Against All Things Ending (58 page)

As calmly as she could, she asked, “How did you do it, Stave? How did you become so different?” In Revelstone, he had answered that question. Nevertheless she needed to ask it again. “You see things that the other Masters don’t. And you care differently.” He had called her by her given name. “How did that happen?”

He did not hesitate. As if the truth had become easy for him, he replied, “The Ranyhyn have laughed at my pride and shame. And the kindliness of their laughter has eased my fear of grief. Made one with them, and with you, by the eldritch waters of their tarn, I was resurrected to myself.”

After a moment, Linden was relieved to realize that her eyes were full of tears. They flowed like the stream, and with the same offer of solace. If nothing else, she had recovered her ability to weep.

Perhaps her bedrock despair was not as unyielding as she had feared.

L
ater she returned to the stretch of sand where Covenant sat with Liand, Pahni, and Bhapa. While Mahrtiir paced, and Anele snored to himself, Galt stood with Jeremiah and the
croyel
like a carving in the Hall of Gifts, a close grouping of conflicted figures as unreadable as the first dim gleam of stars. Farther up the canyon, the Swordmainnir continued their Giantclave, speaking quietly so that they would not disturb their companions.

Knowing that she needed rest, Linden stretched out on the sand with one arm folded beneath her head for a pillow. But then she decided that she would not sleep. She feared her dreams. Instead, she told herself, she would only relax and think until she was ready to face the challenge of Jeremiah’s straits.

But the sand seemed to settle around her, adjusting to her contours as comfortably as a bed. Between one thought and the next, she dropped like a stone into a soothing river of slumber.

When she awoke, she knew at once that midnight had passed. Dawn was still some hours away. And there was no moon. Apart from the impersonal glitter of the stars, the only light was the ghostly illumination of High Lord Loric’s
krill
. Its gem shed silver streaks past Jeremiah and the
croyel
as if Linden had awakened in the insubstantial realm of the Dead.

From his seat across the sand, Covenant regarded her with argent like instances of wild magic in his eyes. Linden could not tell whether or not he had slept. She was only sure that he was present, concentrating on her as though she embodied futures which had no reality without her.

Around the floor of the canyon, several of the Giants slept like Anele, abandoned to their need for rest. Liand and Pahni had gone somewhere, apparently seeking a degree of privacy. Alone among his human companions, Bhapa had hidden from his doubts and dreads in slumber. However, the Ironhand, Frostheart Grueburn, and Onyx Stonemage remained watchful, although they lay propped against boulders in attitudes of rest. Barely visible against the heavens, Clyme and Branl stood motionless on their respective hillcrests. And Mahrtiir still paced, measuring out his frustration in bearable increments. To avoid disturbing the sleepers, he had gone down to the water’s edge, where he fretted back and forth beside the stream.

As quietly as she could, Linden grasped the Staff of Law and rose to her feet. While she brushed sand from her clothes, she confirmed that Jeremiah’s racecar still nestled in her pocket; that Covenant’s ring hung on its chain around her neck. The time had come. She was not ready for it. Perhaps she had never been ready for anything. Nevertheless she had made up her mind.

Now or never.

How often had she said that to herself?

But when she turned toward Galt and Jeremiah, Covenant spoke. In a low rasp like the subtle scrape of a saw on rotted wood, he said, “Linden, listen to me.”

She faced him. After an instant of hesitation, she went to stand over him so that he would not need to raise his voice.

“What is it?” she asked softly. Had he remembered something? Something that might help her with Jeremiah?

“I want you to understand,” he replied. “Whatever you have to do, I’m on your side. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing. You said it yourself. First things first. Everything else can wait.” With a touch of grim humor, he added, “It’s not like any of our problems are going to solve themselves.

“But—” His voice caught. When he continued, he seemed to be forcing himself. “Wild magic is like a beacon. Especially now. If you decide to try it—and remember I’m on your side—any number of our enemies will know where we are. They’ll
feel
it. Even if they aren’t
Elohim
.”

Awkwardly he spread his hands as if to show her that they were full of darkness. “Please believe me, Linden. I’m not
advising
you. I’m not trying to tell you what to do—or what not to do. Just be aware. There’s more than one kind of danger here.
Caesures
aren’t the only bad thing that can happen when somebody uses white gold.”

Linden heard the tension in his tone; but she was not really listening. As soon as she realized that he had nothing to offer except a warning, her attention shied away. She could not afford to be
even more
afraid. Not now. Not while her first and most necessary commitment was to Jeremiah.

She had already been given enough warnings.

As if she were answering Covenant’s appeal, she said, “So Kastenessen knows where Joan is.”

“That’s not—!” Covenant began with sudden ferocity. But then he caught himself. More mildly, he said, “Of course he knows. Hellfire, Linden. I’m starting to think even
I
know. Or I would, if I could just remember. Or I should be able to guess.

“All I’m trying to say is, I’m on your side.” He may have meant, Whatever happens. “I trust you.”

His response struck a sudden spark into the tinder of her heart. Before she could stop herself, she retorted in a whisper as scalding as tears, “You keep saying that, but I don’t know what it
means
. You told me not to touch you!”

Do you think I love
anyone
enough to leave Jeremiah the way he is?

Just for an instant, he looked so stricken that she thought he might cry out. But then the lines of his face resumed their familiar strictures. Masking the reflections in his eyes, he said gruffly, “I’m broken, Linden. I told you. I don’t know what I’m becoming, and I don’t know what I’ll have to do about it. I trust you. It’s me I’m worried about.”

With one truncated finger, he pointed at Jeremiah. “Try everything you can think of. We need him.”

Then he withdrew into himself. He had not fallen into his memories: that was plain. Nevertheless he had erected a barrier against her.

