Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (42 page)

The Theomach had mentioned puissant beings.

“It’s better if we talk about this later,” Covenant replied. “Tonight, if you can’t wait any longer.” He did not so much

as glance at Linden. “Every league takes us a little closer to the Theomach’s limits. And Berek is going to want more from him by the hour. More help. More knowledge. Berek is starving to understand what he can do. He’s desperate for it. The more he gets from the Theomach, the more he’s going to want.

“We probably wouldn’t be overheard where we are,” Covenant admitted. “But I don’t want to take the chance.”

Where we are, Linden thought with a forlorn ache. Apart from Yellinin, she had not seen an ordinary human being for more than three days of abrading cold. On her right, the Center Plains were a bitter wasteland, snow-cloaked and featureless as far as she could see: a tangible avatar of the gelid loneliness within a caesure, the ruin which represented the ultimate outcome of Joan’s madness. And on her left, the Last Hills raised their heads in forbidding scarps and crags.

Some of their lower slopes were mild; others, more rugged. But boulders and bare granite knotted their crests. And all of them were clotted with ice or caked with brittle snow.

She could not wait for the interminable shivering length of another day to pass. She felt too much alone.

When she and her companions had ridden in silence for a time, she said tentatively, “All right. You can stop me

if I ask anything dangerous. But this isn’t hard only on you. It’s tough for me, too. You at least have a plan.” Something to look forward to. “I’m just lost.”

She did not want to freeze to death in the middle of nowhere for no reason which she could comprehend.

“If nothing else,” she pleaded. “I need you to talk to me. I need to hear voices.”

Her longing for the companionship of Liand, Stave, the Ramen, and even Anele was so poignant that it closed her throat.

Jeremiah seemed to consult with Covenant, although she heard nothing pass between them. Then he glanced at her sidelong. “That’s OK, Mom,” he replied uncomfortably. “You can ask. Just try to be careful. If the Theomach hears us, a question might cause just as much trouble as an answer.”

His willingness surprised Linden; but she did not want to miss her chance. Striving for caution, she said. “So why does the Theomach care what we do now? Didn’t he get what he wanted?” Obliquely, inadvertently, she had helped him win a place at Berek’s side. “Unless I missed something-“

He claimed that she knew his true name; but she had no idea what it was.

Jeremiah nodded. “He’s done with us.”

Apparently he saw no danger in discussing the Insequent. “He’s where he has to be. Where he’s supposed to be. He would have gotten there anyway, but you made it easier for him. He should be grateful.

“But he still wants to protect the Arch. Or he says he does, anyway. He put us here. That makes him responsible for us. If you can believe him, I mean.

“He isn’t worried about you.”

Jeremiah’s tone hinted at anger. “You he trusts. And he knows how to cover for you. But he thinks Covenant and I are capable of—ire emphasized the muddy hue of his eyes-“practically anything. He doesn’t understand-“

Swallowing convulsively, Jeremiah fell silent. Covenant rode gazing into the distance as if he had no interest in the conversation.

Cover for you? “Understand what?”

Linden asked.

Jeremiah curled his hands into fists on his mount’s reins. Fiercely he retorted, He doesn’t understand how hard were trying to do exactly the right thing. Mom, if we deserved what he thinks of us, Covenant wouldn’t have brought me to you in the first place. It isn’t just insulting, it’s so frustrating-“

Again Jeremiah stopped. This time, he made an obvious effort to master

himself. When he continued, he sounded sad; pained.

“And it’s a lot worse for Covenant than it is for me. We’ve had to endure too much Earthpower. He’s holding us together. But that’s not all. He’s keeping what’s really happening to me-what Foul is doing to my actual body-” Jeremiah shuddered. “He’s my friend. He’s keeping me from going crazy.”

Then he shrugged unhappily. “I told you I didn’t like the Insequent.”

One called the Vizard had urged him to construct a snare for the Elohim—

His manner made Linden regret her question. “I’m sorry, honey,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you. In a way, I can understand the Theomach’s attitude. I’m your mother, and
forget what you’re going through. You’re so brave about it, you don’t let itp>

show. The truth is”-she searched their shared distress for words-“worse than I can imagine.”

