme gripped Covenant’s arms.
“Ur-Lord, no.” An almost subliminal tremor of vehemence marred Galt’s inflexibility. “This we will not permit. We cannot. The Land’s plight precludes it.”
Tension ran through the Ramen. Protests crowded Liand’s heart. Several of the Swordmainnir clenched their fists. But none of them moved or spoke. Stave did not interfere, although he must have known what the Humbled would do. The rest of Linden’s companions may have been waiting for some sign from him, or from Linden—or from Covenant.
—you need me. Linden’s pulse thudded in her throat.—I need you. Covenant’s words released a cascade of emotions that threatened to sweep aside her defenses. With equal fervor, she wanted him to accompany her and to remain behind. Please, she tried to say. You don’t have to do this. But her old ache for his presence and his irrefusable courage stopped her.
“You’re wrong,” Covenant informed Galt. “Weren’t you listening? I told you. If you have to choose, choose her.” He did not struggle; but now his tone held no hint of affection. He sounded raw, rubbed sore by the difficulty of controlling his frangible thoughts. “I know you don’t trust the Insequent. You shouldn’t. But you think you can avoid compromising any more of your commitments if the four of us stay here. Well, I’m sorry. That isn’t possible. Everything is just going to get messier from now on. If you want to have any say in what happens anywhere, you’ll have to get your hands dirty.
“Can’t you see that I’m broken?” he asked: a sigh of exasperation. “We’re all broken, one way or another. Broken or maimed. Bereft to the marrow of our bones. We can’t heal anything, or stop anything, if we stay here.”
Galt did not step aside. Clyme and Branl did not release Covenant. But when Galt began to say, “The Masters—” an uncharacteristic hitch in his voice forced him to pause and swallow. “The Masters,” he repeated, “elected to withhold judgment concerning Linden Avery. While they remained uncertain, it became the task of the Humbled to forestall Desecration. In this we have failed. When our kinsmen are apprised of what has transpired here, they will surely judge us as we judge ourselves. Now we will bear the cost of our failure, as we must.
“If that cost includes opposition to your will, Unbeliever—” Again his voice seemed to catch in his chest. “If it requires us to act upon our certainty that Linden Avery now serves Corruption, we will do what we must to prevent further Desecration.”
Uncounted days ago, Lord Foul had assured Linden that the Haruchai serve me, albeit unwittingly.
“Hellfire, Galt!” Covenant retorted without hesitation. “You should have gone with Cail. You should have let him talk to you.
“Have you never bothered to wonder why Lord Foul and Kastenessen and the damn Harrow and even my lost son want Jeremiah so badly? Have you never considered the idea that he must be crucial? Hasn’t it occurred to you yet that if he can be hidden from the actual Elohim, there must be powers at work here you don’t understand? Powers you weren’t aware of when you took on the job of being Masters?
“Hell and blood! You make your commitments, and you stand by them. I respect that. But even the bedrock of the world shifts when it has to. If ordinary stone didn’t have enough wisdom to change, there wouldn’t be anything here for you to stand on.”
Linden held her breath, hoping or praying or simply wishing that Covenant would be able to persuade the Humbled. Oh, she could have determined the outcome for him. If she told the Ardent that her interpretation of the Harrow’s bargain included Covenant, the two Insequent would have no difficulty separating him from the Masters. Nevertheless she said nothing. She had already imposed her desires on him in ways that now seemed unjustifiable. She still believed that the Land needed the rigid loyalty of the Haruchai. And her years among the mentally and emotionally crippled in her former life had taught her that Covenant’s insistence on what he wanted now might conduce to the healing of his mind; his memories. The longer he remained engaged with his actual circumstances and companions, the stronger his grip on himself might become.
That was a form of hope which she had not expected; and she clung to it.
Still she saw nothing that resembled compromise or acceptance in the lines of Galt’s back. Lit by the Sunstone, Clyme and Branl looked as blank as ancient carvings, their expressions worn away by ages of intransigence.
“Yet we remain Haruchai rather than stone,” replied Galt. To the extent that his nature permitted supplication, he may have been pleading with Covenant. “Stone does not choose, ur-Lord. It merely submits to forces which it cannot withstand. Choice and battle are our birthright. We are the Masters of the Land because we elected to honor the promise of our ancestors to its fullest extent. And we”—he indicated Branl, Clyme, and himself—“are the Humbled because we earned our place by long combat. We are the avatars of the ancient failure of the Bloodguard, and must not continue to fail. You cannot ask it of us to countenance your departure in the Harrow’s company, and in Linden Avery’s. To do so is to ask that we become other than we are.”
Covenant shook his head. “That’s exactly why you’re going to let me go. And why you’re going to come with us. In your whole history, no Haruchai has ever been given a chance to undo a Desecration. Or to help transform it. A chance to find out what’s on the other side of failure. And you have never had a chance to recover from what the Vizard did to you. Cail would have told you that, if you were willing to listen.”
Perhaps it was only adrenaline that held the shards of his mind together. Or perhaps he truly did not want to be separated from Linden. He may even have cared about Jeremiah’s straits; cared deeply. He was capable of such compassion.
Beyond question he cared about the fate of the Humbled.
“Besides,” he added like a shrug, “what’s the alternative? Staying behind won’t accomplish anything. The Worm isn’t here. Neither is Lord Foul. If we want to stop them, we’ll have to go where they are. That means we’ll have to face Kastenessen and the skurj and Roger and caesures and Ravers and even Joan. If you think we can do all that alone—if you think we don’t need as many friends and allies as we can get—you’re out of your minds.”
Hardly aware of what she did, Linden raised her hand to touch Covenant’s ring through the plucked flannel of her shirt; to anchor herself on its cold comfort as she had done for years. But it was gone. And her hands were empty without the Staff.
Liand gripped his orcrest so tightly that its light shook, casting ambiguous shadows over the figures grouped around Covenant.
Finally Stave intervened. From his place at Linden’s side, he said, “The Unbeliever has spoken. You will acquiesce. How otherwise will the Humbled redeem themselves in my sight?”
Galt glanced at Clyme; at Branl. “Is there no other recourse?” he asked aloud when he could have addressed them mind to mind.
They shook their heads slightly: so slightly that Linden almost missed the glint of resignation or remorse in their eyes.
“Then,” Galt pronounced, “we redeem ourselves thus.”
Wheeling so swiftly that Linden did not see him move, he flung a killing blow at her face.
Her death would cancel her bargain with the Harrow. He would take Covenant’s ring and her Staff, and retrieve Jeremiah for his own use. By the inhumane standards of the Masters, that would put an end to her many Desecrations.
Yet Galt’s blow did not touch her. Stave reached out and caught Galt’s fist easily, as if he had seen or heard the attack coming before Galt moved. The smack of knuckles against flesh made Linden flinch, but did not harm her.
Liand yelped. Too late, the Ramen snatched at their garrotes. Coldspray and two other Giants surged forward with their heavy fists cocked.
But Galt did not strike again, or resist Stave’s grasp. Instead he nodded once and stepped back. At the same time, Clyme and Branl released Covenant and held out their hands, open and empty, as if to show that they, too, had surrendered.
“It appears,” the Ardent remarked to the Harrow, “that the scale of your entourage has been increased yet again.” He sounded smug once more. “Doubtless you will welcome these added witnesses to the grand culmination of your designs.”
The Harrow muttered a curse under his breath; but Linden could not hear what it was.
She did not move. She hardly dared to breathe. She was afraid that anything she might say or do would shatter the spell, the mystery, of what had just occurred.
Somehow Stave the outcast and Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever had swayed the Humbled.