Against All Things Ending (50 page)

Water was life.

It was also erosion. Terrible storms. Downpours and floods with the force to rive mountains. Tidal waves.

And in the pellucid refreshment of Glimmermere: baptism.

Aching, Covenant wished that the Ardent had been able to take him there. With Linden. So that she might return from her suffering to something clean and Earthpowerful; redolent of love.

Wishing accomplished nothing.

Fortunately Manethrall Mahrtiir was more pragmatic. When he had assayed the company for a while, he announced, “We also must depart. Though this terrain is tainted, the stream which the Cords found is fresh from the rains of spring. And the distance is not great. It seems far only because we are weak. There we may sate our thirst entirely, and bathe, and rest. When we have done so, mayhap we will be better able to confront the conundrum of our straits.”

“Aye,” said Rime Coldspray. “The Manethrall counsels wisely, as he has ever done. I regret that we”—she gestured around at her comrades—“are too much wearied to bear any burdens but ourselves. Nonetheless the stream is goodly, as the Manethrall has said, and plentiful. Also its environs will afford us a measure of shade.”

Covenant nodded. He had nothing else to suggest. Nothing at all.

But Stave looked up at Coldspray. “What of Anele? You have not witnessed the hurts which he endures—or which he inflicts—when he is possessed. On barren ground, he becomes the receptacle and expression of Kastenessen’s fury. He cannot walk to the stream. We cannot ask it of him.”

Coldspray looked away. “The Humbled—”

“He fears them,” Stave stated. “He will not willingly suffer their touch.”

As if to confirm Stave’s assertion, Anele cowered; covered his head with his arms; moaned through his teeth.

The Ironhand sighed. “Then I will carry him, if the Masters will consent to bear my armor.”

Branl agreed without hesitation. He, Galt, and Clyme knew as much as Stave did about the dangers that crowded around Anele when he stood on any surface except stone.

“In that case,” Covenant said vaguely, “we should get started.” The sun seemed unnaturally hot; unfamiliar to his nerves. “I sweat too much. I need more water.”

He wanted to carry Linden himself. He yearned to hold her, protect her—and had no desire to shirk his responsibility for what she had undergone. But he did not have the strength. Stave could have taken her to the stream at a run: Covenant would probably collapse under her within a hundred steps.

Around him, the Giants readied themselves. Coldspray lifted Anele from Stormpast Galesend’s cataphract, supported him as gently as she could. Frostheart Grueburn helped Galesend don her armor: then Galesend helped Grueburn. At Mahrtiir’s command, Bhapa, Pahni, and Liand positioned themselves to watch the horizons while Clyme and Branl accepted the weight of Coldspray’s stone. Gripping the
krill
, Galt impelled Jeremiah into motion.

Covenant took Linden’s blackened Staff for himself. He could not use it, and did not mean to try. But he could support himself with it. It might keep him on his feet. And he hoped that its inherent participation in Earthpower and Law might lessen the likelihood that he would stumble into a mental crevasse.

Arduously the company began to move.

F
or a time, they trudged across an uneven flatland like an ancient flood-plain long desiccated: bleached soil streaked with ochre and dun, crystalline white and hints of verdigris, veins the color of rust; small hillocks and the remains of creek-beds; lonely interruptions of harsh grass. Gradually the breeze mounted until it raised delicate plumes of dust like feathers from the heels of Covenant’s boots, the feet and sandals of his companions. That was a blessing and a curse. Cooling his face, it increased his loss of moisture. By degrees, his vision blurred until he could no longer identify Coldspray’s and Grueburn’s earlier trail.

But then the Ironhand indicated a line of low hills sculpted by ages of wind and the hard use of armies until they resembled the contorted bones of titans. There, she explained, lay the barrier which had turned the stream from its former course. Among those hills, running crookedly along shallow valleys like furrows plowed by a drunkard, was the stream: water in abundance.

