The Runes of the Earth: The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant - Book One (36 page)

There Anele paused; released his knees in order to scrub unbidden tears from the grime on his cheeks. His blind eyes stared at the broken rocks as if he could see the ancient moment of their shattering. Around him, the breeze flowed slowly, and the chill of high ice seeped into the rift, as the westward peaks began to bar the sun.

Linden waited for him in a kind of suspense, as though she needed the old man's tale.

When he had gripped his knees again, he said, “Still the One Forest could only wail and weep, unable to act in self-defense.” Voiceless tears spread anger and sorrow into his torn beard. “Despite its vastness, it, too, lived in ignorance. It knew only itself and pain, and so could not comprehend its own possible strength. Born of Earthpower, sustained by Earthpower, knowing Earthpower, the One Forest could not grasp that Earthpower might have other uses.

“Thus the destruction of the trees grew as the ambitions of humankind and Ravers mounted. And with that bereavement came another loss, inseparable from the first, but more bitter and deadly. In the slaughter of each tree, one small gleam of the Forest's Land-spanning sentience failed, never to be renewed or replaced. Thus the wishes of the Ravers were fulfilled. As the butchery of the trees increased, so the One Forest's knowledge of itself diminished, lapsing toward slumber and extinction.

“That grief was too great to be borne.” Anele himself seemed hardly able to contain it. His voice rose to a low cry. “Even mountains could not endure it. Peaks shattered themselves in sorrow and protest. This very cliff split as a heart is torn asunder by rage and loss, and by helplessness.”

For a moment, he gaped at the riven walls. Their yearning had come upon him like a
geas.
They needed his mortal tongue to articulate their interminable rue. Cold exhaled down the rift like a sigh of protest and loss.

But then his head jerked to the other side, and he seemed to find a new vein of song. His voice dropped to a murmur which Linden would not have been able to hear if he had not chipped each word off his stone lament like a flake of obsidian, jagged and distinct.

“The Earth itself heard that cry. Every knowing ear throughout the Earth heard it. And at last, when much of the Lower Land had been slain of trees, and the devastation of the Upper had truly begun, the cry was answered.”

Abruptly Anele leaned forward, shifted the angle of his head. “There.” With one trembling, gnarled finger, he pointed into the center of the sloping rubble. “It is written there—the coming of the
Elohim.
”

Gloaming filled his moonstone eyes. “Many centuries after the rising of the Ravers, at a time when much of the One Forest's sentience had dwindled to embers, a being
such as the trees had never known came among them, singing of life and knowledge, of eldritch power beyond the puissance of any Raver. And singing as well of retribution.

“Why the
Elohim
came then and not earlier, before so much had been lost, these stones cannot grasp. Yet come she did—or he, for the
Elohim
are strange, and such distinctions describe them poorly. And with her song, the remaining leagues of the One Forest awoke to power.”

This part of the story Linden had heard before. Findail the Appointed had told it to the assembled Search for the One Tree aboard Starfare's Gem. Still she listened with all her attention. Anele conveyed an impression of urgency, of necessity, which she could neither name nor ignore.

“The trees,” he told the gathering shadows, “could neither strike nor flee. Their limbs were not formed to wield fire and iron.” Findail had said,
A tree may know love and feel pain and cry out, but has few means of defense.
“Yet even that remnant of wakefulness which remained was vast by mortal measure, and its power was likewise vast. Capable then as well as aware, the One Forest turned its loathing and ire, not against the deaf ignorance of humankind, but rather against the Ravers.

“Nor did the trees count the cost of their new might. The
Elohim
had sung to them of retribution, and she was more puissant than any Raver. Her nature granted them the power to deny. Therefore they took her and bound her, and with Earthpower set her in bonds of stone at the edge of Landsdrop as a barricade, a forbidding, against the Ravers. And such was the strength of their ramified will that while she lived, while she retained any vestige of herself,
moksha, turiya,
and
samadhi
were entirely barred from the Upper Land. No Raver in any form could pass that interdiction to threaten the remnants of the One Forest.”

