Against All Things Ending (67 page)

Ah, God.—as she must—

Stave indicated his own commitments by shifting closer to Linden. His single eye watched Galt impassively.

The Master had already implied that he was not content to simply restrain the
croyel
. Like Clyme and Branl, he might soon feel compelled to act on other priorities.

Coldspray answered Mahrtiir’s nod with her own. “We are in accord, Manethrall. We also wish to follow Linden Giantfriend until the end. I seek only to ease her present distress.”

This time, the Manethrall bowed. “Then let us go now to honor Liand’s cairn as well as we may. We will make of the Stonedownor’s steadfastness a lodestone to guide our purposes.”

Bowing in turn, Coldspray stooped to retrieve her armor.

Frostheart Grueburn, Latebirth, and Halewhole Bluntfist had already fastened their cataphracts around them, loosened their longswords in their scabbards. Now Bluntfist lifted Anele’s unresisting form out of Stormpast Galesend’s breastplate.

The old man did not react. He seemed oblivious to the activity around him. His thoughts remained fixed on something that no one else could see: the dilemma of his personal contradiction,
Must
and
Cannot
in unrelieved succession.

Soon Galesend was ready to reclaim Anele. The rest of the Giants had secured their armor and shouldered their bundles of supplies. Unasked, Galt turned Jeremiah and the
croyel
, and began to impel them carefully up the hillsides toward the gypsum ridge. Cirrus Kindwind offered to carry Covenant, but Manethrall Mahrtiir stopped her. “Other attempts have failed,” he explained. “Mayhap the exertion of walking will reassert the claims of his flesh upon his mind.”

Then he instructed his Cords to take Covenant’s arms, raise him to his feet, and support him on his way. In spite of their weariness, they obeyed at once. Pahni’s dull stare conveyed the impression that she was too numb to care what she did.

Acquiescing with a shrug, Kindwind joined her fellow Swordmainnir. Shortly Linden and all of her companions were in motion, repeating their angled ascent to the place where Liand had perished.

Her friends intended to make her decisions for her—but only until she felt able to become the Chosen again: the woman in whom they elected to believe. They did not understand that Liand’s death, and the state of Jeremiah’s mind, and the bane’s screaming power had taught her the truth about herself. At her heart, she was carrion. Food for maggots and vultures. She was done with choosing.

She had no other defense against the Despiser’s machinations.

5.

Inheritances

Carrying her Staff and Covenant’s ring and Jeremiah’s healed toy as if they were empty of import, Linden climbed the slopes with Stave and Mahrtiir like a woman ascending Gallows Howe.

The hills seemed high to her now; more difficult than she remembered. A kind of moral weakness dragged at her muscles. She did not want to see Liand’s cairn—and could not refuse. Like the company’s circumstances, the outcome of her efforts to save her son called for more courage than she could imagine.

Only Thomas Covenant had it in him to meet the challenge of doom and death: she believed that. Only his instinct for incalculable victories—But she did not know how to reach him.

She wanted to turn and simply walk away forever.—
as she must
—Unfortunately she had abdicated her right to choose. Her friends had promised to make her decisions for her. Looking at Liand’s monument was only the first of them. Obedient to her own surrender, she forced her way up the shale and grit of the hillsides until she reached the ridge.

There the desiccated browns of the surrounding terrain made the white spine of gypsum appear unnaturally stark, almost pure; as distinct as chalk. Along the ridge, bits of quartz and mica caught the sun and flashed like implied omens. No doubt dust would have billowed from the strides of the Swordmainnir in any breeze; but the air was as still as a tombstone. Arid heat and haze rather than dust gave the sky a tan hue.

Immediately in front of the company, the handiwork of the Giants dominated the east, a long oval mound towering over the ridge from slope to slope. With sweat and strength and love, Rime Coldspray and her comrades had piled rocks the size of
kresh
and Cavewights and even mustangs to cover Liand’s death with homage. A few of the boulders were as big as huts. In an abstract way, Linden had understood that the Giants were mighty, and that they had labored long. Nevertheless she was taken aback by the scale of the cairn. Liand had been given a barrow suitable for a king.

It seemed more final than his ruined corpse.

Oh, Liand. Through her reluctance and shame, Linden felt her eyes burn with unattainable tears. Nothing could comfort her for the Stonedownor’s passing. Still she felt that the Giants had done him justice.

“A small gesture only,” explained Coldspray as if she were embarrassed. “Being Giants, we had it in our hearts to dig away this stretch of the ridge, and that beyond as well, thus forming a pediment for the cairn. But time pressed against us, and we abandoned our first intent.”

“Nonetheless,” Mahrtiir stated after a moment, “what you have done is well done. Be assured that it is well done.”

