Against All Things Ending (16 page)

Several of the Swordmainnir murmured agreement. Others may have nodded.

“
When
I have forestalled the Worm—” the Harrow tried to insist. But the Ardent interrupted him.

“The desires of the lady prevail here, impetuous one.” The Ardent’s lisp became more pronounced, as if he were mocking the Harrow. “She will accompany us when she deigns to do so, in her own fashion, and by her own means. Until that moment, be content to wait.”

“I will not,” said the Harrow hotly.

The Ardent hesitated. When he replied, he spoke in a low voice, almost whispering.

“Must I utter your true name to silence you?”

Anger clenched the Harrow’s fists, knotted the muscles at the corners of his jaw. “You will not. That will be interference beyond question. You will forfeit your life.”

Nevertheless he did not hazard further provocation.

Still no one heeded either of the Insequent. Squaring her shoulders, Rime Coldspray confronted Covenant’s inquiry. As if she were ready to receive or deliver a blow, she said, “Very well, Thomas Covenant, Timewarden and Earthfriend. I will speak of the truth which has been revealed to us. I will explain that Giants are as prone to error and unwisdom as any people of the Earth.”

Resting her forehead on her knees, Linden allowed the night to fill her as though she had become a vessel of darkness. She did not care why Covenant sought to probe the Giants. She cared only that he strove to remain present; that he might find a way to lift her out of her failures. A way to spare her—

You judge harshly, Wildwielder
. She should have tried to ease Elena’s long anguish. But there was nothing that Linden could do for Covenant’s daughter until she discovered some form of mercy for herself.

That the bargain was false in all sooth has been made plain to us
. Longwrath had tried to kill her because the
Elohim
wanted her dead.

“Your query,” Coldspray began, “concerns the gift of tongues for which the Giants once bargained with the
Elohim
. In the many journeys of our kind, we have learned that the peoples of the Earth tell their tales to please or comfort or obscure themselves, suppressing aspects which they mislike and glorifying portions which give them pleasure. For uncounted millennia, we have held to a different creed. Believing that joy is in the ears that hear, not in the mouth that speaks, we have told our tales fully or not at all—and have taken pride in doing so.

“Now we must hear joy in the knowledge that our ancestors were blind to machination and distorted truth. More, we must honor them for a blindness which was in some degree voluntary. So delighted were they with the gift of tongues, and with themselves, that they did not closely examine the proffer of the
Elohim
.

“We must hear joy in the recognition that Longwrath was in part betrayed to suffering and madness by his own people.”

Linden listened with only part of her attention. She remembered the deranged Giant’s lust for her death more vividly than the account of this bargain that she had heard from Grimmand Honninscrave long ago. In a moment of imposed sanity, Anele had warned her,
All who live share the Land’s plight
.
Its cost will be borne by all who live
.
This you cannot alter
.
In the attempt, you may achieve only ruin
. Nevertheless she was determined to leave her friends behind when she went with the Harrow. As soon as she gathered her strength—She already had too many victims. Jeremiah needed her. Other lives might have been better served if Longwrath had killed her.

Grimly the Ironhand explained, “You and Linden Avery, who was then the Sun-Sage, were informed that we received our gift in return for our tale of Bahgoon the Unbearable, and of Thelma Twofist, who tamed him. That is sooth—to the extent that our ancestors chose to believe it so. But we have learned that it is also falsehood. We perceive now that the
Elohim
found worth, not in the tale itself, but rather in one facet of it—and in our willingness to speak of that facet mirthfully. In their eyes, our mirth justified their intent.

“The tale itself I will not tell. Here I seek only to account for the feigned generosity of the
Elohim
. The pith of the matter is this. For the many deeds and attributes which caused him to be named Unbearable, Bahgoon was delivered involuntarily and forcibly into the un-tender care of Thelma Twofist.

“She was a Giant of enormous might, legendary belligerence, and indeed extreme ugliness. By her own choice, she lived apart from all others, for all who knew her feared her, and she felt only disdain for their alarm, which she deemed cowardice. Bahgoon she was given to be her servant, against his vehement protests and frantic opposition, because our ancestors could no longer endure his presence, because no other Giant could restrain his conduct—and because our ancestors considered his new place in Thelma’s service a fit reward for his multitude of offenses.”