There Anele stopped, although his tale was not done. He had lost the thread of memory in the granite, or his ability to discern it had faltered. Nevertheless its compulsion held Linden. When he did not continue, she finished his tale for him as if she, too, had been bound in place by the exigency of the trees.

“But that's not all,” she added. “People didn't stop cutting down forests just because the Ravers couldn't goad them to it.” Covenant had told her this. “The trees had spared them, but they were still too ignorant to know it. Ordinary people kept on hacking and burning whenever they thought they needed more open ground. They didn't know,” could not know, “that they were murdering the mind of the One Forest.

“So the trees went further. After they formed that forbidding,” the Colossus of the Fall, “they used what they had learned from the
Elohim
to create the Forestals. Guardians to protect the last forests.” Morinmoss between Mount Thunder and the Plains of Ra. Dark Grimmerdhore east of Revelstone. Fatal Garroting Deep around the flanks of
Melenkurion
Skyweir. Giant Woods at the borders of Seareach. “Because most of the time we humans don't seem to care what we're doing to the world.”

Then she had to stop as well. She needed time to pray that the ending of the Sunbane and the creation of a new Staff of Law had undone some of humankind's harm; that the Land had regained enough vitality to enable the growth of new forests.

“It may be so,” Anele sighed into the gathering chill. “That knowledge is not written here.”

After a long moment, Liand stirred. He rose to his feet; gathered up the food and waterskins. “No one remembers it.” His bitterness echoed Anele's tale. “The Masters do not speak of it. This treasure of the Land's past, these memories of glory, they keep to themselves.”

Linden groaned inwardly. He was right. The
Haruchai
had left the people of the Land as ignorant and blind—and as potentially destructive—as their first ancestors had been.

In their own way, the Masters might prove as fatal as Ravers.

“Thank God,” she murmured obliquely, hardly aware that she spoke aloud, “there are only two of them left.”

No ordinary death could claim a Raver. But
samadhi
Sheol had been rent, torn to shreds, by the sacrifice of Grimmand Honninscrave and the power of the Sandgorgon Nom.

“Two?” Liand asked in confusion.

And, “Masters?” croaked Anele, rousing himself. “Masters?”

Linden brushed them aside with a flick of her hand. Anele's tale filled her head. “I'm just thinking—”

She felt now that she had never before grasped the full atrocity of the Sunbane. Oh, she had experienced its horror in every nerve. Her knowledge was both personal and intimate. But she had not guessed what such devastation meant to the fading sentience of the trees. Or to Caer-Caveral, the last Forestal, who had lost more than he could bear.

It was no wonder, she thought, that he had given up his defense of Andelain for the sake of Hollian and her unborn child. He had known too much death, and needed to affirm life.

Suddenly Anele flung himself to his feet. Wailing, “Masters!” he began to scramble frantically up the raw sharp rocks.

Masters—?

Remembering forests and slaughter, Linden struggled upright in time to see Stave top the rise which blocked her view of the South Plains.

He approached swiftly. Deepening shadows obscured his face. Even with her full health-sense, she had never been able to read the emotions of the
Haruchai.
Nevertheless her thin percipience was enough to let her feel the urgency of his stride.

Behind her, Anele rushed upward like a shout of fear.

“Linden Avery,” Stave barked as he drew near, “this is folly.” The timbre of his voice suggested anger, although its inflection did not. “Do you seek to flee? Then why are you not far from this place? While you linger, they have caught your scent.”

Instinctively, uselessly, Liand moved to interpose himself between Stave and Linden. “It is
you
we flee, Master.” Once again his innocence and resolve conveyed a dignity that she could not match. “If we have erred, it is because we were granted opportunity to hear a tale which you have denied us.”

