Against All Things Ending (94 page)

“Don’t worry about it.” Covenant did not want to dwell on Joan. He was not ready. To prevent the Humbled from insisting, he added, “You have one thing I don’t. You remember everything—and you can hold on to it all at once. In fact, you make it look easy. Maybe that’ll save us.”

The Masters seemed to discuss Covenant’s remark privately before Branl answered, “Ur-lord, we are able to contain our memories because we do not do so alone. Across the generations of the
Haruchai
, we have learned together to accommodate an ever-expanding recall. But we cannot gift our communion to others. We lack that power or craft. That we hear and answer the silent speech of Sandgorgons results from the remnants of
samadhi
Sheol within them, not from any outreach of our own minds.

“We are cognizant of your straits. The vastness of Time exceeds you. But we know not how to aid you.”

Grinding his teeth, Covenant reminded himself again to relax. “Don’t worry about it,” he repeated more severely. “One of us will think of something. And if we don’t—” He sighed. “The Ranyhyn still know what they’re doing.”

He had to believe that. He thought that he knew where to find Joan; but he had no notion what he would do when he reached her. He was only sure that she was his responsibility—and that he would never return to claim Linden if he did not first find an answer to Joan’s excruciation.

B
arrows and shale seemed to stretch indefinitely into Covenant’s future and the Land’s past: a wracked wasteland like a battlefield where armies beyond counting had slaughtered each other for centuries. Yet eventually that region gave way to a wide sheet of old lava. Beyond it, the riders found a beaten plain webbed with gullies. Nonetheless Naybahn and Mhornym continued to discover water and forage; occasional
aliantha
. Between them, they kept Covenant fed and his mount running.

Later they came to a protracted series of ridges that lay athwart the south like fortifications, obstructing the course of the Ranyhyn. However, Naybahn and Mhornym surmounted each line of hills by angling away from Landsdrop to more gradual slopes in the east.

By Covenant’s reckoning, each ridge nudged his company closer to the boundaries of the Sarangrave.

By degrees, the Ranyhyn turned more directly toward the Sunbirth Sea. According to Clyme, they were passing south of the Sarangrave’s verge. If Mhornym and Naybahn held to this heading, their path would skim the northern edge of the Shattered Hills.

With every league, Covenant became more confident that he knew where the Ranyhyn were taking him. Somewhere among the broken stone and ravaged cliffs of Foul’s Creche, he would find Joan. Why else had the Ardent striven to convey everyone as far as he could in this direction? And if Ridjeck Thome were indeed their goal, the horses had chosen the safest route; probably the quickest. Any other approach would force them into the jumbled maze of the Shattered Hills: an area fraught with hazards, apt for ambush.

How much farther? Covenant wondered. At this pace? Assuming that the cliffs of the coast were even passable? But he did not ask Clyme or Branl. He had more immediate concerns. His mount’s gait had become labored, a ragged jarring. And as the sun sank toward distant Landsdrop,
caesures
began to sprout across the Spoiled Plains.

Too many of them: more than he had believed Joan could unleash without causing her own heart to burst. Instinctively he assumed that she—or
turiya
Raver—was trying to hunt him down.

Yet the Falls were comparatively brief. They flared into chiaroscuro, a swirling stutter of day and night, writhed avidly across the landscape, and then extinguished themselves. Indeed, they seemed somehow indecisive, as if they had lost the scent of their prey. And none of them came close enough to endanger Covenant’s small company. Instead they searched the region which the Ranyhyn would have crossed if they had run straight toward Foul’s Creche.

As late afternoon became evening, Covenant began to breathe more easily. He was able to persuade himself that Joan did not know where he was. She and
turiya
were only guessing. As long as his skin did not touch Loric’s
krill
—

Of course, it was possible that he was not Joan’s target. This display of violation may have been aimed at Linden and Jeremiah. The Despiser—and therefore his Ravers—surely understood that Linden and her son were at least as dangerous to him as Thomas Covenant. But Covenant trusted the Ranyhyn to protect them. And Linden had her Staff: she could ward herself and her companions.

When darkness had settled over the Spoiled Plains, Naybahn and Mhornym took shelter in a crooked gully. There a slightly brackish stream flowed vaguely northward, perhaps adding its waters to the Sarangrave; and along its sides grew tough saw-edged grasses sufficient for the destrier, as well as clumps of
aliantha
stunted like scrog. And among them grew a scant patch of
amanibhavam
to sustain the Ranyhyn. Clearly the Ranyhyn intended to rest there for the night.

After a sparse meal of treasure-berries, Branl left the gully to stand watch; and Covenant tried to settle himself for sleep by scooping hollows in the loose dirt to form a crude bed. Watching, Clyme remarked that the barrage of Falls would disturb the weather over the Lower Land. The Humbled sensed the approach of storms; of rain and winds in turmoil. But Covenant only shrugged. He could barely resist his memories: he certainly had no control over the weather. If his leprosy and the warmth of the
krill
did not sustain him, he would simply have to endure whatever came.

Huddled into himself, he dozed and roused repeatedly, waiting with as much patience as he could muster for the night to pass.