Coldspray sighed. “That she found means to tame him, and that they discovered together an embattled and extravagant happiness, inspires our delight in their tale. However, the
Elohim
misheard the humor of the Giants—or elected to interpret it in another fashion. The aspect of the tale which intrigued them, and which swayed them to proffer their gift of tongues, was the coercion of Bahgoon, not its unforeseen outcome. They discerned clearly our eagerness—indeed our hunger—for friendship and knowledge throughout the Earth. And they assured themselves that we did not scruple to send our own to apparent woe when we saw no other course. They shared a similar trait, as the doom of each Appointed demonstrates. But they did not speak of such matters. Rather they expressed only their own delight. And they offered this bargain, the gift of tongues in exchange for the tale of Bahgoon and Thelma—and for all that the tale implied.”

The Ironhand did not meet Covenant’s gaze, or Linden’s. Instead she studied the grass at the feet of the
Haruchai
like a woman who expected to be judged. Her manner said clearly that she and her comrades had already judged themselves.

“Because our ancestors had been dazzled by the splendor of the
Elohim
,” she continued, “and because they were avid for the offered gift, they did not inquire into the perceived implications of the tale. Glad, and gladly blind, they accepted the bargain. Only now, when the harm cannot be recalled, have we heard the truth of the exchange. The eagerness of our ancestors to accept the terms, the
Elohim
interpreted as consent to the unwilling servitude of an unnamed Giant in a distant and uncertain future. Involuntarily misled,” she stated harshly, “or perhaps voluntarily, our ancestors condoned the sacrifice of Lostson Longwrath’s life to any use which the
Elohim
craved.”

Finally she raised her eyes to Covenant’s. With an air of troubled defiance, as though she meant to face any accusation squarely, she concluded, “This understanding Grimmand Honninscrave gave to us, or perhaps inflicted upon us, that we might better comprehend the choices required of Linden Giantfriend. Aye, and her deeds also. He strongly desired us to grasp that the errors, and indeed the faults, of the Giants are many and grievous. Long ago, we traded the life and pain of a kinsman for one mere gift of the
Elohim
. For that reason, we must be chary of finding faults and errors in others, and especially in Linden Giantfriend, whose folly may yet prove wisdom, just as the thoughtless delight of our ancestors has birthed only sorrow.”

Lit by nothing more than starlight, only Covenant’s silvered hair seemed to define him. Nevertheless Linden knew before he spoke that he would not castigate Rime Coldspray or any of her people. Rather his whole body seemed to yearn with empathy and resisted slippage as he said gruffly, “Thank you. That helps. Now I remember why I’ve always loved Giants so much. Saltheart Foamfollower was my friend at a time when I didn’t even know what friendship was. And he found a better use for his life than anything I could have imagined.”

A moment later, he added, “In any case, Longwrath didn’t succeed. If we can keep Linden alive long enough, the
Elohim
won’t have any reason to care what he does. Maybe then they’ll let him go, and he can find a little peace.”

Linden hoped that Coldspray would laugh now. A little peace. Before the world ended. Surely the Giants would appreciate the joke? She wanted one more chance to hear their open-hearted mirth before she left them behind. But neither the Ironhand nor any of the other Giants appeared to hear joy in Covenant’s response.

Instead Coldspray said like a promise, “By that measure, Saltheart Foamfollower was among the greatest of Giants. We honor him as we do Grimmand Honninscrave and Cable Seadreamer. If the days which remain to us are kind, we will be granted opportunity to make amends, as they did, for the unwisdom of our forebears.”

Before Covenant could reply, Mahrtiir stepped forward. “Your words are sorrow in my ears, Giant.” He sounded reluctant, hampered by emotions which he did not wish to express. Nonetheless he said, “All who live fall prey to unwisdom. It is not otherwise with the Ramen. Had we not guided the Ranyhyn to remain apart from the Land after the bale of the Sunbane had passed, much that has transpired in this age might have been averted. Their presence would surely have tempered the thoughts and purposes of the Masters.

