Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (99 page)

my son’s pain after I’ve rescued him, what do you carer

Coldspray folded her arms across her chest. “Linden Avery, you are not forthright.” Her eyes caught a combative glint from the firelight. “Your words have another meaning which you do not name. It is audible.

“Will you not reveal how you propose to accomplish your ends? The power which you seek will not in itself uncover

your son’s hiding place. It may defeat Kastenessen and his skurj, but it will not halt the ruptures which you name caesures, or silence the madness of Thomas Covenant’s lost mate. Nor will it reveal the machinations of the Despiser-or of the Elohim. It will merely enable the riving of the world.

“Why do you wish to wield illimitable might? What will you accomplish with Loric’s krill that does not serve the Despiser’?”

Linden resisted an impulse to duck her head, hide her eyes. Coldspray searched her, and she did not mean to be exposed. The Waynhim believed that Good cannot be accomplished by evil means. Instinctively she agreed with them. Therefore she had to trust that her intended means were not evil. Nonetheless her desire to protect her secret was inherently dishonest: it compelled her to tell lies of omission.

Yet some of her intentions were

honest. She clung to that, and held the Ironhand’s probing gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she said carefully. “I know this is hard. But I’m not going to tell you. I won’t say it out loud.” If she did, the granite of her heart might crack open, spilling more rage and terror and shame than she could bear. “I need your help. I want your friendship. But I’m not going to answer you.”

Within her she holds the devastation

- - -

of the Earth

Long ago, she had learned the cost of escape. If she told the truth, someone here would try to stop her. Even her friends might oppose her. The Humbled would attack her without hesitation. Then she would be spared the burdens that she had chosen to bear-and Jeremiah would be lost to her-and she would not be able to endure it.

Liand, Pahni, and Bhapa stared at her openly. Mahrtiir’s stiffness suggested surprise. Apparently they had not thought so far ahead: they had focused their attention on the hazards of Linden’s journey rather than on its outcome. Only Stave betrayed no reaction. He may have recognized her need to avoid the enmity of the Humbled.

Surely Galt, Branl, and Clyme would not have left the glade if Stave had not

agreed to let them hear what he heard?

“You prick my curiosity,” remarked Coldspray, poised and casual, like a woman ready to strike. “Do you seek to encourage our doubts? Is that your intention here?”

In spite of his gag, Longwrath fought to make himself heard. Linden was sure that he wanted to howl, Slay her!

How quickly, she wondered, could the

Ironhand reach her glaive? Coldspray would not need it. None of the Swordmainnir would need their weapons. Linden was too small; too human. Any blow of their heavy fists would kill her.

Trust yourself. The Giants of the Search had become her friends long before the Haruchai had learned to respect her.

“Yes,” she answered as firmly as she

could. “I need you to doubt me. If you don’t decide to help me for your own reasons instead of for mine, I’m doomed anyway. I don’t know how else to explain it. This is as close as I can come to the truth,” as close as she could afford to come. “I’ve told you what I want to accomplish. If you aren’t satisfied, you should walk away.”

Coldspray considered Linden for a long moment while Longwrath writhed in protest and stars thronged the cold sky.

One by one, the Ironhand looked into the eyes of each of her comrades. In the moving shadows spread by the fire, some of them appeared to glower. Others grimaced.

Then she cocked her fists on her hips, threw back her head, and began to laugh.

Her laughter was as rich and open-throated as an act of defiance. At first, Linden heard strain in it, effort and

constriction: a difficult choice rather than humor. Almost at once, however, two or three and then more of the other Giants joined her; and her laughing loosened until it became untroubled mirth, full of gladness and freedom. Soon all of the Swordmainnir laughed with her, and their voices reached the heavens.

Liand laughed as well, as if he had been released from his cares. Pahni and Bhapa smiled broadly, and Mahrtiir

grinned below his bandage. Anele stroked the smooth stone of Coldspray armor and crooned as though he were being cradled. For a time, Longwrath ceased his struggles: his gagged rage fell silent. Stave surveyed them all impassively; but the firelight in his eye hinted at relief.

Linden, too, would have laughed, if she could. The unfettered pleasure of the Giants reassured her. But she did not know what it meant.