Instead of speaking, Stave bowed in the manner of the
Haruchai
, first to the Ironhand, then to the high mound of stone.

Still Covenant did not react. Creviced memories held him.

On a hilltop some distance to the north, Clyme stood with his back to the company. In the south, Branl also faced away. The two Humbled seemed to disregard their companions; but Linden understood their vigilance. They had not forgotten their many enemies. Joan’s attack during the night had demonstrated that even here, tens or scores of leagues from more obvious dangers, the company was not safe. Clyme and Branl did not assume that the Land’s last defenders would be safe anywhere.

“If it is well done,” Rime Coldspray said finally, “we are content. I name our grief and honor complete. Now let us consider our course. We cannot remain as we are while the Worm threatens to unmake all that we have known and loved and needed.”

Her words may have been addressed to Linden; but Linden stood with her head bowed and did not respond. What could she have said?

“Our foes are easily counted,” replied Mahrtiir grimly. “The Timewarden’s former mate craves our ruin. Only her madness preserves us from endless
caesures
. Further we are told that his son amasses Cavewights to claim both the Ringthane’s child and the
croyel
. Given opportunity, Kastenessen may strike again, as we know to our great cost. Also it is his theurgy which shapes Kevin’s Dirt, hampering Earthpower across the Upper Land. And we are told as well that both Sandgorgons and
skurj
assail Salva Gildenbourne. Indeed, they may dare the ravage of Andelain, for the
krill
no longer defends the heart of the Land’s loveliness.”

That one detail, at least, had been Covenant’s doing, not Linden’s. It was all that had enabled the company to capture Jeremiah.

“These are fearsome perils in all sooth,” Mahrtiir observed, “terrible and heinous. In addition, however, Esmer endures, compelled to treachery. And we must not forget the Worm itself as it seeks the roots of
Melenkurion
Skyweir.”

The Manethrall paused briefly, then said, “I do not regard such lesser wights as
kresh
and
skest
. In themselves, they are mere servants. Nor do I consider
turiya
Raver. If he does not remain with his victim, she is nothing. Contemplation of Lostson Longwrath I leave to the Swordmainnir, who are better able to comprehend his plight. The Insequent have turned aside. And I do not cite the lurker of the Sarangrave, though we stand nigh unto its demesne. Ancient tales suggest that it is little more than a monstrous appetite devoid of thought or aspiration.

“However, I must speak of
moksha
Jehannum. Where he toils, and what he strives to gain, are hidden from us. I cannot discount She Who Must Not Be Named. Aroused, the bane may rise still farther, wreaking vast torment. And I must not neglect the purest abomination, dire Fangthane himself, Despiser of Land and life. It is by his will that all other perils and evils have awakened. There can be no reply to the Worm unless Fangthane also is answered.”

Mahrtiir paused again; turned his bandaged face toward each of his companions one by one. Explicitly he did not spare Linden his scrutiny. After giving them a moment to absorb his summation, he asked, “What say you? Is my tale complete?”

The Giants shifted their feet uncomfortably. Some of them looked daunted in spite of their native resilience and courage. Pahni stood like a woman in shock. Bhapa fretted as if he wished to flee. Between them, Covenant mumbled something that sounded like a list of all the trees in the One Forest. But Anele had fallen silent in Galesend’s arms, apparently conscious of nothing except
orcrest
and dread.

Linden did not want to speak. She felt beaten down by Mahrtiir’s toll of troubles, almost immured, as if his words were stones. When no one else responded, however, she forced herself to say, “One of us ought to at least mention the
Elohim
. They’re probably all scrambling to save themselves. But Infelice sure as hell didn’t want us to rescue Jeremiah. Now that we have him, she may be desperate enough to interfere.”

Like the Manethrall, Coldspray scanned the company. Having ascertained that no one wished to offer a comment, she nodded once, harshly. “Then we are agreed. The tale is complete, though its unadorned brevity resembles a wound. Now we must make known the counsels of our hearts.”

Looking directly at Pahni and Bhapa, she continued, “And here none may keep silent. Every thought and insight and apprehension must be heard.” She seemed to think that the Cords might be too diffident or weary to express themselves. “Any word may serve to inspire guidance, but it cannot if it is not uttered.”

Like Coldspray, Mahrtiir faced the Cords. “Harken well. The Ironhand’s command is also mine. I comprehend the hurt of speaking only to be countered or dismissed. But our straits require this of us. Naught can be gained without risk of hurt.”

Bhapa nodded with a nauseated grimace. But Pahni surprised Linden by answering, “The Ardent has said that the Ringthane’s need for death is great.” She sounded vague, almost stupefied. Nothing flickered in her eyes to indicate that she was aware of her own bitterness. “I see no promise that her need has been sated.”