“In another season, mayhap,” she added hoarsely, “the flow from the Upper Land would not suffice for our needs. But the rains have been bountiful, as we observed during our pursuit of Longwrath. Hereafter we will doubtless fear many things. For the present, however, we need no longer fear thirst.”

Covenant may have nodded. Or not: he was not paying attention. Instead he kept his gaze fixed on Stave’s back as if he expected to see the former Master’s shoulders slump; see Stave drop Linden—

Stupid, he muttered to himself. If necessary, Stave would keep on walking until the world ended. Reflexively, however, Covenant gauged his companions by the standard of his own weakness; and so he dreaded the worst.

Water, he insisted in silence. Water was the answer. How? He did not know. Perhaps he had not truly understood anything since Esmer had allowed the company to escape from She Who Must Not Be Named. Nevertheless he chose to believe in water. Hell, he had to believe in
some
thing. Didn’t he?

If he could not save Linden, he would not be able to save anyone.

But Bhapa and Pahni had served their companions well. When the Cords had located the stream, they had also scouted an easy route through the hills. Although Covenant and some of the Giants stumbled occasionally as they ascended from the plain, they did not lose their footing.

Above them, Liand and the Cords scrambled from crest to crest, keeping watch. Liand stayed to the left, the south. More skilled than he, Bhapa and Pahni studied the north: the direction from which any threat was likely to come.

Coldspray carried Anele with her teeth set and defiance in her gait, daring the old man to become too heavy for her. A few paces ahead of her, Jeremiah trudged upward, Galt’s hand on his shoulder and the
croyel
’s cruelty on his back. The boy’s steps were as unsteady as Covenant’s, but Jeremiah gave no sign of flagging. As long as the creature dreamed of rescue, its host could probably out-walk everyone except the
Haruchai
.

A gradual descent. Another rise. Twisted by the shape of the hills, bursts of dust as transient as wraiths skirled around the legs of the company. Here and there, stubborn granite and weary bits of sandstone protruded through their cloaks of dirt, grit, and shale.

“Soon,” Coldspray panted through her teeth. “Soon.” But no one responded.

Whenever Covenant shambled into a stretch of shade, gloom thickened around him as if his eyes were failing. Courage, he thought. Clear sight. Ha! Such things were figments: he could no longer recall them. Yet he did not allow himself to fall behind Stave. Linden needed him. Or she would need him eventually. Or she would need her Staff. Weakness was only weakness, after all: he remembered that. It was as human as thirst, and as compulsory. But it was nothing more. Like pain, it could be endured.

If he did not intend to endure, why was he here at all?

There may have been more climbing, more descents. He had lost track. Voices carried along the eddying breeze like the distant cries of ghosts. Then he found himself standing in a gap like a rounded trough between hills pale with age. Through a smear of dehydration, he gazed down at the stream.

Under the wide sky and the sunlight, it looked like chrism.

A short way below him, the current hastened around a curve in a small canyon, muttering irritably against the rock wall on its far side. Here the watercourse was little more than a ravine, but wide enough to leave a swath of ground like a shore within the stream’s curve. Where the trough leaned down to the water, opening its arms as though to embrace the current, lay a wide expanse of sand interrupted by weather-softened boulders.

Impelled by the pressure of the sun, Covenant descended as if he were falling.

Stave and Linden were ahead of him. Coldspray and Anele. Galt with Jeremiah. Mahrtiir. Two other Giants. At a word from the Manethrall, Liand scrambled down the hillside, abandoning for the moment his watch on the south. But Covenant regarded none of them. Stiff-kneed and ungainly, he dropped Linden’s Staff on the sand, stumbled to the water’s edge, and lurched into the stream as if his legs had eroded under him.

How had he been reduced to this? How much of himself had he lost?

Golden boy with feet of clay

Plunging face-first into the Upper Land’s runoff, he drank. To his parched nerves, the water tasted as pure as rain. It felt like bliss.