Gradually Rime Coldspray subsided. Still chuckling, she said, “Stone and Sea! We are Giants indeed. Though we live and die, we change as little as the permanence that we adore. In spite of our many centuries, we have not yet learned to be other than we are.

“After our children,” she continued, speaking more directly to Linden. “tales are our greatest treasures. But there can be no story without hazard and daring, fortitude and uncertainty.

Events and deeds which lack peril seldom enthrall. And joy is in the ears that hear, not in the mouth that speaks. Already you have supplied our most exigent need. You have allowed us to see that our seemingly lost and aimless voyages in Longwrath’s name are but the prelude to a far larger tale.

“Linden Avery,” she proclaimed while her comrades went on laughing, “it is enough. Seeking the import of our many labors, we will accompany you. If

Stave of the Haruchai stands at your side, joined by the courteous and considerate Ramen-and likewise this wide-eyed Stonedownor and the anguished son of Sunder and Hollian-the Swordmainnir can do no less. Indeed, I name you Giantfriend, both for your known love toward the Giants of the Search, and in token of our own esteem.

“I have spoken.” Chuckling again, she asked, “Does our doubt content you?

Will you now accept our comradeship, come good or ill, joy or woe?”

At Coldspray’s words, some of the fear lifted from Linden’s heart. Although she could not laugh, she smiled warmly. “Thank you. The First and Pitchwife would be so proud-” The Giants may have had few children-too few-but they bred true. That was their birthright. “Meeting you is the best thing that’s happened to us since we left Revelstone.”

Her voice broke as she finished. “God, I’ve missed you.”

She believed now that none of her many enemies would be able to prevent her from reaching the Hills of Andelain.

10.

Struggles over Wild Magic

During the remainder of that night, Linden slept little. Her story was

strange to the Swordmainnir: it raised more issues than it explained. Although they expressed concern for the weariness of their new companions, the Giants needed to talk.

They asked nothing more about Linden’s intentions. For a while, they discussed the actions of the Sandgorgons, pondering what those creatures would do now that they had satisfied their ancient “gratitude.” Then, with elaborate delicacy, Rime

Coldspray indicated the bullet hole in Linden’s shirt and inquired about the relationship between death in her former world and life in the Land.

Linden could not explain it: she could only relate what she had experienced. Like the lightning which had taken Joan, bullets were too violent for doubt. Therefore Linden could only assume that she, Jeremiah, and Roger had perished in the instant of their passage to the Land. In some sense, their

presence here was permanent: they would endure until they were slain.

She had seen her son’s wounds, and Roger’s; but she did not want to remember them.

Clearing his throat, Mahrtiir turned toward Stave. Softly, as if he were prompting the Haruchai, he said. “There are tales better known to the Bloodguard-“

Stave nodded. To Coldspray, he said, “Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever was not the only man of the Chosen’s world summoned to the Land. In the time of the new Lords, when Elena daughter of Lena was High Lord of the Council, a man named Hile Troy appeared, invoked by Atiaran Trell-mate. He it was who led the Warward into Garroting Deep, bartering his soul to Caerroil Wildwood in exchange for the ruin of moksha Fleshharrower’s forces. Thus he ceased to be himself, for he

was transformed, becoming CaerŹCaveral, the last Forestal. For more than three millennia thereafter, he endured as the guardian of Andelain.”

In spite of her fatigue, Linden listened closely. Long ago, Covenant had told her about Hile Troy and Caer-Caveral; but Stave offered details which were new to her.

“The First of the Search and Pitchwife were present,” remarked Coldspray.

We know their tale. If we understand events aright, Caer-Caveral’s final sacrifice did much to enable Covenant Giantfriend’s victory over the Despiser.”

Stave shrugged. It may be so. The Masters and all Haruchai distrust violations of Law. We are not persuaded that the ur-Lord would have failed to achieve his victory by some other means if the Law of Life had remained unmarred.

“However, it is of Hile Troy that I would speak, rather than of Caer-Caveral.”

The Manethrall murmured his approval. Liand and the Cords listened as they had since the tales began, rapt and troubled.