At dawn, he learned that Clyme was right. The sun first rose into a sky appalled by a taint that resembled dust and ash or smoke; but soon dark clouds came boiling over the Plains, and rain began to spatter down, apparently driven by winds from every direction at once. Before Covenant had finished quenching his thirst and eating more
aliantha
, his T-shirt and jeans were soaked. When he mounted the horse, he saw that the beast’s endurance had been reduced to gritted misery. It had not rested not enough to restore its spirit. Nevertheless the Harrow’s charger strained to resume its effortful gallop.

In rain and contending winds, Covenant and the Humbled continued their eastward rush.

Sometime during the night, the
caesures
had ceased. Presumably Joan had exhausted herself. Or
turiya
Raver may have been given new instructions. But Covenant refused to think about them. He tried not to think about Linden. Wrapping his arms across his chest, he endeavored to ignore the rain by emptying his mind of everything except the heat of the
krill
: the heat, yes, but not the gem from which it radiated, or the implications of wild magic. If he allowed himself to yearn for anything more than ordinary warmth from Loric’s eldritch dagger, Joan or
turiya
might sense his attention. They might even be able to locate him.

Emulating Jeremiah’s vacancy, Covenant rode and rode; opened his mouth to the rain when he was thirsty; ate
aliantha
when the fruit was given to him; and accepted his regret whenever Linden slipped into his thoughts.

F
inally a change in the weather drew him out of his willed somnolence. The day had reached late afternoon, and the rain had stopped. Perhaps because the winds had resolved themselves into a bitter blast out of the west, the storm clouds had scudded away, leaving behind a sky mired with ash and fine dirt like the fug of a distant calamity.

Yet the murk in the air appeared to come from the east. Against the wind—

Now on the horizon to his right Covenant could make out the first jagged outcroppings of the Shattered Hills. And perhaps a league or two ahead of the horses, the terrain rose in a long slow sweep as if the ground were gathering itself to plunge over the edge of the world.

Was that the cliff fronting the Sunbirth Sea? Covenant wanted badly to have covered so much ground; but he had no way to estimate how far he and the Humbled had traveled. And he doubted that his mount would last long enough to reach the top of the rise. He felt exhausted himself, physically battered. His legs quivered trying to grip the destrier’s sides. But the beast’s condition was worse; much worse. During the day, it had surpassed its strength. Now its heart hardly seemed able to manage a lurching beat. As far as he could discern, only the insistence of the Ranyhyn kept the charger from surrendering its last breath.

The horses’ hooves were barely audible over the raw hum of the wind. They were running on grass as thick as turf. Apparently this portion of the Lower Land received more rain than the westward reaches. Covenant and his companions must indeed be nearing the coast, where natural storms would break and tumble on the cliffs, releasing a comparative abundance of rainfall. Here the destrier could have cropped enough grass to refresh a measure of its stamina; but it made no attempt to pause or feed. The beast’s spirit was broken. It had nothing left except a primitive desire to perish without more suffering.

Through the bitter plaint of the wind, Covenant called to the Humbled, “Where are we?”

Branl glanced at him. “We approach the cliff above the Sunbirth Sea. There we will seek out shelter ere nightfall, hoping for some covert to ward you from the chill of this wind.”

Covenant nodded; but he felt no relief. “What’re we going to do when my horse dies? This poor thing won’t last much longer. As soon as it stops moving, it’s finished.”

He needed a mount. He was too far north; too far from Foul’s Creche. He could not afford the time to walk that distance.

Branl shrugged. “The beast has labored valiantly. It must be allowed its final peace.” A moment later, he added, “Mhornym is well able to bear two riders—as is Naybahn.”

“Don’t insult me,” Covenant growled, even though he knew that the Humbled meant no offense. “You keep your promises. What makes you think I won’t do the same?”

Long ago, he had made a pact with the Ranyhyn. He intended to abide by it. How else could he ask them to do likewise?

Briefly Branl consulted with Clyme in silence. Then he asked, “What alternative remains? We have seen no more
amanibhavam
.”

Covenant swore to himself. “Then what about
aliantha
?”

Branl raised an eyebrow: a subtle show of surprise. “It is not a natural provender for horses. Neither horse nor Ranyhyn consumes such fruit.”

“So what?” Covenant countered. “It’s worth a try.”

After only a moment, Branl nodded. “Indeed, ur-Lord.”

At once, Clyme and Mhornym veered aside, racing in search of treasure-berries.

Fortunately they soon found what they sought. The destrier was stumbling at the slope. Each time the beast caught itself, locked its knees, and jerked forward, it came closer to falling. With every stride, its muscles trembled like the onset of a seizure. Covenant had to clutch the saddle horn to keep his seat.

Strain throbbed in his temples as he watched Clyme dismount to gather treasure-berries, then leap onto Mhornym’s back and return. While the Ranyhyn sped toward Covenant and Branl, Clyme pitted berries deftly with his fingers, scattering the seeds.

Please, Covenant asked Naybahn and Mhornym, hoping that they understood his thoughts, or his heart. Keep this animal alive. Make it eat. I know it’s suffered enough, but I need it. I don’t know what else to try.

As if in response, Naybahn slowed to a halt. Staggering on the verge of collapse, the destrier did the same. Its chest heaved brokenly, dying for more air than its lungs could hold.

Uselessly Covenant wondered why the Ranyhyn had not taken better care of his mount earlier. But he had no idea how to question the great horses. Perhaps they perceived a need for haste which outweighed lesser considerations. At other times, they had shown that they knew more than they could communicate about the events of the world. Or perhaps they were testing Covenant’s determination to keep his promises—