Jeremiah shrugged again. “That’s okay.” Like Covenant, he did not look at her. “Covenant protects me pretty well.” For a moment, his tic conveyed the incongruous impression that he was winking.

Shaken by images of what the Despiser might be doing to her son,

she let the hard silence of winter reclaim her. Apart from the occasional faint whisper of the breeze, the only sounds were the erratic thud and crunch of the horses’ hooves, muted when they struck hard snow, sharper when they broke through crusts of ice. The plains and the hills were locked in unrelieved cold: cloudless, brilliant, and punishing. Studying the sky, she found no sign of a change in the weather. Nevertheless the chill grew deeper as the terrain climbed higher. The air

scraped at her throat and lungs, and the warmth that she had garnered from Yellinin’s last campfire had been leeched away.

Eventually she would be forced to ask Covenant for heat. Or she would need to separate herself from her companions so that she could draw on the Staff.

Seeking distraction, she sifted her throng of questions for one to which

the Theomach could not object. Finally she said, “I was surprised that Berek found so much hurtloam.” And so close to his camp. “I don’t have much experience with it, but I’ve never seen that much hurtloam in one place. Is that normal?” She meant, In this time? “It seemed too good to be true.”

Jeremiah glanced at Covenant. But Covenant rode as though he had not heard her; and after a moment, Jeremiah said. “You don’t know much

about the geography of the Land,” as if he were explaining her situation to himself. “You’ve never seen a map. And the Sunbane confused everything.”

Then he seemed to gather his thoughts. “Some of it’s about time. Where we are-I mean, when-there’s more of practically everything. More trees, more Forestals, more griffins, quellvisks, and other monsters, more Cavewights, more powers. Between

now and the time where we belong, things get used up. Or killed in Foul’s wars. Or ruined by the Sunbane. Or just lost. But that’s not the main reason.

“Berek found so much hurtloam, and he’s going to keep finding it, because he’s moving toward the Black River. The Black River comes out of Melenkurion Skyweir.”

Linden listened intently. Long ago, she

had ridden a raft through the confluence of the Black and Mithil Rivers with Covenant and Sunder. But Covenant had told her only that the Black separated the Center Plains from the South.

“There are a lot of springs under that mountain,” Jeremiah continued. “They come out together at the base of the cliff. Most of them are just water, but one of them is EarthBlood. It’s only a trickle, but it’s intense—When the

Black River pours out into Garroting Deep, it’s full of Earthpower. That’s part of why the Deep is so deadly. Caerroil Wildwood draws some of his strength from the river.

“Of course, it gets diluted. The Black joins the Mithil, and after that you can hardly tell it comes from Melenkurion Skyweir. But the Last Hills are right on the edge of Garroting Deep. From there, the power of the EarthBlood spreads into the plains.

All that hurtloam is sort of a side effect,” he concluded. “Earthpower has been seeping out of the mountain practically forever. Maybe that’s why the One Forest used to cover the whole Land. Back in those days-ages ago-you could have mined hurtloam along every stream and river in the Center and South Plains.”

His explanation saddened Linden. While she grieved quietly for what the Land had lost, or would lose, over the

millennia, Jeremiah turned to

Covenant. “She’s getting cold again,” he observed with more certitude than he usually displayed when he spoke to Covenant. “You have to keep her warm.”

“Oh, hell,” Covenant muttered distantly, as if his thoughts were lost in Time. “You’re right. I should pay more attention.”

As before, Linden felt no invocation;

discerned no rush of power. She saw only the abrupt arc of Covenant’s right hand as he gestured absentmindedly, leaving a brief streak of incandescence across her vision. At once, however, heat flushed through her, banishing the cold in an instant, filling her clothes and cloak and robe with more warmth than any campfire. Her toes inside her meager socks and boots seemed to burn as their numbness was swept away. When Covenant’s strange theurgy faded, it left her blissfully

warmed-and unaccountably

frightened, as if he had given her a minuscule taste of poison; a sample of something dangerous enough to destroy her.

Presumably he protected himself-and Jeremiah-from the elements in the same fashion; but she could not see it.