For a moment longer, she glared at him, striving by force of will and need to make him meet her gaze. God, she wanted—! But there was nothing that she could say. And she had no right to rail at him. Not after doing him so much harm.

Aching, she turned toward Jeremiah, Galt, and the
croyel
.

Briefly she paused to rally her resolve. Then she said to Galt, “Come on. We should let the others sleep as long as they can. Let’s climb out of this canyon.”

From an open ridge or hilltop, she might find some form of guidance among the stars.

The hairless skull of the
croyel
cast Galt’s face into shadow: she felt rather than saw him nod. At once, he drew Jeremiah away from the sleepers toward one of the easier slopes on the northern side of the canyon. As he walked, the
krill
’s gem cast shifting gleams like omens across the bare dirt and shale of the hillsides.

Linden followed, bracing herself on the Staff. Stave fell into step at her side. Together Coldspray and Grueburn rose to accompany her, leaving Stonemage to watch over the others. With the nerves of her skin, Linden tasted Mahrtiir’s indecision; knew the moment when he made up his mind. Leaving the stream, he went to Covenant and stood there until Covenant muttered a familiar curse and heaved himself to his feet. The two men trailed after Coldspray and Grueburn.

As Galt started upward, picking a careful path in the darkness, Stave said quietly, “Chosen, there remains one matter of which you have not been apprised.” Then he paused.

Concentrating on the uncertainties of the slope, Linden asked, “Yes?” to prompt him.

“While you were absent within yourself,” he replied, “the Unbeliever sought aid for you from the Ardent. He desired your return, as did all who accompany you. But the Ardent professed himself unable to succor you.”

Again Stave paused. When he resumed, Linden heard hints of anger and apprehension in his tone.

“Here I must be exact, for I cannot interpret his words. To the Unbeliever, the Ardent answered, ‘The lady has gone beyond my ken. I perceive only that her need for death is great.’”

Instinctively Linden flinched.

“ ‘Or perchance,’” Stave continued, “ ‘the need is her son’s. But do I speak of her death, or of her son’s? Does her plight, or his, require the deaths of others? Such matters have become fluid. Every current alters them.’”

Without inflection, the former Master admitted, “I have scrupled to speak of this. If it is indeed sooth that your fate is now ‘writ in water,’ of what worth are further pronouncements? The import of the Ardent’s words may be vast or trivial. Unable to distinguish augury from emptiness, I thought to spare you added alarm.”

“But now?” Linden asked more sharply than she intended. Why tell me now?

“Now,” Stave answered, “I fear for you. Should you fail, the outcome will be heinous to you. And should you succeed”—he appeared to consider the night’s implications—“we cannot know what will emerge from the clutches of the
croyel
. In this matter, I now perceive that I resemble the Unbeliever. I seek both to assure you of my place at your side and to caution you against every form of peril.”

“All right,” Linden muttered. “Fine.” The ascent that Galt had selected was not difficult: she was breathing harder than necessary. “So the Ardent thinks that one of us needs death. Or deaths. Or we did. Or we will. So what? How is that a surprise? The Worm of the World’s End is coming. Everything is about death.”

Her father had killed himself in front of her. She had ended her mother’s life. For her, becoming a doctor had begun as an attempt to reject the legacy of her parents. If she turned her back on Jeremiah’s plight, she would have nothing left except warnings and doom.

Stave’s only response was a firm nod, as if his acceptance of her had become complete.

Now I fear for you. That scared Linden. Its mere simplicity made it more ominous. But in her former life, she had faced innumerable emergencies: she knew the dangers of panic. Since that time, she had fallen so far from herself that Linden Avery the physician no longer seemed to exist. Climbing the hillside with a clog of dread in her throat, however, she felt old reflexes return to life. Her sense of peril triggered responses so deeply trained that they were almost autonomic. Gradually calm settled into her nerves. Step by step, she shed her fears, and began to breathe more easily.

She could do this, she told herself. As long as she refused to panic. And here she was not alone. Several of her friends accompanied her, of course—but she was not thinking of them. No, where Jeremiah’s possession was concerned, she was not alone because the Land itself stood with her. Its gifts were her aides, her surgical team: health-sense, the Staff of Law, Loric’s
krill
, even wild magic. In spite of a landscape left arid and stricken by ancient warfare and bloodshed, she and Jeremiah ascended a hillside in a place where health and self-determination and even sanity were his birthright.

In addition, she had other help, aid for which she had not asked. Roused by Pahni’s skilled instincts, or by his own empathy, Liand trailed behind Covenant and Mahrtiir. In one hand, the Stonedownor held his piece of
orcrest
shining in the dark like a sustained moment of sunlight; a small display of wonder, human and ineffable. Already his light blurred the crisp precision of the stars.

Linden wanted to send him away. She intended to spare him. For Jeremiah’s sake, she did not.

More friends. More support. More Earthpower.

Here, if nowhere else in the Land, she could
do
this.

As long as she was careful.

Her pulse was strong in her veins, hard but unappalled, as she and Stave topped the rise a few paces behind Galt and Jeremiah, and reached the crest of a ridge like a contorted spine twisting east and south away from the distant loom of Landsdrop.

Here the whole ridgecrest was an exposed seam of gypsum, sickly white against the darker terrain: a pale road into the east. Around Linden, the wan glitter of starlight lay like immanence on the friable crust. On one side, the hills piled higher against the south. On the other, they canted slowly lower, apparently slumping toward the fens and marshes of Sarangrave Flat. From her vantage, she seemed able to see for leagues in spite of the darkness; yet she descried no sign of the Sarangrave itself. Its ominous sprawl was still occluded by hills, or it was simply too far away for her senses. The breeze blowing over the baked slopes was cool, almost chill, and slightly moist; but it suggested none of the Sarangrave’s verdure and rot, or of the lurker’s bitter appetites.