Authors: Stephen R. Donaldson
“And you saved my daughter. Here I was, planning to punish myself eternally for what happened to her, and you—”
Jeremiah scowled, feigning disgust. “
Please
don’t start kissing again. It’s gross.”
Linden laughed until her son laughed with her. Then the three of them resumed their walk into the west.
Behind them, Gravin Threndor—mighty and long misused—grew distinct as the sun ascended from its imposed ensepulture. Across the heavens, the stars appeared to withdraw, making way for daylight. The greying sky became pearlescent with promise. Winged flights graceful as birdsong articulated the air and the treetops like runes in motion, a script constantly modulating toward new interpretations. Implied flames touched the tips of the highest sequoias.
“Amazing,” Linden breathed. “Something as simple as sunrise. I didn’t think that I would ever see it again.”
Covenant grinned. “You call that amazing?
I
didn’t think I would ever see well enough to know the difference.”
“I can’t wait,” Jeremiah said. But whether he felt impatient for the sun, or for some other wonder, he did not explain.
Gradually light came to the heights of Andelain. Bright day spread down branches and boles as though Mount Thunder had granted it passage. The mountain wrapped its cloak of shadow closer about itself. Sunshine enlivened the leaves with memories of music.
And in a wide hollow defined by stands of mimosa, by wide-spread jacaranda and flowering rhododendron, with a giddy brook running past an abundance of
aliantha
, Covenant, Linden, and Jeremiah found the friends and companions with whom they had shared so much weariness and strife.
Rime Coldspray and Frostheart Grueburn were there, Onyx Stonemage and Halewhole Bluntfist. The Giants of Dire’s Vessel, those who had survived their many battles: Bluff Stoutgirth, Squallish Blustergale, and their few comrades. Canrik and perhaps two score other Masters, all that remained of two hundred. Manethrall Bhapa. Cord Pahni. Branl, the last of the Humbled, who had killed Clyme and sacrificed an arm and become certain. And Stave, the former Master.
They had been healed and refreshed, all of them, and their raiment restored by the re-creation of the Earth. They lacked only the silver glow and sendaline of
beings from beyond Time
. They had come together in the hollow to feast on treasure-berries, drink pristine water, and share their astonishment.
They must have been conveyed here while the fraying strands of Time were rewoven.
They did not immediately notice Covenant, Linden, and Jeremiah. But then the three were announced. Among the trees at the edge of the hollow, Ranyhyn whinnied a proud welcome: Hyn and Hynyn, Rallyn and Khelen, Rohnhyn and Naharahn. And as their call carried over the Hills, full sunlight struck the horses, burning away the last vestiges of dusk from their glossy coats. Among them, the Ardent’s mount cropped grass as though it had no use for mere relief and wonder.
But the star-browed Ranyhyn did not remain to receive greetings or gratitude from Linden and Jeremiah, as they must already have done from Stave and Branl, Bhapa and Pahni. They were eager to rejoin their herds and their Ramen. They galloped away, taking Mishio Massima with them, and trumpeting praise to the new day.
Giants and
Haruchai
lifted their heads. Bhapa and Pahni looked around.
A moment later, jubilation and awe filled the air. Linden wept for gladness, and Jeremiah wavered between shouts and tears. Covenant spread his arms like a man who yearned to embrace everyone simultaneously, and his scarred forehead shone like incarnated starlight.
Then there were shouts and much laughter among the Giants, hugs and clasps and affectionate congratulations. As one, Stave, Branl, and the Masters did more than bow: they sank to one knee and lowered their heads in homage. Unable to contain himself, Manethrall Bhapa put his hands on Linden’s waist and lifted her high until she begged him to put her down. With more restraint and sadness, Pahni offered her hopes for Linden’s happiness, and for Covenant’s.
Jeremiah joined the mirth and effusion of the Giants. Linden took the Ramen away from the others to make her peace with Pahni’s bereavement, to speak of Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir, and to share her heart with friends who had been as faithful as Liand. For his part, Covenant spoke first with the Ironhand and Stoutgirth Anchormaster, while Stave, Branl, and Canrik attended him.
His efforts to find words for his gratitude, the Giants brushed aside. “The thanks are ours to give,” Rime Coldspray proclaimed. “We are wont to avow that joy is in the ears that hear. Upon such occasions, however, it is also in the mouth that speaks. Though our hearts are galled by loss, they also overflow with gladness. Wherever Giants remain in the Earth, the names of Covenant Timewarden and Linden Giantfriend and Jeremiah Chosen-son will be uttered in celebration and reverence.”