“If your striving to ease Longwrath’s plight does not suffice as vindication, your bravery and bereavement against the
skurj
must. No single act of folly may outweigh a thousand—no, a thousand thousand—deeds of valor and generosity.

“It is to your ancestors’ credit, I deem, that the
Elohim
could not win their desires without prevarication.”

Linden nodded, assenting vaguely. She remembered hearing Mahrtiir admit,
I seek a tale which will remain in the memories of the Ramen when my life has ended
. He may have yearned to make amends for the long absence of his people and the Ranyhyn.

He had called his people
too cautious to be remembered
.

In response, Coldspray bowed. “For your courtesy, Manethrall of the Ramen, I thank you. Our remorse—aye, and our ire—are our own. We do not lightly set them aside. Yet your kindness and counsel hold great merit in our hearts. We will treasure them.”

Abruptly the Harrow snapped, “Have done with these petty considerations. Even now, the Worm bestirs itself. As Infelice has informed you, its size is not vast. Yet its puissance will outrun its mere bulk. If we do not act, and act soon, none of you will survive to bemoan your faults and errors.”

His voice hurt the night: it tarnished Mahrtiir’s compassion as well as Coldspray’s troubled honesty. Linden was on her feet before she realized that she had surged up from the grass; before she recognized her own anger.

Across the distance between them, she demanded, “
Stop
this. You haven’t earned the right to sneer at any of us. You’ve been just about as honest as the
Elohim
, and that’s not saying much, so
shut up
already.”

Apparently the lessons of Gallows Howe continued to guide her past the boundaries of her weakness; her fathomless chagrin.

“Yet, lady,” retorted the Harrow, “it is I who hold white gold and the Staff of Law, and you who are powerless.” Darkness shrouded his features, but his gaze felt like a threat, black and bottomless. “Scorn me now, if that is your wish. The day will come when you will implore me to make any use of your son that chances to please me. On that day, you will learn that you have cause to repent your vexation and delay, for much will be lost that might have been saved.”

“Doubtless that is your belief,” the Ardent put in. Something had changed for him. His tumid assurance was gone, replaced by an air of worry. Perhaps he had frightened himself by threatening to reveal the Harrow’s true name. “Certain of the Insequent have delved deeply into matters of augury, prescience, and consequence, seeking an awareness of Time to compare with the Theomach’s. Among those adepts, however, some foresee one outcome, and some another. Deprived of the Timewarden, the Arch is weakened. Possibilities multiply at every word and deed. You would do well to consider that your haste may promote events and choices which do not please you.”

The ferocity of the Harrow’s glower bit at Linden’s senses: she could hear the way he ground his teeth, feel his fingertips drumming on his beads. Nevertheless he contained himself.

If the Ardent spoke the Harrow’s true name, that would constitute
interference
by any definition that Linden understood. It would doom the Ardent. But it would also give her power over the Harrow.

She was fed up with both of them. In disgust, she turned back to Covenant and her other companions. Unexpected anger had roused her from her emptiness. She was ready now; as ready as she would ever be.

—much will be lost that might have been saved.

When she looked at Covenant, she saw that he had fallen out of the present again. His mind wandered a trackless wilderness as fractured as the rubble where Joan exerted her madness, flinging out anguish to destroy discrete instances of time. For the moment, at least, he was lost; unreachable.

In contrast, Anele had finally awakened. Rising to his feet, he gazed about him as if he sought a direction or destination imperceptible to any sight but his blindness. Eased, perhaps, by the benignant air and grass of Andelain, or by the intercession of Sunder and Hollian, he seemed almost sane as he murmured, “The time has come. Anele must have stone. He remembers both his father and his mother. He must have stone.”

Then he scented the air, apparently attracted to the smell of the
aliantha
that Pahni still held.

Covenant jerked up his head. “What’s that?” he asked. “What’s that? Did you say stone?” He sounded confused, trapped amid conflicting recognitions. “I remember your father and mother too. Why do you need stone?”