With his usual flatness, Stave said, She who invoked him, Atiaran TrellŹmate, perished when she had completed his summons. By the common understanding of the Lords,

the death of the summoner ended the summons. So it transpired three times for the ur-Lord, the Unbeliever. Yet when Atiaran Trell-mate died in fire, Hile Troy remained.

“The Council of Lords believed that his summons was not undone because in his own world his death preceded that of his summoner. Therefore his spirit could not return to its former life, and his place in the Land was fixed.

“I cannot know if Hile Troy’s example is pertinent to the plight of the Chosen and her son. Their summoner yet lives, though she is tormented and possessed.

“Nonetheless,” the Haruchai stated with an air of increased concentration. “there is hope in Hile Troy’s tale. The woman Joan wields wild magic. With High Lord Loric’s krill, the Chosen may be able to confront her, and yet remain among us. If so, the Land will be

spared much, and perhaps Linden Avery’s son also.”

The Giants considered Stave’s

assertion for a long moment. Then their leader chuckled grimly.

“You are cunning as well as valorous, Stave of the Haruchai. Indirectly you seek to allay both our doubts and those of the Humbled. At another time, perchance, my comrades and I will applaud your service to Linden

Giantfriend. For the present, however, we can do no more than acknowledge that the magicks which rule the passage between worlds lie beyond our comprehension.”

The Ironhand’s expression tightened as she continued. “Of other foes and powers, we know only that they do not appear to threaten us here. But the peril of Kastenessen and his skurj is immediate and urgent. If Linden Giantfriend seeks the krill,

Kastenessen must oppose her. And I do not doubt that he will strike with all the ferocity he may command.”

He hasn’t brought very many of them down from the north yet. But he can get more whenever he wants them. Roger had lied about any number of things-but occasionally he had told the truth.

A score of those monsters would devour Linden’s entire company as

easily as breathing.

“By my reckoning,” said Coldspray. “Andelain lies perhaps eight or nine leagues distant. But we cannot know whether Andelain has been overrun with skurj. If the krill has been neither taken nor unmade, it stands beyond the Soulsease. And Salva Gildenbourne’s abundance hinders us. I foresee frantic battle and desperate flight ere we may hope to approach our goal.”

And while the company fought, Longwrath would strive for Linden’s death. Two or three Giants would have to guard him at all times, regardless of the scale of Kastenessen’s attacks.

“Linden Avery,” the Ironhand

pronounced formally. “Chosen and Giantfriend, you have spoken of white gold. We have no other clear hope. If we cannot trust to the Staff of Law, then only wild magic may preserve us.”

Linden felt the focused attention of the Giants. Even Longwrath paused to listen. While her friends watched, she reached under her shirt and drew Covenant’s ring into the firelight.

Trying to be precise, she said, “It isn’t literally true that Covenant gave this to me, but it’s probably fair to say that he left it for me. I’ve certainly claimed it.” And used it. “You might think that I already have enough power to accomplish almost anything. God

knows I’ve astonished myself-” She still did not understand how she had saved herself and Anele from the collapse of Kevin’s Watch. “But it doesn’t come easily. I have to work hard for it.

“Maybe I’m afraid of it.” Covenant had taught her that wild magic tended to surge out of control; that with each use it grew more rampant and ungovernable. “Or maybe I don’t really have the right to wield it.” According to

Roger, only the person to whom white gold truly belonged could call forth its full strength. “All I know is that I can’t chance it when I’m holding the Staff. Apparently Law and wild magic are antithetical.”

She believed this even though she had once exerted both argent fire and Earthpower. With Covenant’s ring, she had melded Vain and Findail to form a new Staff of Law; her Staff. Then she had wielded both wild magic and Law

to remain in the Land while she ended the Sunbane, began healing its ravages, and restored her friends. And since that time, her Staff had been annealed in EarthBlood; refined with runes. Caerroil Wildwood had granted her new possibilities which she did not fully comprehend.

Nonetheless Esmer and Stave together had assured her that no ordinary flesh could withstand such forces. In Kiril Threndor, when she had taken up

Covenant’s ring, his spirit had

protected her. His love and her own grief had enabled her to perform feats which should have been impossible. And her summons to the Land had already been half undone: she had not been entirely corporeal. Now her health-sense insisted that she was simply inadequate-too human and frail-to contain or manage Earthpower and white gold simultaneously.