Against All Things Ending (101 page)

A blare of radiance stung his sight. It swept back the gloom. The jewel was a cynosure of argence. In that narrow place, it effaced imminent night.

Blinking as if his eyes were still full of blood, he saw
skest
wheel away from the few remaining Feroce.
Turiya
’s creatures knew the
krill
; or they remembered it. They or their distant ancestors had encountered it in the Sarangrave. Now they mewled like frightened young. They flinched and cowered. Then they began to retreat.

As if they shared one mind, a dozen
skest
all crowded toward the cleft and the maze at the same time.

Yes
.

The Feroce let them go. Only five of the lurker’s worshippers still lived. They clung desperately to the green fires in their hands and trembled, shaken by atavistic dread.

When the
skest
were gone, the Feroce came a step or two nearer. Standing on gutted granite, they stopped. Their small forms seemed to ache with fatigue and defeat.

“We are weak,” they said, timorous as if they deserved punishment. “We have come too far from our waters. Distance frays the majesty of our High God. The
skest
are too many. We cannot quell them.”

Impassively Branl stated, “The
skest
will await us among the passages of the Shattered Hills.” With both hands, he stroked Naybahn’s neck. He may have been apologizing.

Or grieving.

Covenant’s jaws knotted. “And they’ll still be afraid.” Flanked by the Humbled and the Ranyhyn, he studied his straits. “They aren’t the real problem.” He knew how to reach Joan. “First we have to get
there
.” With his free hand, he indicated the eaten stone between him and the cleft; the only available entrance to the maze. The rock still steamed and stank as lingering acid bit deeper into its substance. “And we have to think of a way to save the Ranyhyn.”

The clifftop looked too badly gnawed to support him. It would never hold Naybahn or Mhornym.

Nevertheless Branl left Covenant’s side at once. Pressing himself to the hill-wall opposite the precipice, he side-stepped carefully toward the cleft.

Now Covenant saw that a narrow span of stone at the base of the hill had been left undamaged. It was too slim for the Ranyhyn, but it accommodated Branl.

When the Master reached the cleft, he glanced inward, nodded his satisfaction at the retreat of the
skest
. Then he told Covenant, “Our path is secure.” Frowning, he added, “It will not serve the Ranyhyn.”

Pale in the
krill
’s vividness, the flames of the Feroce guttered, timid and apprehensive. After a moment, they sighed, “Stone lives. Its life is slow. Its pain is slow. But it lives. It remembers.

“We have failed our High God. We must attempt amends. We will ask the stone to remember its strength. It has been ravaged. It has felt havoc. But if its life is slow, its awareness of harm is also slow. Its memory of strength persists.”

Covenant stared at the creatures. What,
remember
its strength?
After
it was broken? The damage to the stone was severe. And he could discern no power capable of mending rock from the Feroce; no power of any kind apart from the frantic dance of their flames.

But the creatures did not wait for a response. Trembling, they moved closer to each other, formed a tight circle. As they had done once before, they joined their hands, clasped their fires together. They may have been praying—

Gradually their strange energies found new force. The nauseating hue of the Illearth Stone grew brighter. It etched itself against the hot silver of the
krill
.

By some means, they had caused Covenant’s lost mount to recall its own nature earlier. They had restored the destrier’s contentious spirit.

Maybe—

Covenant saw nothing change. His senses were too dull to identify the effect wrought by the Feroce—if they achieved any effect at all. Clyme and Branl watched in silence.

But the Ranyhyn reacted as if they understood the Feroce. They jerked up their heads, shook their manes, snorted fiercely. Emerald and argent contradicted each other in the wide glare of their eyes. Trumpeting defiance, they flung themselves forward; burst into a gallop.

They managed one long stride on undamaged stone—and another, foreshortened. Then they sprang as far as they could stretch out across the wrecked rock.

Both
of them, when one would have been too heavy.

Covenant forgot to breathe; forgot to blink at the blood still oozing from his forehead.

At the limit of their leap, their forelegs struck the surface. It crumbled instantly. Of course it did. Much of it had been corroded to the consistency of rotten wood. The rest had lost its foundations. Nevertheless Naybahn and Mhornym snatched their hind legs under them and tried to spring again.

