“That’s unconscionable,” she found herself saying, although she had not intended to speak. “Lord Foul would be proud of you. If you wanted me dead, you could have killed me yourselves. You’ve had plenty of chances. Tricking other people into doing your dirty work isn’t just shortsighted. It’s suicidal. You could have had allies. Now all you’ve got are people who won’t be sorry to see you die first.”
—are we not equal to all things?
We are the Elohim, the heart of the Earth. We stand at the center of all that lives and moves and is. No other being or need may judge us—
That, Esmer himself had proclaimed, that arrogance, that self-absorption, is shadow enough to darken the heart of any being.
“Well said, my lady!” The Harrow clapped his hands loudly. “I begin to believe that there is hope for the Earth, when every stratagem but mine has failed.”
The entire company ignored him.
“You denounce yourself, Linden Avery,” Galt asserted flatly. “The false dealings of the Elohim are yours as well.”
Linden accepted the charge. She, too, was guilty of self-absorption. Yes, and perhaps even of arrogance. I need you to doubt me. She had no other excuse for her actions.
No excuse except her yearning for Thomas Covenant and her compulsory love for Jeremiah.
But Rime Coldspray and then the rest of the Giants turned away from Infelice. Perhaps they had not truly expected to win any form of concession. Moving to stand among the Ranyhyn and the Humbled, they towered against the night sky; the lost stars and the fathomless dark.
“It may be, Haruchai,” the Ironhand replied to Galt, “that your certainty is apt. Yet Grimmand Honninscrave, whose valor and sacrifice were known to your ancestors, has assured us that the Dead do not pronounce judgment so readily. Mayhap Cail and others of your forefathers would have endeavored to sway you, had you consented to heed them.
“With honored Honninscrave, we have spoken of many things”—her tone was as hard as the stone of her glaive—“not neglecting the Worm of the World’s End. He described the necessity of freedom in terms too eloquent to be ignored. He did not call us away from Linden Giantfriend’s side so that we would be deprived of our own freedom of response, but rather so that we would not be provoked by events to determine our response in haste. And he said much concerning all that the Giants of the Search learned of Thomas Covenant and Linden Avery.”
Linden listened almost involuntarily. She meant to turn her attention to the Harrow. But her new understanding of Longwrath’s plight clung to her like Honninscrave’s death in possession and defiance.
At Linden’s side, Liand’s eyes shone as though he had already guessed what the Ironhand would reveal.
“That they are mortal,” the leader of the Swordmainnir went on, “and thus driven to error, cannot be denied. But the same must be said of Giants and Haruchai—and now also of Elohim. And Honninscrave reminded us of the First’s deep love, and of Pitchwife’s, and of his own, which both Thomas Covenant and Linden Avery earned by their courage and resolve, by their given friendship, and by their final refusal to honor the dictates of despair. If we doubt Linden Giantfriend, he acknowledged, we have just cause. But he also avowed that we have just cause to rely upon the lessons of past millennia, lessons of lealty and trust. Indeed, he assured us that his own dreads are preeminently for her rather than of her. Remain uncertain, as do the Dead, he urged us, and abide by the leanings of your hearts.
“Haruchai, our hearts incline to Linden Avery, and also to Thomas Covenant. The peril of his incarnation is plain, as is that of her obduracy and might. He has suffered great harm, and the darkness within her is vivid to all who gaze upon her. Yet he remains a man who has risen to the salvation of the Land. And she has repeatedly demonstrated her capacity for unforeseen healings.
“If you are compelled to pass judgment,” the Ironhand concluded as if she were closing her fist, “do so among yourselves. We will not hear you. In spite of our uncertainty, we have elected to keep faith with our own past—and with hers.”
Short days ago, Coldspray had declared, After our children, tales are our greatest treasures. But there can be no story without hazard and daring, fortitude and uncertainty. And joy is in the ears that hear, not in the mouth that speaks.
Galt held the Ironhand’s gaze without blinking. Clyme and Branl did the same. However, they shared their thoughts in silence rather than aloud. To that extent, at least, they respected the attitude of the Giants. Only Stave heard his kindred; and he said nothing.
