The Last Dark (51 page)

hen he was finally able to look around, he saw that the Forestal had fashioned a bower.

The willow had grown as tall as a Gilden. Spangles of song lingered on its leaves, bedecked its branches with bright silver like the glimmering of unendangered stars. Illumination under the canopy of the boughs seemed to hold the memory of wild magic made tender by acquiescence. The tree stood directly before the fane’s portal: its drooping arch almost concealed the construct. In the tree’s shade, luxuriant grass cushioned the ground like a profusion of pillows.

The plashing runnel was now a grateful brook. It seemed to carry light and music with it as it chimed out across the plain. And near the edges of the circle, where the leaves trailed along the grass, Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir had invoked
aliantha
. A score or more of the holly-like shrubs with their viridian berries ripe surrounded the greensward, abundant as a feast.

The relative privacy of the bower suggested a form of sustenance that Covenant needed more than food. Perhaps that was the Forestal’s intent. The heat in Linden’s eyes affirmed that she felt as Covenant did. He was in a trembling hurry.

But the company had other needs: those took precedence. The privation of the Giants was extreme. They had given their last strength—and then had given more. Covenant himself wanted more than the unsatisfying aliment of
ussusimiel
. Linden had probably gone longer without food. And Jeremiah was avid for treasure-berries.

For the sake of everyone with him, Covenant schooled himself to eat and drink and wait. When Linden smiled ruefully, he tried to match her.

Speaking for her comrades, the Ironhand gave thanks to the Forestal. They all bowed as if they declined to prostrate themselves only because they lacked the strength to rise again. Then they picked their fill of
aliantha
. The seeds they scattered around the plain and in the hollows like prayers for the Land’s future. More boisterously, Jeremiah followed their example. As for the
Haruchai
, Branl stood apart from the company as if all of his lacks had been satisfied by Longwrath’s flamberge; but Stave ate without hesitation and offered the former Manethrall his gratitude.

Considering that they were Giants, inclined to relish the bounty of their own relief, Rime Coldspray, Frostheart Grueburn, and the others finished their meal quickly. They spent only a few moments thanking Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir. Then they passed beyond the thick willow-trunk to reenter the fane, taking Jeremiah with them so that Covenant and Linden would have some semblance of privacy.

Stave also went into the construct, bowing first to Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir, then to Covenant, finally and most deeply to Linden. However, Branl remained. “Ur-Lord,” the Humbled said with his usual absence of inflection, “the return of the Chosen is a cause for gladness in itself, and is more so because she has restored a Forestal to the Land. Yet in one respect, it is misfortune. The Giants have been denied their
caamora
.”

To the sudden inquiry of Linden’s expression, he explained, “The ur-Lord sought to relieve their sorrow by drawing flame from Longwrath’s remains. Your arrival interrupted his efforts. Now Longwrath is naught but ash, and we have no wood.”

While Linden winced in regret, Branl addressed Covenant once more. “Among Giants, denied lamentation is an enduring distress. Other tasks we have in abundance. And doubtless the Swordmainnir will be prompt to set aside their needs. Nonetheless I urge you to seek some blaze in which they may ease their loss.

“I am a Master of the Land,” he said as if he were merely reciting a formula rather than acknowledging a profound change. “I bear the taint of the unwelcome which the Giants have received at our hands. I would make amends, but have no means to do so.”

“Oh, stop,” Covenant protested. “I forgot about that. We all had too much going on. But of course you’re right. I”—he glanced at Linden—“we won’t forget again.”

“We won’t,” Linden affirmed. “And I won’t forget what you’ve done. I haven’t been fair to you. I should have known better.”

Instead of nodding to her, as he had done so often in the past, Branl bowed. And when he had shown the same respect to both Covenant and Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir, he left the bower between the hanging branches to stand guard outside.

Alone with the Forestal, Covenant and Linden faced each other as if they had lost the ability to look anywhere else; but they did not move.

Briefly Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir sang words that Covenant recognized.

    “I am the Land’s Creator’s hold:

I inhale all expiring breath,

And breathe out life to bind and heal.”

Then he faded into his music as if he had made himself one with the willow and the boughs, the leaves and the bedizening melody. In a moment, he was gone.

“Covenant—” Linden bit her lip, twisted the ring on her finger. “I have too much to tell you. And there are so many things I—”

He interrupted her with a grin that felt like a grimace. “Don’t you think it’s about time you stopped calling me ‘Covenant’?”

“Thomas, then,” she offered. “Thomas. Thomas of my heart.”

He would have accepted anything, but he was grateful that she did not choose to call him
Tom
.

When he opened his arms, she came to him like an act of grace.

hen they were done, they lay relaxed on billows of grass, covered by the soft radiance of the bower. For a time, they talked casually, softly, reminding themselves of each other. But then they turned to more serious concerns.

Covenant had his own questions, but Linden spoke first. Somber with doubt, she asked him what he thought about Jeremiah.

He sighed to himself. “You mean, not counting the fact he’s actually
with
us? After what he’s been through? It’s amazing he can so much as speak, never mind design that sanctuary for the
Elohim
. He’s already done a world of good. If you want more, you should talk to him.”

She certainly needed to know how much her son had inherited from Anele. She needed to know about Kastenessen.

She cuffed him lightly. “That’s not an answer.”

“I know. But I’m serious. He should tell his own story. He doesn’t want to, but he should. Maybe you’ll have better luck than I did.”

