Against All Things Ending (66 page)

Instead she asked Stave quietly, “Are they almost done?”

He considered her question for a moment, then replied, “I deem that they are not.” Through Branl and Clyme, he could see the Giants. “Much of this region’s stone is porous and eroded, too friable to content them.”

“Aye,” Kindwind sighed without turning her head.

“Therefore,” Stave continued, “they search widely for boulders adequate to express their respect for the Stonedownor, and to expend their lamentation. I question whether they will name their homage complete before the sun approaches midday.”

“Aye,” Kindwind repeated. “By the measure of the Land’s need, and the Earth’s, they are too meticulous. While they labor, the time remaining to us drips away. Yet we are Giants. By the measure of our grief, their haste is great.

“And”—for the first time, she looked at Linden—“there is this to consider. We have not yet found our path. The perils arrayed against us are many, and we have not determined our course among them. By the measure of our indecision, the efforts of my comrades impose no delay.”

Midday? Linden thought. Good. She was not ready. She did not know how to make herself think about anything except Covenant and Jeremiah.

S
he prayed for Covenant, but he remained absent. The crevasse into which he had fallen was deep. The sun rose high and hot enough to draw sweat from his forehead, and still he seemed vacant, as though he had forgotten the Land and Linden and his own flesh. For him, Time had become a maze without an egress.

Instead Manethrall Mahrtiir was the first to return.

He came from the east along the shallow canyon, trotting as if his health-sense were as precise as vision. His chest heaved, and his garments showed dark patches of sweat; but Linden could see that he had begun to recover from his sorrow. He appeared calmer, soothed by physical strain. In spite of his bandage, he looked as keen for strife as ever. But his aura of anger and self-recrimination was gone.

Approaching Linden, he paused to offer her his familiar Ramen bow. But he did not address her, or wait for her to speak. Rather he continued down to the water’s edge, flung himself into the stream’s embrace, and let the current carry him along as he scrubbed dust and grime from his limbs.

Until he floated out of sight, Linden did not realize that she wanted to ask him if he had encountered Pahni.

Before long, however, the young Cord emerged from a gully among the southward hillsides. Moving slowly, with a tremor in her legs and a shudder in her respiration, she picked a cautious path toward Linden. Dust clung to her skin, a pale dun that resembled the hue of her leather jerkin and leggings. Caked with dirt and sweat, her features were a mask. From it, her eyes stared, white and stricken, like those of a woman who no longer recognized herself.

Before she reached the sand, she stumbled. Goaded by loss, she had pushed herself until she had nothing left—

Instinctively Linden started toward her. But Stave was faster; much faster. As Pahni fell to one knee and sprawled forward, he reached her, caught her. But he did not lift her in his arms. Careful of her pride, he only supported her until she forced her legs under her and regained a semblance of balance. Then he released her.

Expressionless at her side, he accompanied her while she finished her fragile descent to the floor of the canyon.

Then Bhapa appeared on a hilltop behind them. To Linden’s percipience, he looked less weary than Pahni—and less relieved than Mahrtiir. Concerned for the young Cord, he had run more to watch over her than to appease his grief. As a result, he was both stronger than Pahni and more troubled.

For Pahni’s sake, Cirrus Kindwind turned away from the labor of her comrades. As wordless as the Cord, the Giant set her hand on Pahni’s shoulder and steered her toward Anele, then urged her to sit. Uncharacteristically Anele had not touched his food since he had last spoken. Instead he crouched in Stormpast Galesend’s cataphract, staring blindly at nothing, and clasping the Sunstone in both hands as though he both needed and refused it.

Faced with the remains of Anele’s viands, Pahni seemed no more inclined to eat it than the old man did. Her gaze may have been as sightless as his. But Kindwind left the Cord there and went to retrieve a waterskin. When she held the waterskin to Pahni’s lips, Pahni took it and drank urgently.

Linden sighed in private relief. Apparently the girl still wanted to live, in spite of her bereavement.

There Bhapa joined Linden, Kindwind, and Stave. Descending the last slopes, he had regained a measure of control over his breathing. To Linden he bowed as Mahrtiir had bowed, gravely and in silence. But to the Giant, he said hoarsely, “Accept the thanks of a Cord, Cirrus Kindwind. Your care and kindness toward the least of your companions is a gift for which I have no adequate guerdon. I have long been a Cord, and have witnessed sorrow that would test the fortitude of a Manethrall.” Then he nodded toward Pahni. “Ere now, however, I have not seen grief threaten to extinguish any Raman.”

Pahni had begun eating. With painful slowness, she lifted small morsels to her mouth and chewed them as if they had no meaning except survival. She did not appear to hear Bhapa.

“In the lives that we have known,” the older Cord continued, “our love for the Ranyhyn is an anodyne for mourning. How can our hearts not lift when we behold the great horses in their glory? But in this circumstance Pahni is thrice bereft. Her joy is slain, the Ringthane has of necessity refused her, and here there are no Ranyhyn.

“My gratitude for your consideration—”

Bhapa swallowed fiercely, unable to find his voice again. He looked like he might weep, although his body had no moisture to spare for tears. As if he were ashamed of his emotions, he ducked his head.

More harshly than she intended, Linden asked, “Did you think about calling her Ranyhyn? Naharahn would have answered. Pahni wouldn’t have come so close to the edge—”

Then Linden stopped, cursing herself. She was not angry at Bhapa. It was her own role in Pahni’s pain that vexed her.

Before she could apologize, Bhapa raised his head. For the first time since she had known him, she saw ire in his eyes.