“Do you know—?” Linden tried to ask. But her throat closed as if she were still capable of weeping. Dismay filled her mouth like ashes or sand, and she had to swallow hard before she could find her voice. “Do you know what happened to Anele? Did Honninscrave,” oh, God, Honninscrave, who had deliberately accepted a Raver so that Lord Foul’s servant could be torn apart, “say anything about him?”
Coldspray shook her head, and her manner softened. “Of the old man, we know only what your eyes have beheld. We see that he has found solance among his Dead. But his state does not affect the heading of our choices. For that reason, I deem, Honninscrave did not speak of him.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Linden murmured as if to herself. “His freedom is as necessary as anyone else’s. If we knew what was going on inside him, we might interfere somehow.”
Struggling against the Giants’ effect on her, she prepared herself to turn toward the Harrow again. You have companions, Chosen—She had an abundance of friends: the Swordmainnir had made that obvious.—who have not faltered in your service. Only the Humbled and Infelice wished to oppose her. But that changed nothing. She had set in motion the end of the world. She could not alter it. There was only one thing left for her to do.
Surely she should retrieve her Staff and Covenant’s ring? They remained on the grass, discarded as if they had betrayed her. They would have no value to her unless she claimed them again.
Perhaps, she thought, she should try to claim Loric’s krill as well. Its brightness defended Andelain; but now Andelain was doomed. Loric’s dagger may have been the highest achievement of the Old Lords—and it could not save the Hills. Nevertheless it might continue to draw power from Joan’s wedding band when Covenant’s was gone.
It might save Linden herself.
Or Jeremiah.
Briefly.
That was all she asked. She had gone too far, and done too much harm, to expect anything more.
Yet she hesitated without knowing why. The Staff of Law belonged to her. In some sense, Covenant had left his ring to her. But she had no claim on the krill. No right to it.
She wanted to ask the Harrow, Do you still believe that Infelice will stop you from taking me to Jeremiah? Even now?
But this decision was hers to make. It did not belong to either the Elohim or the Insequent.
Before she could make her last remaining choice, however, Manethrall Mahrtiir abruptly jerked up his head.
“Aliantha!” he barked as if he were astonished or ashamed that he had not thought of this earlier. “Cords, find aliantha.”
Bhapa and Pahni exchanged a baffled glance. In confusion, Pahni looked quickly at Liand. But they were Ramen: they obeyed their Manethrall at once. Dodging between the Ranyhyn, they sprinted up the slopes of the hollow until they passed beyond the reach of the krill’s argence.
“Manethrall?” asked Stave.
Perplexed, Coldspray, Grueburn, and their comrades frowned at Mahrtiir.
“The first Ringthane must have healing,” he replied harshly. “There is much here that lies beyond my comprehension—aye, beyond even my desire for comprehension. Yet it is plain to me, though I have no sight, that some portion of his suffering is mere human frailty. He has been given flesh which is too weak and flawed to contain his spirit.
“No balm known to the Ramen will ease the ardor and constriction of his reborn pain. But aliantha will supply the most urgent needs of his flesh. Mayhap it will gra
nt him the strength to awaken—and perhaps to speak.”
Stave nodded; and some of the grimness lifted from the faces of the Giants. “Manethrall!” Liand exclaimed gladly. “The sight which you do not possess surpasses mine, which is whole. Aliantha, indeed! Why was this not our first thought rather than our last?”
Because, Linden answered to herself mordantly, you were distracted. As she had been. Like her companions, she had concentrated on other forms of healing.
Now she felt that she would never be able to meet Covenant’s gaze again. She could hardly bear to look into the faces of her friends, whom she had misled and misused.
She meant to leave them all behind. She did not want to expose them to the hazards of the Harrow’s dark intentions.
Covenant had professed his faith in her. She’s the only one who can do this. Linden would have found his sick and shattered condition easier to endure if he had spurned her utterly.
The idea that he still trusted her felt like a cruel joke.