Bluff Stoutgirth nodded his approval. But he smiled with difficulty, and his need for a
caamora
was plain. He was a sailor, not a warrior: his losses bore a different emotional weight than Coldspray’s. Nevertheless he accepted them with a spirit slowly lifting.
Covenant had only one question for them: what now?
The Anchormaster answered without hesitation. “With the Giants at my command, I will return to Dire’s Vessel. It is my hope that we will sail at once for our homeland. I pine for the harborage of Home. I ache to learn the fate of our kindred. And I yearn for new ears to soften my sorrow with their joy.”
Covenant understood. He had his own sorrows to assuage. “And you?” he asked of Coldspray.
Before she could reply, Stave spoke.
“With the Ironhand’s consent, we will welcome her and her Swordmainnir to Revelstone. We have much for which we wish to atone. First among our faults, doubtless, is the ignorance which we have inflicted upon the folk of the Land. Yet more immediate to us here is the manner in which we have rebuffed the friendship and valor of the Giants. We hunger to make amends.”
Covenant cocked an eyebrow at the outcast Master’s use of
we
. But he did not interrupt.
“Also,” Stave went on, “I would seek a boon of the Ironhand, and perhaps of her comrades also, a boon which pertains to Revelstone, and which Revelstone may sway her to grant.”
Now both Coldspray and Stoutgirth stared at him, as surprised as Covenant.
Stave faced them with a smile: another surprise. “You crave explanations.” Amusement sparkled in his eye. “Know, then, that I am Stave, by right of years and attainment the Voice of the Masters. I speak for these
Haruchai
assembled here, and also for those who have retained the benison of their lives elsewhere.”
More gravely, he said, “Your example, Covenant Timewarden, and also that of Linden Avery the Chosen, and indeed of Jeremiah Chosen-son, have turned our thoughts to new paths. We have concluded that the Land has no need of Masters. Rather it will be better served by Lords. Therefore we wish to claim a different purpose. If you do not gainsay us, ur-Lord, we will form a new Council, emulating with our best strength the service begun by Berek Lord-Fatherer.
“And the boon which we will ask of the Ironhand is this, that she and her Swordmainnir join with us in that Council. By their kindness and merriment, we hope”—he smiled again—“to avoid the snares of our long past and severe judgments until the time when the folk of the Land discover a desire to stand among us.”
Jeremiah had wandered closer while Stave spoke. Now the boy said, “I can tell you where to find Kevin’s Wards.”
“And we will welcome that knowledge, Chosen-son, when our need for it is ripe.”
Covenant shook his head, but not in disapproval. “I don’t know what to say. It sounds practically ideal. But you’ll have to give up your rejection of Earthpower. Or lore. You’ll have to start from scratch.”
“As we should, ur-Lord,” Stave replied. “The Earth has been vouchsafed a new beginning. The
Haruchai
also must begin anew.”
After a moment’s thought, Covenant observed, “You’ll need a High Lord. You, Stave?”
“I?” Stave countered. He seemed to hear a jest in Covenant’s question. “No. I do not stand so high in my own estimation. And I do not doubt that the day will come when the Voice of the Masters must speak for the
Haruchai
rather than for the Land. The Council of Lords and the High Lord must regard wider concerns.
“I have named Canrik to lead the first Council. He is newly acquainted with uncertainty, and will gain much from an immersion in the necessary doubts of the Lords.”
Canrik nodded, expressionless as any Master or Bloodguard.
“But Branl—?” Covenant asked. “Surely he’s earned it?”
“I will not shoulder that burden,” the
Haruchai
halfhand stated flatly. “Clyme’s death mars my heart. I desire a different atonement. I will return to Gravin Threndor, seeking High Lord Loric’s
krill
.”
He held up his remaining hand to forestall objections. “Certainly the Cavewights will greet me with enmity. However, Corruption no longer goads them to madness. And they, too, must feel awe at their continuation in life. It is my hope, therefore, that soft words and a refusal to do harm will dissuade them from bloodshed. They are not mindless, ur-Lord. And I am not helpless in my own defense, though I will cause no more hurt. Mayhap I will elude death until they perceive that we are no longer foes.