They almost succeeded.

Almost.

But the stone had been too badly chewed. A section of the clifftop collapsed beneath the horses. Chunks of rock fell like jagged gobbets of the Earth’s flesh.

Frantically Naybahn and Mhornym scrambled at the failing slope. Somehow their hooves found purchase. Straining, they lunged forward onto stone as ruined and ruinous as the rock that they had crumbled.

Beyond them, the flames of the Feroce rose like screams into the air.

More of the surface broke. More of it fell away. Yet the Ranyhyn were faster—or the invocation of the Feroce had taken hold. Together Naybahn and Mhornym outran the collapse.

Granite wreckage plummeted. A hungry plunge snapped at their heels as they neared the lurker’s creatures. But there, impossibly, the surface became stronger. The Feroce stood where the greatest number of
skest
had died, yet the clifftop clung to its former endurance. When the Ranyhyn surged past the creatures, they were able to truly gallop.

“Damnation!” Covenant gasped. “Hell and blood! I would not have believed—”

A moment later, the horses reached solid ground. At once, they skidded to a halt, neighing triumph.

The Feroce unclosed their hands; let their peculiar magicks subside. Their small forms slumped as if they were exhausted.

While he caught his breath, Covenant repeated to himself, Damnation! I would
not
have believed it. But he did not pause for astonishment. Relief only whetted his vulnerability. A large portion of the clifftop was gone. Against the foot of the Shattered Hills lay a gap as inviting and murderous as open jaws. And the drop
called
to him.

Vertigo squirmed through him. Ruling himself with curses, he shouted to the Feroce, “Tell your High God! If it can be done, I’ll save him. I’ll save the Land. And
thank
him for me. He keeps his promises!”

The Feroce looked too weary to respond; and he did not wait for them. Aiming his voice past the creatures, he ordered the Ranyhyn, “Don’t try to follow us! Find some other path. I’m counting on you! We’re going to need you.”

Under his breath, he added, “If I don’t get us killed first.”

Hurrying, he turned to Clyme. “We have to reach Branl, and I can’t do it. No way in hell.” His voice shook as if he were feverish. “I can’t keep my damn balance.” At one time, he had found calm in the eye of a whirling confluence of possibility and impossibility: he could not do so here. “But it’s worse than that. There’s something in me that
wants
to fall.” His inner Despiser? His yearning to surrender his burdens? “If the two of you can’t hold me, we might as well just jump.”

In the light of Loric’s dagger, Clyme’s expression looked subtly scornful. “Secure the
krill
, ur-Lord,” he said as if Covenant’s alarm did not merit reassurance. “We will require both of your arms.”

“Right.” Covenant tightened his grip on himself. “Of
course
you can hold me. What was I thinking?”

In a rush, he swung the dagger so that Anele’s cloth wrapped itself around the metal, masked the bright gem.

At once, darkness enclosed him. Its suddenness sealed him away from everything except the avid gulf. He could not even see Clyme. The Master was only a sensation of rigidity at his side. Nevertheless Covenant tucked the
krill
into his jeans.

Then his eyes began to adjust. The precipice grew wider, darker; more compulsory. The faint flames of the Feroce did not shed enough light to protect him. Clyme became a more substantial avatar of night.

While Covenant’s head reeled, Clyme grasped his left arm and pushed him firmly toward the hard wall of the hill.

Instinctively he wanted to resist. Vertigo sang to him, as siren and alluring as the music of
merewives
. Seductions spun in his head, his stomach, his muscles. Did he trust the
Haruchai
? He had always said that he did. Put up or shut up.

When his shoulder touched stone, he jammed his face and chest against it; clung to it. Not
this
time, he swore at his spinning mind; or at the Despiser. You can’t have me now. Wait your damn turn.

Out of the dark, Branl said, “Extend your arm, ur-Lord. We will support you. You will not fall.”

The appalled voice of Covenant’s alarm sneered, Oh, sure. Extend my arm. Like
that’s
going to happen. But he was already reaching for Branl. He had come too far and learned too much: his fears did not rule him.