Stave ignored him; seemed to slip past him without effort. “Abandon your supplies, Stonedownor,” he ordered as he advanced on Linden. “You must flee at once. The Chosen will require your aid.”

Then he stood before her.

“They have caught your scent,” he repeated. “Already they have severed any retreat. You must make haste.”

Liand started after Stave as if he meant to leap on the Master's back. But then he seemed to hear something in Stave's tone that halted his attack. “ ‘They'?” he panted. “ ‘They'?”

An instant later, he wheeled; rushed toward his packs and Somo.

Linden stared at Stave in blank shock. The mourning of the cliffs still gripped her: slain trees thronged in her mind. She could not grasp—

Your scent—?

“Have you forgotten your peril?” he demanded. “Alone, I cannot withstand them. Yet I will slay as many as I may. They will be hindered somewhat. Perhaps they will be daunted. Or perhaps you may gain some covert before they assail you.”

“Linden!” Liand cried out to her. “Run! Do not delay for me!” Feverishly he threw bundles onto the pinto's back. “I will follow!”

“Stave?” she breathed dumbly. “What—?”

“Linden Avery, you are hunted by
kresh.
”

In his flat tone, the words sounded as deadly as Ravers.

 Had she heard of
kresh
in huge packs possessed by Ravers? Did she imagine the memory? Aboard Starfare's Gem she had seen a black swarm of rats driven by a Raver's malice. In a terrible storm, burning eels had come near to crippling the Search for the One Tree. But
kresh
—?

Had she ever heard of those great yellow wolves before Liand had mentioned them?

The Stonedownor yelled, “Linden!”

Stave insisted inflexibly, “Linden Avery.”

Her son needed her, and she had come to this.

The twilight of deep shade filled the cleft. Overhead the sun had passed into mid-afternoon, but the ragged cliffs rose too high to admit direct sunshine. Beyond them, the sky held an illimitable blue tinged to the verge of gloaming with purple and majesty. Its lambency was all that lit the rift.

Liand fumbled to secure Somo's burdens. “Stave!” he shouted. “How far?”

“Half a league,” Stave answered as if Linden had asked the question, “no more.” His hands touched her shoulders. “If you do not flee, you will perish here. They will tear you asunder.”

“Flee?” she countered. “What for?” Disoriented by images of ruin, she could hardly concentrate on the Master. “I mean, seriously. I can't outrun them. I can hardly walk. It's been too long—”

She lifted Covenant's ring out of her shirt and closed it in her fist. “You can't protect us. You said so. Maybe I can.” She had no idea how. “If I can't—” She shrugged. “We weren't going to survive anyway.”

But Stave immediately wrapped one hand over her fist. “Do not,” he urged her. His hard eyes and the scar high on his left cheek seemed to call out to her through the gloom. “Linden Avery, I forbid you. Old evils inhabit these mountains. You will rouse them, or draw them down upon us. Better the threat of fangs and claws than some darker peril.”

Finally Liand finished with Somo's packs. At once, he hauled the pinto into motion, half-dragging the beast up the slope.

Linden stared back at Stave, floundering within herself. Old evils—? She could not imagine what he meant; but he was
Haruchai
and commanded belief.

And she did not know how to summon wild magic. It arose according to laws or logic she had not yet learned to understand. Without percipience to guide her—

“Linden, come!” Liand cried as he labored upward. “You do not know the ferocity of these
kresh
! They will devour us flesh and bone. We must find some shelter which we are able to defend.”

“Then it's up to you.” She faced Stave as squarely as she could. “I'm too weak.”

For a brief moment, no more than a heartbeat, Stave appeared to hesitate. He may have realized that there was more at stake between them than simple frailty and flight. His people remembered her as the Chosen, the Sun-Sage; worthy of service. But he could not simultaneously aid her and recapture Anele. Every step upward would carry him farther away from the driving convictions of his people.

An instant later, however, he surged at Linden, swept her into his arms, and began to spring easily up the rocks.