“Should I succeed, I will bear the
krill
to Revelstone. And should I fail—” Branl shrugged delicately. “I will die content in myself. I will not perish grieving.”
Covenant thought of Cail, who had been rejected by his people, and had gone to find his fate alone. Branl was rejected only by himself. Still he would have to find peace on his own terms.
Finally Rime Coldspray said to Stave, “The boon you seek is too great to be granted readily, Rockbrother. My comrades and I must speak of it at length. Indeed, many Giantclaves await us, and we will spend whole seasons in delight and sorrow and hope. But first we will gladly accompany you to Revelstone. How can we refuse? We are Giants.”
Together, Stave, Canrik, and Branl bowed their thanks.
After a while, Linden came to join Covenant and Jeremiah. Resting one hand on her son’s shoulder, she pointed into the west. “Who do you suppose that is?”
Looking there, Covenant saw a lone figure standing in sunlight at the rim of the hollow. A woman, he thought, although he could not be sure. The figure’s head was wrapped in cerements like the Theomach’s. Ribbands as garish as the Ardent’s ornamented the figure’s upper body, while from its waist hung a motley skirt as haphazard and arcane as the Mahdoubt’s.
To Covenant’s gaze, and Linden’s, and Jeremiah’s, the figure replied with a beckoning gesture.
At first, Covenant smiled. “It looks to me,” he said wryly, “like the Insequent are finally giving credence of the idea of acolytes.” He almost chuckled. “In fact, if I had to guess, I might say that’s
the
Acolyte.”
But then his eyes darkened, and for a moment he resembled a man who had never recovered from his oldest wounds.
“It’s time. We have to go.”
As he spoke, the figure drifted out of sight.
“Go?” Jeremiah protested at once. “Why? We just got here.”
Linden studied her husband quizzically, but she did not contradict him.
“The Chosen-son speaks for me as well,” began Rime Coldspray.
“And for me,” put in Bluff Stoutgirth.
“We have sung no songs to honor you,” Coldspray added. “We have not truly begun to voice our wonder and gratitude, our esteem deep as seas. We have not told you of our love. And we have heard neither Linden Giantfriend’s tale nor Jeremiah Chosen-son’s. In sooth, we are scarcely able to estimate your own.
“What compulsion requires you to depart, Timewarden?”
Covenant rubbed his glowing scar to disguise a clench of woe and regret. “Unearned knowledge,” he answered brusquely. “Right now, we’re too dangerous. Jeremiah and me. Maybe even Linden. Jeremiah needs time to figure out what he’s going to do with everything he got from
moksha
. He has to learn what it all means and decide how he wants to use it. Linden freed She Who Must Not Be Named. She freed Elena”—his voice caught for a moment—“and who knows how many other lost souls. That must have been shattering. She hasn’t had a chance to recover. And I’m carrying the Despiser around inside me. What he knows isn’t a problem for me. I used to be part of the Arch of Time. But he’s
Lord Foul
. If I let him, he might spit in your faces. Or he might find a way to use my ring. I hope I can persuade him to relax. Maybe I can even convince him to think of me as something more or better or at least kinder than his worst enemy.
“We all need time.”
And possibly a teacher, he mused ruefully. If so, one of the Insequent might serve. The Theomach had certainly guided Berek Halfhand well enough.
Softly Rime Coldspray said, “Though you conceal it, your hurt is evident, Covenant Timewarden. None here would choose to deny you. Do not take it amiss when I confess that your departure will sadden us.”
With an effort, Covenant set aside his aching. He reached out for Linden’s hand, smiled at Jeremiah. “It isn’t permanent,” he said more cheerfully. “It can’t be. Our old lives are finished.” By degrees, his distress receded. “There’s no going back. You can’t get rid of us this easy.”
Then a new mood came over him, one that he had not felt for a very long time; and he found himself laughing as if he were a man for whom laughter came naturally.
Take
that
, he told his inner Despiser. And all this time, you thought I hated you.
When he subsided, he said to his friends, “I can’t tell you how good it feels to know we can see you again whenever we want.” Still chuckling, he added, “But we won’t until we’re ready.”
Linden gave him a smile that sang in his heart; and Jeremiah nodded awkwardly, discomfited by recognitions for which he had not prepared himself. Together they walked away in the direction taken by the Insequent: the Unbeliever and his new wife and his obliquely adopted son.