A hand as trustworthy as granite gripped his wrist, rock that defied corrosion. Between them, Branl and Clyme urged him along the base of the hill.

The cleft was millennia away. Creeping on the verge of panic, Covenant would need an age of the Earth to cross the distance. But the Humbled were oblivious to the impossibility of their task. Ignoring the frenetic stutter of Covenant’s heart, they impelled him toward the crack in the hill; the entrance to the maze.

When he stood at last between solid walls with gutrock under his boots, he staggered in relief; nearly stumbled to his knees. Still his companions upheld him.

Here there was no light at all. The drained flames of the Feroce did not reach into the cleft.

Gasping for balance, Covenant panted, “Remind the Ranyhyn. Insist, if you have to. They can’t follow us. We need them.” Then he managed to add, “Thank you.”

“We are the Humbled,” Branl answered impassively, “Masters and
Haruchai
. We do not require gratitude.

“On the Plains of Ra, the Ranyhyn reared to you. They will heed your wishes.”

“In that case—” Gradually the gyre in Covenant’s head eased. By increments, his nerves released their terror and yearning. The
Haruchai
feared grief. It was their one maiming weakness. Naturally they did not want gratitude. “We should keep moving. I need a clearing of some kind. A little open ground. Maybe we can find it before the
skest
come at us again.”

Storms of impatience and dread brewed in the background of his thoughts. But he did not protest when Clyme and Branl remained still. He was not steady enough to walk yet.

They waited until he was able to stand without their support; until he took a couple of steps into the cleft and turned to face them. Then Clyme asked, “Ur-Lord, what is your intent? The
skest
await us. A Fall may strike at any moment. Your former mate remains beyond our discernment. We will be better able to serve you if we comprehend your purpose.”

Covenant cursed to himself. Summoning as much honesty as he could bear, he admitted, “I’m afraid to say it out loud. You told me you don’t know how far
turiya
’s senses reach. If he hears me—if he even
guesses
—” Involuntarily Covenant shuddered. He could be so easily foiled. “I’m going to do something almost as crazy as Joan. And I need you with me. You just saved my life, but you aren’t done.” In darkness, he spread his hands to show the Humbled that he was helpless. “If you don’t want to do it, that’s your right. I won’t blame you. But I need you with me.”

He had always needed companions. Friends. People who cared about him and loved the Land.

For a long moment, the Humbled did not move. They may have been arguing with each other; debating the exigencies of their chosen role. Then they appeared to nod: without light, Covenant could not be sure.

Clyme came forward. “I will lead while Branl wards your back. The
Haruchai
have no knowledge of this snare. Those Bloodguard who ventured here did not return, apart from Korik, Sill, and Doar, who revealed naught. But our perceptions exceed yours. We will search out a clearing or open place, according to your desires.”

Instead of thanking the Humbled again, Covenant rested his halfhand in acknowledgment on Clyme’s shoulder. After that, he simply followed.

Joan would try to kill him. She had no choice. Long ago, she had betrayed herself as well as him by turning her back. The same future could not hold them both.

The cleft seemed to wander aimlessly, as if it had lost its way. Night had settled over the Shattered Hills. In the dark, Covenant could barely discern Clyme’s shape ahead of him. He stumbled on the rough ground, caught the toes of his boots on loose rocks. But he had unforgiving surfaces to guide him on either side, the Humbled to shepherd him. And overhead the first dim hint of stars blinked in a narrow slit of sky like a path. When he missed his footing, he recovered his balance and went on.

At intervals, he passed black holes in the bases of the walls, gaps that may have been small caves leading to tunnels. Each opening increased his tension: he expected
skest
. But he felt no hint of the creatures; smelled nothing except age and emptiness, the stagnant musk of departed immiseration. For some reason,
turiya
Herem was holding back. The Raver had some other ambush in mind.

Ahead of Covenant, Clyme came to a fracture that bisected the cleft at a sharp angle. Off to the left, Covenant detected a vague impression of
skest
; a residual fetor. Instead of continuing along the cleft, Clyme turned to the right, almost doubling back on his course. Trailed by Covenant and then Branl, he strode into the dark, steadfast in his certainty.