For the rest of the day, she rode in silence, huddling into herself for courage as she huddled into her robe for protection. Covenant had suggested that he might answer her at the end of the day’s ride: she needed to be ready. The nature of his power eluded her percipience. And he had already indirectly refused to explain it. Therefore his peculiar force aggravated her sense of vulnerability. She was utterly dependent upon him. If he

abandoned her-or turned against her-she could keep herself warm with the Staff. She might conceivably be able to stay alive. But she would be helpless to return to her proper time.

For that reason, she contained herself while the horses trudged abjectly northwestward along the ridge of hills. At intervals, she and her companions paused to feed and water their mounts at the occasional ice-clad rill or brook, or to unwrap a little food and watered

wine from one of Yellinin’s bundles. But the halts were brief. Covenant seemed eager to cover as much ground as possible; and Jeremiah reflected his friend’s growing anticipation or tension. Neither of them appeared to care that they were killing their animals, despite their

insurmountable distance from

Melenkurion Skyweir.

Jeremiah had implied that he and Covenant intended to use their

innominate magicks for some form of translocation. And Covenant had admitted that to do so would be perilous.

Gritting her resolve, she kept her mouth shut throughout the prolonged misery of the day. Explicitly she did not ask Covenant for more heat, although Jeremiah prodded him to ease her whenever her shivering became uncontrollable. Nor did she mention that their small supply of grain and hay

for the horses would not last for more than another day. Instead she fed the beasts as liberally as they needed. She could not bear to deprive them-and she had too many other worries. If necessary, she would demand more compassion from her companions later.

At last, they rode into a premature dusk as the sun sank behind the hills; and Covenant surprised her by announcing that they would soon stop for the night.

She had expected him to continue onward as long as possible, but instead he muttered, “It’s around here somewhere. We’ll spot it in a few minutes.”

A short time later, Jeremiah pointed ahead. Squinting into the shadow of the hills, Covenant nodded. When Linden looked there, she saw what appeared to be a narrow ravine as sheer as a barranca between two high ice-draped shoulders of stone. Why

Covenant and Jeremiah had focused their attention on this particular ravine, she could not guess. They had passed any number of similar formations since they had left Berek’s camp. Nevertheless Covenant aimed his staggering mount in that direction. With Jeremiah and Linden, he rode up the ragged slope and into the deep cut of the ravine.

When the three of them had entered the defile and passed a short way

along its crooked length, he halted. His voice held a note of satisfaction as he said, “Shelter.” Then he dismounted.

Shelter? Linden wondered numbly. Here? Untouched by the sun for more than a brief time every day, the ground was frozen iron. Against one wall of the barranca lay a streambed. She could detect a faint gurgling of water under its ice. But shelter? The shape of the ravine concentrated and channeled the slight breeze of the open plains until it

became a fanged wind so sharp that it seemed to draw blood. If Covenant intended to spend the night here, he would find Linden and the horses as cold and dead as the ground in the morning.

But she did not protest. Instead she slid awkwardly from her mount’s back and stood shivering beside the exhausted beast, waiting for an explanation.

“Rocks,” Covenant told Jeremiah when the boy joined him. “A big pile. Put them right by the stream. We can get water at the same time.”

Obediently Jeremiah began to gather stones, prying them out of the hard dirt as if his fingers were as strong as crowbars, and stacking them in a mound where Covenant had indicated.

Covenant looked at Linden. She could not make out his expression in the

thick gloom, but he may have been grinning. “It’s these walls,” he informed her. “All this old granite. It’ll be damn near impossible for the Theomach to eavesdrop. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Shelter, Linden thought. From being overheard. She would be able to ask as many questions as she wished-as long as Covenant kept her alive.

Apparently he did not expect a

response. While she struggled to unburden and feed the horses, he went to help Jeremiah gather rocks.

When they had raised a mound the size of an infant’s cairn, Covenant began to gesture at the stones, weaving a lattice of phosphenes across Linden’s retinas. Almost at once, the rocks started to radiate comfort. As he sent his power deeper and deeper among them, the surface of the mound took on a dull ruddy glow. Soon the pile