His feet were bare, yet he crossed the sharp edges and splinters of the rubble as though mere stone had no power to hurt him. In a dozen strides, he caught up with Liand and Somo; passed them. When Linden glanced up the rift, she saw that he was gaining on Anele, in spite of the old man's frenetic haste.

An inestimable distance above Anele, the glow of the sky lit the place where the fallen rock met the rims of the cliffs. Those slopes might or might not provide a route onto the higher mountainsides: Linden was too far away to see them clearly.

Too far away to reach them at all.

Below her the wolves had not yet appeared. If they had gained the scree, or even the rift, they were still hidden by the rise behind which she had rested. How far was half a league? A stone's throw? For a Giant? More? She should have known: she had traveled leagues by the hundreds during her earlier time in the Land. But she could not remember.

Anele's pace appeared too headlong and frantic to be sustained; but she did not fear for him.
He has no friend but stone.
He had endured for decades in and around these mountains. Even now he might well outlast her.

When she glanced down at Stave's feet, their swift certainty frightened her. If he tripped, he would fall to the jagged stones atop her. To ease the strain of his task, she hooked her arm over his neck. Then she watched behind her for the first glimpse of the
kresh.

In his arms, she mounted the slope as if she were moving backward through time. With every step, Stave's feet touched memories which only Anele could perceive. The
Haruchai
carried her up over broken pieces of song, fragments of lamentation.

No wonder Anele was mad. Such music might have fractured anyone's mind.

Covenant's ring bounced on its chain outside her shirt. It seemed to reproach her with its mystery and power. Its true owner would have known how to use it; save his comrades. She had seen him in the apotheosis of the Banefire, mastering the source and fuel of the Sunbane even though his veins were full of Lord Foul's venom. In spite of his self-doubt, he had found within himself the passion and control to quench long generations of bloodshed.

But afterward he had foresworn power. He had refused to defend himself against Lord Foul.

In her dreams, he had told Linden to trust herself—and yet she did not believe that she could raise enough flame to hold back a pack of wolves. When minutes had passed, and the
kresh
did not appear, she caught Covenant's ring in her free hand and put it back under her shirt. He had left it to her, but she could not claim it as her own.

Liand tried to match Stave's pace, but could not. Somo slowed him. The beast was a mustang, bred to mountains; but the scree demanded great care.

Jostled in the cradle of the
Haruchai
's arms, Linden panted, “Wait for Liand. We have to stick together.” With
kresh
on her scent, she would not have left even a Master behind.

She did not expect Stave to heed her. So far he had shown little regard for her wishes. Yet he slowed his strides for Liand's sake. Apparently he and his people took their guardianship of the Land seriously.

When Liand and Somo had drawn level with him, Stave suited his pace to theirs. Ahead of them, Anele was able to maintain his lead. In that formation, they climbed as if they were ascending into recollections of the One Forest. To Linden, it seemed that the old man's tale drew them upward.

She peered back at the horizon of the rubble below her. Stave had carried her perhaps a quarter of the way up the rift; possibly less. Still she saw no sign of any wolves. However, she did not doubt that the
kresh
would soon surge past the rise.

Liand may have felt otherwise. Breathing easily in spite of his exertions, he guided Somo closer to Stave and Linden. “I am disturbed, Master,” he said tensely. “You name yourselves the guardians of the Land. And you have recognized Linden Avery from the forgotten past.” His distrust reached through the dim light to Linden's nerves. He had left his diffidence toward the
Haruchai
behind. “Yet you have come alone to her aid.

“You conceal many truths. Will you reveal one here, in the Chosen's presence? Why have you come alone to ward her?”

Stave made a sound like a snort. Linden felt his strength flow; and for a moment he surged ahead of Liand. Irredeemable crimes passed beneath his feet. But then he seemed to reconsider. “Do not presume to challenge us, Stonedownor,” he retorted flatly. “You do not suffice. Inquire of the Chosen whether the word and the honor of the
Haruchai
have worth.”

