The Last Dark (37 page)

Eventually Stave stirred. With an air of caution, as if he feared that he might break bones, he looked around at the cratered plain, the crepuscular day. Then he rose to his feet.

The relieved shouts of the Giants elicited no response. Jeremiah’s gladness he acknowledged with no more than a nod. He gave the impression that he had forgotten speech, or gone beyond it. When he had surveyed the company and the rockfall, the beginnings of Jeremiah’s construct, and perhaps the passage of time, he put a hand to his mouth and whistled.

While Jeremiah and the Swordmainnir watched him, wondering, Stave waited for Hynyn.

The stallion came promptly. Although Jeremiah had seen no sign of the star-browed roan earlier, Hynyn appeared as if he had reincarnated himself from the substance of the gloaming. At Stave’s side, he halted; stood patiently while Stave welcomed him by stroking his neck and shoulder. Then, together, they approached the Giants.

At once, Jeremiah hurried to join Rime Coldspray and her comrades.

Wavering on his feet, Stave stopped. He seemed to have achieved an unstable victory over his private wounds, one which might become defeat at any unexpected action, any unpremeditated word.

“You did it,” Jeremiah said again, but hesitantly, unsure of himself in Stave’s presence. “You saved us.”

You saved me.

Stave glanced at Jeremiah, then away. He did not meet Coldspray’s gaze. With obvious difficulty, as if language required skills which he had forgotten or misplaced, he said, “Hynyn will guide you to water. The way is long.” His voice began to fade. “But there is water.”

In a husky whisper, he added, “My thanks to Cabledarm. Also to Onyx Stonemage.” He made an effort to gather himself. “And to Cirrus Kindwind.”

Still cautiously, he turned his back. With the elaborate care of a man who feared falling, he walked out onto the plain until he was barely visible. There he knelt again, facing the northwest like a diminished sentinel.

Hynyn remained with the Giants. Clearly the great stallion understood the promise that Stave had made in his name. He waited for the women to act on it.

After a brief consultation, Kindwind announced, “With your consent, Ironhand, this task is mine. In the shifting of stones, I am hampered, but the bearing of waterskins will test only my dexterity.”

Rime Coldspray nodded. “Go with my thanks. Return as swiftly as you are able. Water we must have. The tasks remaining to us will be arduous.”

Nodding to her comrades, Cirrus Kindwind left with Hynyn. The imperious arch of the stallion’s neck seemed to assert that he could not be humbled by such mundane service.

When they were gone, Rime Coldspray said, “Now, Chosen-son. We have delayed too long. There is death in every lost moment. Instruct us, that we may begin.”

Jeremiah’s heart beat eagerly. At last—“I’ve found everything I need,” he answered. “But some of it still has to be moved. Then I’ll need help putting the pieces in place.”

“Indeed.” Coldspray scanned her comrades. “For the present, we are only six. But six are more than five, or three, or one. We must suffice.

“Instruct us,” she said to Jeremiah again. “Come good or ill, boon or bane, we will strive to do as you ask.”

Urged by relief and gratitude, Jeremiah tried to cheer. Then he turned to lead the Giants. With every step, he recovered more of his necessary excitement.

y midday, the women had finished moving green-veined rocks to open ground. Before they were done, they were all trembling on the verge of exhaustion. But earlier Cirrus Kindwind had returned with every bulging waterskin that she could carry. The Swordmainnir had been able to continue working because they had enough to drink.

Now they were sprawled in the dirt, resting as though they had been felled. The fraught rasp of their respiration sawed at Jeremiah’s nerves until he felt as raw as their lungs; as desperate to be done. But they still had a lot to do.

For him, actually assembling his temple would be comparatively easy. It required no thought at all. His talents were certain, as instinctive as breath. He could have completed the structure without hesitation—if he could have raised the heavier rocks alone.

But for his companions—

The work ahead of them would demand more effort, not less. As the walls rose, massive chunks and boulders would have to be lifted higher. And the roof would be more difficult than the walls. The Giants would have to hold the stones in place at the height of their own shoulders until he could brace the construct with his last hunk of granite, his capstone of malachite. Only then would the temple stand without support.

At some point, Cabledarm had climbed upright. Walking stiffly, she had come to watch her comrades. But she was still too weak to stay on her feet. She had nothing to offer except the encouragement of her presence.

Stave had not moved. At some distance, he knelt facing the northwest as if he sought to ward off threats by nothing more than force of will. Or perhaps he was praying for Linden’s return.

Standing near the Ironhand, Jeremiah said uncomfortably, “When you’re ready.” Erratic bursts of wind slapped at him. Grit stung his cheeks. Beyond his horizons, a fierce storm was brewing. The air was growing cooler. “I know where everything goes. I can do this fast.”
Elohim
were dying. “But you should take your time. We can’t afford mistakes.”

Infelice had tried to prevent his escape from his graves. She should have known better. She should have trusted Linden.

“Yet it must be done,” Coldspray replied in a low growl. “Much depends upon it. When we are beset by storms as we sail the world’s seas, we do not rest merely because we are weary. Rather we cling to our tasks, and to our lives.” She seemed to be trying to convince herself. “Matters do not stand otherwise now.”

“Sooth,” groaned Frostheart Grueburn. “All that you say is sooth, Ironhand. We must—yet I cannot. In the Lost Deep, I deemed that I had measured the depths of exhaustion. Now I learn that our flight from She Who Must Not Be Named was no more than a child’s game by comparison.”