Among Andelain’s wealth of gifts, the Cords did not have to search far for treasure-berries. Pahni had already re-entered the vale with a handful of the viridian fruit. And as she hastened fluidly down the slope, Bhapa caught the light at the rim of the hollow. At the same time, Mahrtiir walked around the Ranyhyn and the Giants and the krill to approach Covenant. Kneeling, the Manethrall gently, kindly, eased the Unbeliever around onto his back. Then Mahrtiir seated himself cross-legged at Covenant’s head and lifted it onto the support of his shins.
Linden could not watch. Deliberately she turned away from the group around Covenant as she stooped to grasp the carved black wood of her Staff. For an instant, she feared that she had burned away its readiness for Earthpower and Law. At once, however, she found that the Staff was whole, unharmed. Its strict warmth steadied her hand as she picked up Covenant’s ring, looped its chain over her head, and let the white gold dangle against her sternum.
Now, she commanded herself. Do it now.
Nevertheless she hesitated, gripped by a pang like a premonition of loss. Her own intentions frightened her. Even more than her Staff, Covenant’s wedding band symbolized the meaning of her life. When she surrendered such things, she would have nothing left.
Nothing apart from Jeremiah.
His need compelled her. If she kept nothing for herself except her son, she would find a way to be content.
Clutching the Staff until her knuckles ached, she crossed lush grass to bargain with the Harrow.
As ornately clad as a courtier, the Insequent sat his huge destrier a dozen or more paces away from everyone else. As Linden approached, the beast rolled its eyes in terror or fury: the muscles of its flanks quivered. Yet it stood stiffly under the Harrow’s steady hand. The bottomless gulfs of his eyes regarded her hungrily, but did not attempt to draw her into their depths. A smile like a smug obscenity twisted his mouth. In order to face him, she had to remind herself grimly that his power was like his apparel, acquired rather than innate. Behind his condescension and his greed and his complex magicks, he was a more ordinary man than Liand of Mithil Stonedown, who had inherited the ancient birthright of his people.
If Linden could have closed her senses to the company behind her, she would have done so. But her nerves were still too raw; too exposed. Involuntarily she felt the Ranyhyn move until they formed a wide circle around Covenant and Mahrtiir and the Cords, Liand and the Humbled. There the star-browed horses stood as if to bear witness. And among the Ranyhyn, the Giants assembled. Even the attention of the Elohim was fixed on Covenant rather than on Linden and the Harrow.
Only Stave walked away from the Manethrall’s efforts to care for the first Ringthane. Alone the outcast Haruchai came to stand with Linden.
She did not want to follow what Mahrtiir was doing, she did not. In spite of her efforts to seal her senses, however, she felt his tension and concern as he accepted a treasure-berry from Pahni and broke it open with his teeth to remove the seed. He could not know what would happen when he fed aliantha to Covenant. He could only remain true to himself—and put his trust in the Land’s largesse.
Carefully he parted Covenant’s lips to accept the fruit. Then he began to stroke Covenant’s throat, encouraging the unconscious man to swallow.
Linden glared into the Harrow’s eyes as if she were impervious to his assumed superiority. Hoarsely she rasped, “You said that you can take me to my son.”
There is a service which I am able to perform for you, and which you will not obtain from any other living being.
“Indeed.” The Insequent’s voice was deep and fertile; ripe with avarice. He met her gaze like a man who yearned to devour her. “My knowledge encompasses both his hiding place and the means by which he has remained hidden. And I am able to move at will from one place to another in this time, as the foolish Mahdoubt has informed you.”
For moments that felt long to Linden’s unwilling nerves, Covenant did not respond to the aliantha on his tongue. But Mahrtiir was patient. And even if Covenant did not swallow, his mouth itself would absorb some of the berry’s virtue.
“The Worm of the World’s End is coming,” she replied to the Harrow, speaking as distinctly as the quaver in her heart allowed. “There’s nothing you can do about it. Does that make you re-think anything? Anything at all? Do you still want what I have?”
Did he still covet the responsibility implied by the Staff of Law and Covenant’s ring?