Together humankind and Ravers had decimated a vast and marvelous intelligence. With the Sunbane Lord Foul had completed their cruel work.

Stave paused, apparently waiting for Linden to speak. When she did not, however, he added, “Yet I will acknowledge that we were unprepared for her flight.” His tone conveyed a two-edged disdain: for Liand's disapproval as for Linden's escape. “The Linden Avery who is remembered among us would not have done so. Rather she would have borne the white ring to the Stonedown's defense. Therefore we were taken unaware.”

His words stung her. In his dry tone, she heard a criticism with which she was intimately familiar. Often in the past, the
Haruchai
had made no attempt to conceal their scorn for her doubts and hesitations.

He may have been right. Perhaps she should have remained to fight for the Stonedown. But Covenant had told her to
Do something they don't expect.
And Stave knew nothing of Jeremiah.

If she had stayed behind, she would not have heard Anele's tale.

The Master continued to answer Liand. “Nor could we estimate the direction of her flight. The Chosen has repudiated our knowledge of her. For that reason, we separated when the storm had passed, so that we might search more widely.

“We could conceive of no purpose which would impel her here, but we feared that she might attempt these mountains in ignorance, thinking them a sanctuary. Thus it fell to me to ride southward, while Jass and Bornin hastened to consider more likely paths.

“I found no sign to guide me. Almost I turned aside. But then I saw
kresh
gather among the hills beyond the Mithil. I saw the direction of their hunt, and was concerned that the Chosen had become their prey. Therefore I made haste to place myself ahead of the pack. At the Mithil's Plunge, I left my mount so that it might not fall to the
kresh,
and continued on foot.”

Stave looked into Linden's face as if she rather than Liand had questioned him. “Linden Avery, are you answered?”

He might have asked, Will you trust me now?

Because he distrusted her, she replied, “I thought Lord Foul sent that storm. I wanted to draw it off.”

In his arms, she was entirely vulnerable to him. No doubt he could have broken her neck with one hand. Nevertheless she had enough faith in him to add, “And no, I don't trust you. What you Masters are doing appalls me. The
Haruchai
I knew weren't that arrogant.”

She could not bring herself to tell him about Jeremiah.

By rough increments, the rift narrowed, its walls leaning toward each other as though they yearned to seal away the ancient pain of the stones. As the gloom grew deeper, it brought with it a cold that seemed to congeal against Linden's skin. Above
her on the slope, Anele had begun to falter. Apparently he had exhausted his desperation. In spite of Somo's difficulties with the ascent, Stave and even Liand diminished the old man's lead.

“The
Haruchai
whom you knew,” Stave told Linden stiffly, “had not yet experienced the meaning of Brinn's victory over
ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol.
We had seen the Staff of Law lost and regained. We had seen it un-made and then made anew. When it was lost yet again, we could not continue as we were.

“Brinn has proven himself equal to the guardianship of the One Tree. Will you tell us that we may not prove equal to other guardianships as well?”

“Of course not,” Linden murmured through the soft whisper of Stave's breathing and the harder rhythm of Liand's. “But I've seen your people die. It's your
definition
of guardianship that frightens me. You're asking too much of yourselves.”

He responded with a slight shrug. “What would you have us do?”

Still grieving for the trees, she turned her gaze downward, and her heart lurched as she saw a moiling line seethe past the rim of the rise. A darkness heavier than shade poured up the scree like a viscid spill flowing in reverse, running backward in time into the storehouse of the mountains' memories. If she had not lost most of her health-sense, she might have felt ferocity and fangs pelting over the rocks after her scent.

In moments, the upward-cresting tide of
kresh
had filled the cleft from wall to wall. And still it crashed higher, and gathered to crest again: God,
hundreds
of them, more wolves than she could have imagined in one pack.

“Hurry,” she panted to Stave as if that were her only reply. Alarm clogged her throat. “They're coming.”