Against All Things Ending (14 page)

Linden looked to the Ardent. “And if that wasn’t my original understanding of our agreement? What happens then?”

Bands of color wafted up and down the Ardent’s form, signing certainty, masking alarm. “Then your will prevails, lady. The Harrow must abandon his purpose for your son, or he must set aside his craving for your instruments of power. The Insequent as a people will countenance no other outcome.”

Stave glanced at the group around Covenant and the
krill
. Then he turned his gaze on the Harrow.

“There is another matter to consider also. If Infelice has spoken sooth in aught, we must recognize that life cannot endure without death. The Worm of the World’s End is necessary to the Earth’s continuance. If your vaunt succeeds, and the Worm is imprisoned, will not this habitation cease to sustain life? Will not the whole of this creation become barrenness?”

“Well said,
Haruchai
,” muttered Mahrtiir. “The Harrow is derangement made flesh. His greed will hasten every destruction.”

Linden heard Stave; but her attention was fixed on the Harrow. Her heart thudded in her chest as though it had reached the limit of its endurance. If he called her bluff by recanting his claims—if he mastered his cupidity—Jeremiah would be lost to her. He would die alone in torment when the Earth perished.

“I’m waiting.” Her every word trembled. The Harrow had not acknowledged Stave’s query. “What’s it going to be?”

If he dared her to find Jeremiah without his help, she would surely crumble.

For a moment, he addressed the Ardent rather than Linden. “You demand much,” he said: the deep snarl of a beast. “Three things I sought from the lady. One I have already eschewed. It was denied to me by the Mahdoubt’s unconscionable obstruction. Do you truly dream that I will surrender still more of my desires?”

Then he replied to Linden. Harsh as acid, he said, “The conjoined resolve of the Insequent suffices to command me. Lady, I will honor your reading of my oath. My purpose for your son I set aside—for the present.

“Yet yours,” he promised fiercely, “will be an empty triumph. You evade my intent to no avail. When we have retrieved your son, the only powers which offer hope to the Earth will remain in my possession. You will strive as you may to free your son from the
croyel
. In that endeavor, I did
not
vow my aid. And when you have failed, as you must—when you stand powerless before the world’s doom—I will inquire if by chance you have reconsidered the terms of your ‘contentment.’”

A moment later, he added with less anger, “The doom-saying of the
Elohim
does not merit credence. They care only for their own lives. If the Worm is imprisoned, they may indeed cease to exist. But the Earth and all other life continued while the Worm slumbered. If it is imprisoned, they will endure. I do not propose to
slay
it.”

Linden might have asked the Ardent, Is that true? But she was trembling too hard to speak. Now, she told herself. Do it now. Before he changes his mind.

The time had come for absolute answers. She was going to give Covenant’s wedding band and the Staff of Law to the Harrow. As soon as she could make her muscles obey her—

Infelice had told her,
Your remorse will surpass your strength to bear it
. She did not doubt the
Elohim
. Nevertheless she was prepared to bear any burden in order to save her son. Long ago, she had recognized that even the Land and Thomas Covenant did not mean as much to her as Jeremiah.

And Covenant had said,
I think we should do this Linden’s way
. He may have understood the implications of his support.

“All right.” She could not yet control her voice, but she did not let her weakness stop her. “I’m not ready to leave. There are still a few things that I have to do. But I want to make this bargain,” bind the Harrow to his word, “while the Ardent is here to keep you honest.”

Nothing relieved the darkness of the Harrow’s gaze. Perhaps nothing could. But his attention sharpened suddenly: every line of his elegant form became vivid. His aura was a blaze of vindicated avarice.

“Linden?” Liand murmured in alarm. “Ringthane,” asked the Manethrall, “are you certain?” But they were not trying to dissuade her. They were only cautioning her. In spite of everything, they believed in her—

Stave was
Haruchai
: she could not sense the character of his emotions. Nevertheless she trusted that he would not interfere—and that he would warn her if the Humbled came to stop her.

They must have been aware of her. Yet somehow Covenant’s concentration on the
krill
held them back.

With unwonted anxiety, Rime Coldspray said, “I mislike this course. Linden Avery, I have named you Giantfriend. We will not oppose you. But I fear that you sail seas as hurtful and chartless as the Soulbiter, where every heading brings despair.”

Linden ached for her friends. But there was nothing that she could say to reassure them. She feared as many things as they did, and with more reason. She knew her own inadequacy better than they could.

Deliberately she took a last step toward the Harrow.

Unable to quash the tremors that undermined her strength, she tried to lift both of her arms at the same time; tried and failed. Covenant’s ring was closed in her left hand: from her fist dangled the chain which for ten years had carried her only reminder of his love. Her right gripped desperation around the Staff of Law. For one more moment, she hesitated, torn between self-imposed bereavements.

Mere days or entire lifetimes ago, she had refused the ring to Roger Covenant even though she had believed that he was his father. Now, shivering as if she were feverish, she offered Covenant’s wedding band to the Harrow.

He snatched at the chain; took the ring from her like a man who feared that she would change her mind.

Releasing the Staff required a greater effort, not because Covenant’s ring had less emotional weight, but because the Staff was
hers
. With it, she had effaced
caesures
; mended wounds; unmade the Sunbane. She had transformed the pure wood to blackness in battle. Caerroil Wildwood himself had given her his gift of runes.

In dreams, Covenant had told her that she needed her Staff.

Unclosing her fingers was a fundamental abnegation. She felt that she was selling her soul; defying the necessity of freedom. Voluntarily giving up her right to choose. She could not have abandoned so much of herself for any cause except Jeremiah.

That boy doesn’t deserve what’s happened to him
.

Then she had to avert her eyes. The Harrow’s glee as he grasped the Staff and held it high, brandishing it and Covenant’s ring like trophies, was too savage to be borne.

“Behold, my people!” he shouted at the stars. “Witness and tremble! Soon I will show myself the greatest of all Insequent, the greatest who has ever lived!”

If she had watched him, she might have lost heart altogether.

Her companions seemed unable to speak. They had not shared her visions. To them, the idea that she had roused the Worm must have felt vaguely unreal; impossible to imagine. But even Liand, the least experienced and least informed of her friends, understood the magnitude of her surrender to the Harrow.

A short distance away, the Ardent’s ribbands wavered aimlessly, as if he sought to conceal a private terror.

Perhaps the thought that without power she could no longer be held responsible for the world’s doom should have allowed her a measure of relief; but it did not. Instead she felt fatally weakened, as if she had dealt herself a wound too grievous to survive.

4.

After Unwisdom

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.