Linden gnawed at her lower lip for a moment. “I’m not sure that I have the right to pry. He’s already pushed me away more than once. I might do more harm than good.”

Covenant shrugged against her head on his shoulder. “I’m not sure anybody has the right. Maybe prying does more harm than good. But look at it this way. He’s too young for his years. He’s had experiences that could cripple an adult, and he’s never had a chance to grow into them. Parts of him are still a kid.” And parts of him remembered the
croyel
.

“Sometimes kids need their parents to pry. Sometimes I think Roger wouldn’t be such a mess if his mother ever took an interest in him.”

Covenant himself had never been given an opportunity with his son.

Luminous in the warmth of Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir’s music, Linden rolled over to rest her hands on Covenant’s chest, prop her chin there and study his face.

“Thomas, what happened to you? What did you do after you left? How did you do it? What healed your mind? How did you change how Branl thinks?”

He winced reflexively. But he did not refuse to answer. Eased by her love, he was able to describe the days that he had spent away from her.

When he was done, she hugged him hard and wordlessly. For a time, she seemed to take his anguish and dread from him; and he thought about nothing except her.

Afterward they rested. But neither of them slept.

In a more playful mood, she asked, “So why aren’t you growing a beard? You’re human now. All the way human. As far as I can tell, the Arch of Time has lost its hold on you. Why isn’t your beard growing?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “If I ever did, it’s gone. But if I had to guess—”

Briefly he rubbed at his cheeks, pushed his fingers through his transformed hair. “You didn’t have access to my physical self. That part of me died so long ago there was nothing left. And yet here I am. You must have created me out of my self-image.” He spread his maimed hands. “Apparently that includes leprosy, but it doesn’t include whiskers.”

Long ago, shaving had been a form of self-abnegation for him, a punitive discipline. He was glad to be rid of the necessity.

Stroking her, he said, “Now it’s your turn. Linden, you’re a mystery to me. And I don’t just mean—” He gestured to indicate her adored body. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as surprised as I was when the Feroce offered me an alliance.” Surprised and dismayed. “Somehow you did that. Somehow you saved me.” He would not have reached Joan, or survived his attempt on
turiya
Herem, without the aid of Feroce. “But you did more than that. You also rescued Jeremiah.” When she shook her head, he amended, “I mean, you gave him what he needed to rescue himself.

“That would have been enough for anybody else, but not for you.” Not for a woman who thought so little of herself. “After you brought Jeremiah here, you went to find the only possible source of forbidding.” The only hope for the
Elohim
, and perhaps for the Earth. “Then you did something even more miraculous. You came back. Without using a
caesure
.

“Linden”—he kissed her eyelids, her nose, her mouth—“you amaze me. I want to know how you did it.”

He saw her reluctance. It showed in the way she shifted to nestle against his shoulder so that he could not look into her eyes or watch her face. For a moment, he was afraid again. But then she began to answer, and his fear left him.

Because he knew the outcome, he listened calmly as she described how the Feroce had tried to lure her into the grasp of the lurker, and how Infelice had striven to prevent Jeremiah from freeing himself in Muirwin Delenoth. Jeremiah’s desire to build a construct that might preserve the
Elohim
. The message of the Feroce. Her own decision to enter a
caesure
. Her arms tightened like grief around Covenant as she talked about her second meeting with Caerroil Wildwood, and about Manethrall Mahrtiir’s transformation.

“But I still didn’t know how to get back. After what Caerroil Wildwood did for us, the idea of making another Fall horrified me. I would have had to ruin an unconscionable amount of Garroting Deep. But I was desperate to return, and I couldn’t wait until we left the forest. I didn’t know what to do.”

Covenant heard the force of that emotional snare in her voice, the intolerable conundrum of being caught between mutually exclusive commitments. He recognized it.

“Mahrtiir”—she corrected herself—“no, Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir helped me. You should have seen him, Thomas. He stood here like a king, as if he had earned the right, and he sang things that I couldn’t understand until Caerroil Wildwood nodded. Then Wildwood gave me another gift.”

Like suppressed weeping, she said, “Oh, Thomas. Caerroil Wildwood said that he was tired of living. Tired of trying. Worn out by losing trees to people and wars. Law was getting weaker, and he knew that he was doomed. He’d faced too much evil. That was why he created Caer-Caveral, and why he made Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir. So that he could finally rest.

“He told me”—her voice broke—“that he still had no answer for the deaths of trees.”

Then she hurried to finish.

“Every leaf and branch all around the Howe sounded like it was sobbing, but he had made up his mind. He brought Hyn and Narunal to us. He gave us time to mount. ‘By wild magic you came,’ he said. ‘Wild magic must guide your return.’ When we were ready, he did something like what the Mahdoubt did for me. He didn’t violate Time, he used everything he was to make an opening.” Covenant felt her tears on the soft skin of his shoulder. “Then he pushed us through so that Hyn and Narunal could find the way back.

“It killed him, just like it killed Caer-Caveral. All of his music and glory and anger and effort seemed to wail. The whole Howe was like a shriek. When we rode away, there was nothing left except screaming.”

Trying to comfort her, Covenant murmured, “I wish I could remember.” He did not care what he said: he only sought to acknowledge her distress. “While I was still part of the Arch, I probably knew why Caerroil Wildwood decided to let go. Now that’s gone. As far as I can tell, you found the only—I don’t know what to call it—the only clean way to do what we need. The only safe way. The only way that doesn’t change the Land’s history.”