“Nay, Grueburn,” Stormpast Galesend countered like a pale imitation of herself. “You misesteem us. Exertion alone does not justify our weariness. In addition, we lack viands. Do not discount that deprivation.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Onyx Stonemage. “I will give my oath that I am dwindling. Hunger diminishes me. My garments hang loosely, and my cataphract has become an encumbrance, and I fear that my sword has grown too long for easy use.”

For a moment, the Giants were silent. Then Coldspray said like a sigh, “You forget to whom you speak, Stonemage. All here know that in your care every sword grows too long for easy use.”

Another silence followed while Jeremiah fretted. The Ironhand’s comment may have been a jest. If so, he did not understand it.

Apparently the other Giants did. After a moment, they started laughing.

At first, their laughter was as weak as their limbs: a sound like moaning amid the confusion of the winds. But then Stonemage retorted, “Mockery is ignorance. Occasions there have been in abundance, yet none have inspired complaint,” and her comrades began to laugh harder. Soon they were laughing with such abandon that they could not lie still. Latebirth and Galesend tossed from side to side. Grueburn pulled her knees to her chest, hugged them. Even Cabledarm chuckled in spite of her wounds.

“I don’t get it,” Jeremiah protested; but the women went on laughing.

Joy is in the ears that hear
. Clearly the Swordmainnir lived by that creed. Jeremiah did not understand at all. They sounded hysterical. Yet when they subsided, they were stronger. Somehow laughing had restored them.

That was enough for him: he could accept it. When he was able to believe that the Giants were ready, he moved away toward the scant beginnings of his construct, beckoning as he went.

The rectangle that he had marked in the dirt was still vivid in his mind, although its visible lines had been erased. A few heavy stones had already been put in place for him. He had added a number of small rocks himself. But that was barely a start. Most of the building remained to be done.

However, all of his materials were waiting for him. He could imagine their eventual positions precisely, as if they were lit by sunshine rather than masked by dusk. His part of the work that remained was simple.

Followed by the Giants, he thrust his way through the wind to select rocks in their proper sequence: a sequence that would allow him to prop each one securely before the next was lifted.

That the women were more willing than able was painfully obvious. Stones that one Swordmain had managed alone earlier now required the strength of two or three, or even four. Nevertheless their willingness did not waver. To spare themselves, they rolled rather than carried rocks to the edges of the nascent temple. Together they heaved the shards into position. Then Jeremiah scrambled to insert the chunks of granite and basalt that would brace the bigger pieces in place.

The Giants took turns, resting as much as they could. When their waterskins were empty, the Ironhand sent Kindwind to fill them again. And the women watched over each other. Whenever one of them faltered or stumbled, others moved to help.

By slow increments, the walls of the temple rose.

Every now and then, Jeremiah remembered to glance at Stave. Indistinct in the distance, the former Master still knelt with his back to the construct, motionless as a tombstone. He gave no sign that he was aware of his companions’ efforts.

They could have used his help.

By the time that Kindwind returned, the walls were nearly complete. A crude slab had been set to form the lintel of the entrance. Without counting, Jeremiah knew that a dozen heavy rocks and twice that many smaller ones remained before the capstone could be wedged into place. He knew exactly where the pieces would go. But he did not know how his companions would be able to finish the work. They seemed entirely spent. He was not confident that their hearts would continue to beat much longer.

While Kindwind handed around waterskins and her comrades rested, Jeremiah went to plead with Stave.

But when he reached the
Haruchai
, he did not know what to say. He could see that Stave was healing. The former Master knew how to provide for his own recovery. Nevertheless his heart beat with palpable reluctance, the pulse in his veins was as thin as a thread, and his breathing barely lifted his chest. In spite of his native toughness, he looked like a man who might not stand again.

Jeremiah’s appeal for help turned to dust in his mouth. Winds seemed to drive it back down his throat.

Stave did not turn his head, but his shoulders stiffened slightly at Jeremiah’s approach. After a moment, he answered the supplication of Jeremiah’s silence.

“Chosen-son.” His voice was a wisp of its familiar inflexibility. “Say what you must. I hear you.”

“I don’t know why you’re still alive,” Jeremiah blurted. “But I don’t know why the Giants are still alive either. They’re way beyond exhausted. They can hardly lift their arms. And we still haven’t done the hardest part.”

Abruptly he stopped. He had no idea how to continue.

“The hardest part?” Stave inquired: a mere breath of sound.

“The roof. I’m making a temple. I mean, that’s how I think of it. It has to have a roof. But it won’t stay up until I brace it. That’s what your lump of malachite is for. They’ll have to lift the rocks and stand—” Simply thinking about such things hurt. “They’ll have to just stand there holding up the roof. And even if they can do that, I don’t know how they’re going to set the capstone. I can’t imagine—

“It has to be just right, or it won’t work.” He struggled to devise scenarios. They were all cruel. “So even if four of them can hold up the roof, that only leaves two to lift the last piece because at least one of them has to climb up there,” adding her weight to the rocks on the shoulders of the other Giants, “and put that piece in place. I’ll probably have to be there myself to make sure it’s right.”

Without warning, sobs crowded into his chest. If he let himself, he would wail like a child. He was tired to the bone, and all of his talents and excitements were useless now. He did not have the strength to complete his construct.