Restore him!

I can’t
.
I would if I could
.

Mahrtiir’s wince was visible in spite of his bandage; but he did not reprimand the girl.

As if in Linden’s defense, Frostheart Grueburn said, “The withdrawal of the Insequent is lamentable. Our grief over the Ardent’s passing is whetted by our inability to seek further explication of his auguries.”

After a moment, Onyx Stonemage added, “Nor are we able to ask aid of the ur-viles and Waynhim. Doubtless their lore is great. Certainly we have witnessed their strange puissance. While Esmer lives, however, we are deprived of our gift of tongues. It may be that Linden Giantfriend remains able to call upon them. But if so, we would not comprehend their counsel.”

More sternly, the Ironhand stated, “It is bootless to dwell upon queries which cannot or will not be answered. We must consider deeds which are within our compass.”

“Then, Ironhand,” said Cabledarm, “let us begin by discarding deeds which are not within our compass.” Her tone suggested a dour jest, although her expression was somber. “Neither the Sandgorgons nor the
skurj
merit concern. Our mere strength and swords cannot defeat such creatures.”

Halewhole Bluntfist agreed. “And let us discard also the Worm itself, and She Who Must Not Be Named, and Fangthane Despiser. Doubtless such evils must be answered. There again, however, strength and swords will achieve no worthy effect. Those who wield wild magic and Earthpower”—she glanced at Galt—“aye, and Loric’s eldritch
krill
must devise our course. We cannot.”

Linden swallowed an empty protest. Clearly Bluntfist and the others were still counting on her; and they were wrong. Yet she could frame no real objection. The Giants were being practical: their reasoning made sense.

Coldspray considered her comrades briefly. Then she admitted, “Nor do we suffice against Esmer
mere
-son. There we must place our trust in the ur-viles and Waynhim. As for the
Elohim
, their plight is beyond our ken. Thus our deliberation is simplified. We need contemplate only the Timewarden’s former mate—their son and his army of Cavewights—and mad Kastenessen.”

Only? Linden thought.
Only?
But before she could find her voice, Mahrtiir put in sharply, “And also the Ringthane’s son and the
croyel
. That burden has not been relieved by Liand’s death.”

“Aye,” Rime Coldspray assented. “I hear you, Manethrall. Nonetheless his plight is a matter of theurgy. While Linden Giantfriend remains thwarted by the
croyel
, and Covenant Timewarden is absent, we can do naught to ease the boy.”

“Aye,” grumbled Mahrtiir in turn, conceding the Ironhand’s point.

Linden gnawed her lip and tried to guess what conclusion the Giants and the Ramen would reach.

“Thus,” Coldspray said again. “The Timewarden’s former mate. Their son. Kastenessen.” She looked around at her comrades once more. “Upon another occasion, I will require your condolences for such concision. For the present—” Then she faced the two
Haruchai
. “Master. Stave. You have not spoken. Do you consent to the nature of our counsels? Is there aught which we must add or discard ere we continue?”

A glance like a knife passed between the Humbled and the former Master, although their miens were impassive; and a spatter of tension ran down Linden’s spine. She could not see beneath the surface of either man, but she felt—

As if to the air rather than to Coldspray or Stave, Galt said, “I will speak when your deliberations are done.”

“And I will answer you,” promised Stave.

Without explanation, he shifted his gaze to the Ironhand.

“I would urge,” he told her, “that some forewarning must be conveyed to the Masters in Revelstone. Yet I cannot conceive how my desire may be accomplished. If the word of an
Elohim
is to be believed, scant days remain to us, and even a rider Ranyhyn-mounted must have more than a few to gain Lord’s Keep.”

He shrugged delicately. “Thus my wishes for my kindred come to naught.” With an air of formality, he concluded, “Ironhand of the Swordmainnir, I am content with your counsels.”

Rime Coldspray replied with a nod as grave as a bow. Then she said to everyone, “Now we must further simplify our course. To my mind, the choice has become one of urgency. Which of the three perils that we have selected poses the most severe or immediate threat?”

Involuntarily Linden shook her head. She did not mean to interfere with Coldspray’s leadership, or with Mahrtiir’s; but she answered without thinking.

“Urgency isn’t the problem. They’re all urgent,” Jeremiah more than anything else. “The problem is finding them. I can’t even guess where Joan is. But Esmer and the Ardent told us that Roger is in Mount Thunder.” Somewhere among the Wightwarrens. “And Kastenessen has to be there, too, since he’s drawing on the bane to power Kevin’s Dirt. Locating them sounds impossible, but it probably isn’t. If we get close enough, we won’t have to find either of them. They’ll find us.”