Let me help you on your way
.

When he needed air, he found the sand and stone of the streambed, pushed himself upright. Anointed with relief, he gasped words that made no sense. They may have been promises or prophecies—or castigations. Splashing in the current, he scrubbed at his arms, his face, his hair; washed away as much strain as he could.

A proper push will take you far
—

Then he ducked his head and drank again. The Land’s rich blessings had found him even here.

But what a clumsy lad you are!

Water was the answer. It
was
. He did not understand it, but he was sure.

Finally he raised his head, wiped streams from his eyes, and took stock of the company.

As far as he could tell, Liand and most of the Giants had already swallowed their fill. Branl had assumed the Cords’ watch so that they could rejoin their Manethrall. Now Galesend accepted Anele from Coldspray, freeing the Ironhand to drink again. With flasks empty of
diamondraught
, Halewhole Bluntfist supplied Anele while Latebirth tilted Jeremiah’s head back and poured water into his slack mouth. In spite of his dissociation, Jeremiah gulped eagerly. When Latebirth refilled her vessel, he drained it again. Clearly the
croyel
’s magicks did not meet all of his body’s needs.

Of course, Covenant thought as he studied the boy. Why else had Jeremiah required the attendance of the
skest
? The
croyel
’s power to keep him alive had limits.

Finally Covenant turned his attention to Linden.

She still hung, dream-ridden and whimpering, in the cradle of Stave’s arms. Near the water’s edge, the former Master stood as if he were prepared to bear the cost of her mortality until the end of Time. But his fidelity would not save her: Covenant was sure of that. Like her son, she would remain lost within herself until someone or something intervened.

That was Covenant’s task. He could not ask anyone else to attempt it for him. He was alive because of her.

If he did not act soon, her nightmares might claim her permanently.

Sodden and dripping, he sloshed out of the stream. Strange that he was still weak. He had forgotten too much about being human—His flesh needed time to recover from its ordeals. It trembled for rest and food.

But he did not believe that Linden could afford to wait.

Facing Stave with water in his eyes, he said, “Let me take her.”

The
Haruchai
cocked an eyebrow. “Ur-Lord?”

Quickly Rime Coldspray stepped forward. “Is this wise? What is your intent, Covenant Timewarden?”

Clyme drew closer. He may have thought that Covenant wanted or needed his support.

Covenant did not glance up at the Ironhand. “I’m going to carry her downstream,” he told Stave. “Out of sight.” Beyond a bulge in the hillside that looked too rugged for his wan strength. “I should be alone with her when I wake her up. She won’t like having an audience.”

He was confident of that. But he also desired privacy for his own sake. What he had in mind would be hurtful enough without witnesses. And no doubt Stave would stop him, if no one else reacted swiftly enough.

“Ha!” grunted Coldspray. “Sadly I fear that your weakened frame is unequal to the task. I foresee falling and broken limbs. No doubt inadvertently, you may both meet harm.”

“I know that,” Covenant retorted. “But I can’t reach her unless we’re alone. I need that.” I love her. “So does she.” With more ire than assurance, he added, “When I’ve brought her back,” if he succeeded, “she’ll tell you I did the right thing.”

Surely she hated where she was? Loathed and feared it?

“Then,” suggested the Ironhand, “permit Stave to bear her to a place of your choosing. There he will part from you, that you may do what you must.”

Covenant braced himself to accept this compromise; but Stave said without hesitation, “I will not.”

Ignoring the apprehension around him, Covenant looked at no one except the former Master. “Are you sure? How far are you willing to go with this? Are you ready to say you don’t trust me? After everything your people and I have been through together? Hellfire, Stave! She needs me. I have to be alone with her.”

Stave met Covenant’s glare. “Nonetheless.” Nothing in the
Haruchai
’s mien hinted that he could be moved. “I stand with the Chosen. Come good or ill, boon or bane, I will not forsake her.”