Suspense gathered around Covenant and the Manethrall. The Giants and the Humbled, the Cords and Liand and even the Ranyhyn studied the fallen Timewarden for some sign that the fruit’s rich juice or Mahrtiir’s ministrations might unclose his throat.
Linden felt the collective sigh of the Swordmainnir as Covenant swallowed reflexively.
The Manethrall bowed his head over Covenant for a moment. Then he readied another treasure-berry.
“I do, lady,” answered the Harrow avidly. “And I am not as ignorant of the Worm as Infelice chooses to imagine. The Earth’s ruin need not transpire as she asserts that it must. With the powers that you will enable me to wield, and by means which the Elohim fear to contemplate, I will demonstrate that no doom is inevitable—apart from the destruction which falls upon those who dare to oppose me.”
“All right.” Linden took a moment to confirm that she was sure. But the possibility that Covenant might awaken did not affect her decision. She needed to take one more absolute risk. Nothing less would serve her now. And she knew the cost of trying to escape her burdens. “If you’re that arrogant—or that blind—or that clever—tell me what you’ll offer in exchange.”
Without visible transition, Infelice stood in the air near Linden and the Harrow, floating so that she could face him directly with her gleaming indignation—or so that she could fling her distress down at Linden.
An instant later, the whole vale was transformed as a host of Wraiths came streaming into the hollow from every direction. Warmly they lit the dark. In spite of herself, Linden turned her head, expecting to see scores or hundreds of dancing eldritch candle-flames rush toward her as if they had been summoned by the possibility of conflict between the Elohim and the Insequent.
But they did not appear to be aware of her; or of Infelice and the Harrow. Instead they gathered around Mahrtiir and Covenant.
Infelice demanded Linden’s attention. “Linden Avery,” she protested in anguish and ire, “Wildwielder, you must not. Does the harm of this night fail to content you? The Insequent speaks of forces which he cannot comprehend. He will hasten the reaving of the Elohim and accomplish no worthy purpose. He will merely gain for himself a scant, false glory while the world falls.”
Stave ignored the Elohim. He did not glance at the Wraiths or Covenant. As if Infelice had not spoken, he said inflexibly, “Be wary, Chosen. I mislike the word of this Insequent. And the exchange which you contemplate is unequal in his favor. It may be greatly so. With wild magic and Law, perhaps wielded through High Lord Loric’s krill, he will acquire
an imponderable might—and you will receive only your son. He may prove powerless against the Worm, and still wreak untold havoc ere the end, leaving naught but despair to those who briefly retain their lives.”
Linden hardly heard either of them. Held by surprise at the return of the Wraiths, she watched them bob and flicker over Covenant’s unconsciousness. The precise yellow-and-orange of their fires countered the inhuman silver of the krill. Chiming like the highest bells of a distant carillon, nameless and ineffable, they alit in throngs on his arms and legs, his torso, his face. And each touch was an infusion of their arcane vitality. Together they wove health through him, repairing his over-burdened flesh.
In spite of their generosity, Linden discerned no indication that the Wraiths would or could affect the fissuring of his mind. Nor did they relieve his leprosy. It was inherent to him. It may have been necessary. Nevertheless they swarmed to expend themselves so that his body would be able to bear the strain of his incalculable spirit.
When each Wraith had given its gift, its answer to the animosity between the Elohim and the Insequent, it danced away so that its place could be taken by another small flame.
Reassured, Linden faced Infelice and the Harrow again. Fervently she replied to both Stave and the Elohim.
“I’m not worried about that. If he’s wrong—if he can’t stop the Worm—he’ll die like the rest of us. But he may not be wrong. He didn’t work so long and hard for this just so that he can enjoy a few days of empty superiority. And I am going to free my son. I can’t do anything else, but I can try to do that. I’m going to stop his suffering. I’m going to hold him in my arms at least one more time before the Worm gets us. If he and I have to die, his last memory is going to be that I love him.”
For the span of several heartbeats, Stave considered Linden. When he was confident of what he saw with his single eye, he said simply, “Then I am content.”