“The Ranyhyn do not live to serve us,” he said like sand scraped by stone. “They are not ours to command. We live to serve them. Until you came among us, no Ramen had ever ridden them. Enabling us to accompany you on your dire quests, they do us too much honor. None but a Manethrall may ask more of them.”

“I’m sorry,” Linden replied as gently as she could. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know better. I’m just upset that there’s nothing I can do for Pahni.”

Bhapa’s glare did not soften: he seemed unwilling to accept her apology. She had awakened his Ramen pride. But Cirrus Kindwind rested her arm across his shoulders and drew him away from Linden. “Come, Cord,” she said to soothe him. “If you deem me considerate, permit me to be so now. Your need for aliment emulates Pahni’s. Join her, I beseech you, and nourish your strength. We must soon depend upon yours, and hers, and every heart among us.”

Firmly Kindwind guided him to the meal that she had offered Pahni and seated him beside the young Cord.

“Thank you,” Linden murmured. Little as it was, it was as much as she could do. The comfort of resting against Covenant was gone, eroded by the effects of the Liand’s death. Pahni’s distress triggered reminders of She Who Must Not Be Named.

Cirrus Kindwind nodded; shrugged. Briefly she glanced at Stave, perhaps asking him with her gaze to watch over the Cords. Then she turned her attention toward her comrades once more.

The
croyel
kept its eyes closed. Jeremiah continued to gape at nothing as if he did not need sleep—or could not tell the difference between slumber and wakefulness.

Ah, God, Linden thought. Resurrected spiders and centipedes scurried on her skin. Covenant, please. I’m falling apart here.

But Covenant did not hear her prayer, or did not heed it. Sweating slightly, he slumped against his boulder as if he were as trapped as Jeremiah; as if his memories were graves.

After a while, the Manethrall returned, wading against the current. As he drew near, Linden saw that he had washed his garments as well as his limbs and hair. He had even scrubbed his bandage. Then he had retied it around his head, concealing the ruin of his lost eyes.

When he had surveyed Linden and her diminished company, he turned to his Cords. At once, Bhapa surged to his feet. Perhaps ashamed of his lingering anger, he bowed as if he were accepting a reprimand. But Mahrtiir did not address the older Cord. Instead, standing with his feet in the stream, he spoke to Pahni in a tone of quiet authority, confident that he would be obeyed.

“Cord Pahni, Bhapa requires your aid. He must bathe. You must insist upon it. He is a Cord deprived of his Maneing only by the absence other Manethralls. His appearance is unseemly.”

Linden had expected Mahrtiir to respond to Pahni’s pain more directly. But he knew the girl’s Ramen nature better than Linden did. In Pahni’s present state, attempts at consolation might only weaken her. Instead he directed her awareness outward; away from her woe and exhaustion.

Linden could not see Pahni’s face, but she felt the girl flinch. A moment later, however, the young Cord climbed, tottering, to stand upright. Wavering on the frayed edge of her balance, she bowed to her Manethrall. Then, weak as a foal, she turned to Bhapa. “Come, Bhapa.” Briefly her voice seemed to stick in her throat, clogged by sorrows. “Ramen do not protest when a Manethrall commands.”

Taking Bhapa’s hand, she led him into the stream as if he, too, had been blinded.

As Mahrtiir had foreseen, she responded when she was given reason to believe that she was needed.

If Linden had thought for an instant that Covenant would do the same, she might have tried to slit her wrists.

E
ventually Rime Coldspray and the rest of the Swordmainnir came back from the ridgecrest, carrying their armor. After their fashion, they seemed as tired as Bhapa, and as unresolved. Yet their fortitude ran deep. Although they adored stone and sea, they were timbers, able to flex instead of shattering. To honor Liand, they had spent much of their endurance. But much remained.

When they had greeted Linden, Stave, and the Ramen, and shared their condolences with Cirrus Kindwind, they went first to the stream to wash off the grime of sweat and digging, and to drink their fill. Afterward they ruefully doled out an inadequate meal for themselves. Then, while the other Swordmainnir began to resume their armor, Rime Coldspray turned to Linden.

“Linden Giantfriend,” said the Ironhand formally, “we have spent too long in sorrow. The day advances, and doubtless the Land’s foes do the same. We must delay no longer.

“We”—she indicated her comrades—“wish to display our handiwork. Will you ascend to the place of Liand’s passing? From his cairn, we may set our course, for good or ill.”

“All right,” Linden answered. She did not want to see it. “I don’t have any better ideas.” Trying to be clear, she added, “About anything. I was counting on Covenant. I was counting on being able to free Jeremiah. Now I’m as lost as they are. If Covenant doesn’t come back, you’ll have to make our decisions for us. You and Stave and Mahrtiir. I’m done choosing.”

The results of her inadequacy were all around her. She had already done too much harm. And she had been changed by her nightmares; by mistakes and weaknesses beyond counting.

The Ironhand frowned. “You mis-esteem yourself. It is plain that indeed you do not forgive. Yet heretofore you have assumed great and fearsome burdens, as I have averred. Therefore I acknowledge that you require a greater respite. With Stave’s consent, and that of the Ramen, we will take upon ourselves the task of choice.

“If the Masters protest, they must name their own desires.”

“We will do so,” Galt stated flatly.

The Manethrall studied Linden and Coldspray. After a moment, he nodded. “It will be as you have said, Ironhand of the Swordmainnir. Nonetheless I must affirm that the Ramen stand with the Ringthane. When she becomes Linden Avery the Chosen once more, as she must, her word will command us, whatever the cost.”