Against All Things Ending (48 page)

H
e could not measure time. He was not yet attuned to mundane circadian increments—or he was too badly dehydrated. The sun moved: the shadow of the boulder dwindled. Landsdrop seemed to shrink as the angle of the light changed. But such things did not tell him how long Mahrtiir and the others had been gone, or when they might come back.

The season was still spring: he remembered that. Nevertheless the sun’s heat leaned down on him until he forgot that he had been drenched only a few hours earlier. It made Linden heavier. The day was going to be hot. Too hot—

More and more as haze blurred his sight, he saw Landsdrop as a barrier. A forbidding—Unattainable. It made him think that he would never see the Upper Land again.

His desire to walk in Andelain once more before the world ended was a new kind of ache, unforeseen and immedicable. He had no anodyne for any of his woes.

When Galt said firmly, “Ur-Lord, the others return. They bear water,” Covenant needed a moment to understand him.

Peering down the gully, Covenant eventually made out six figures, four of them small. Their shapes wavered and bled, as uncertain as hallucinations dissolving in the sun’s glare. But they became more solid as they approached. Walking with slow care, they took on definition until he could believe that they were real.

Clyme, Branl, and two Giants. Mahrtiir and Bhapa.

Covenant leaned forward in anticipation, but Linden did not awaken.

Clearly the two Swordmainnir had gained much by drinking their fill. Their movements were steady, articulating their stubborn vitality. Nevertheless the Humbled carried their laden basins almost as easily.

The halves of the cataphracts were large enough to hold substantial quantities of water.

Abruptly the
croyel
said, “That isn’t going to help you.” Jeremiah’s voice was harsh with scorn. “This isn’t over. The Ardent hasn’t done you any favors. Drink as much as you want. Congratulate yourselves for staying alive. It won’t make any difference. That fat Insequent isn’t as smart as he thinks.”

A frown creased Linden’s forehead. The
croyel
’s words in her son’s mouth appeared to trouble her. The muscles at the corners of her eyes flinched more urgently. Still she did not rouse.

“Be silent, creature,” Galt replied. “Do you fancy that I will scruple to sever your foul head from its body? This youth whom you torment has no worth to me. And in her present state, Linden Avery cannot plead for him. It will not grieve me to cause your death.”

Covenant wondered whether Galt would carry out his threat. Fortunately the
croyel
did not test the Master.

Stepping among the sprawled forms of the company, Manethrall Mahrtiir said as if his blindness gave him the right to command, “Offer drink to the Insequent. We are in sore need of his powers.” Plainly he had quenched his own thirst and become stronger. But he could not appease his sense of futility, or his resentment of it. “If any
diamondraught
remains, grant it to the Ringthane. Her plight demands water, but while she remains as she is, she will drink little. Mayhap the greater potency of
diamondraught
will succor her.”

“Aye,” assented the Ironhand. The strain of her burden showed in her voice, in spite of her nascent recovery. With elaborate care, she set down her half of Grueburn’s armor. Then she went to where Latebirth lay snoring: a husky sound in the back of Latebirth’s throat, distressed and uneven. Coldspray opened Latebirth’s cataphract, lifted the breastplate aside, and took Latebirth’s flask. However, a quick shake of the flask told Coldspray that it was empty. Dropping the wrought stone in vexation, she moved to search Onyx Stonemage.

At the same time, Grueburn carried her vessel to the Ardent’s side; Clyme placed his near Latebirth; and Branl approached Covenant. Only Branl’s slow caution as he lowered Coldspray’s breastplate to the sand betrayed that the armor and its weight of water were heavy for him.

Bhapa had already left the watercourse to join Pahni. Now Stave descended to stand over Covenant. Extending his arms, he said, “You must drink, Timewarden. I will hold the Chosen.”

Through his thirst and eagerness, Covenant thought that he heard an undercurrent of concern in the former Master’s tone.

But Covenant did not move. The debris of effort and mute rue filled his throat. He had difficulty speaking. “Linden first. I can’t—After what she’s been through.”

He had told her to
find
him. What had he expected her to do? Passively accept his silence?

“Ur-Lord,” Branl began, then stopped as the Ironhand walked toward him holding Stonemage’s flask.

“Here is
diamondraught
,” Coldspray said. “Mere drops remain, I fear. But it is distilled for Giants, and Linden Giantfriend is human. Perchance mere drops will suffice.”

Stupid with thirst, Covenant stared at Coldspray. For a moment, he did not understand why she seemed to be waiting for him; why Branl and Stave were waiting. Then he realized that he was holding Linden with her cheek propped on his shoulder. She could not drink in that position.

“You’re right,” he croaked to Stave. “You’d better take her.”

At once, Stave stooped to Linden. Frowning slightly around the scar of his lost eye, he lifted her in the cradle of his arms so her head tilted back enough to open her mouth.

Covenant felt her absence from his chest like a bereavement. Instead of moving to drink from Branl’s basin, he watched as Coldspray unstopped Stonemage’s flask and shook half a dozen amber drops past Linden’s lips.

Linden appeared to swallow autonomically. She gave no sign that she felt the effects of the liquor.

“I can’t see into her,” Covenant rasped. He was a leper: he had no health-sense. “What’s happening? Is it helping her?”

The Ironhand scowled like a wince. “Linden Giantfriend baffles discernment. As do you, Timewarden, and also her son.
Diamondraught
is a sovereign roborant. I will trust that it aids her. But I detect no sign of awakening.”

Both Stave and Branl nodded in agreement.

Indicating the flask, Coldspray added, “Doubtless water will provide some further benison.”

Covenant thought that he said, Good idea. But he could not be sure. He had too many memories. Long ago, Atiaran had told him,
You are closed to me
—
I do not see you
. Others had made similar comments.
I do not know whether you are well or ill
.

Ill, of course
, he had answered with a bitterness which Lena’s mother had not deserved.
I’m a leper
.

She had quoted an ancient song.

“And he who wields white wild magic gold
is a paradox—
for he is everything and nothing,
hero and fool,
potent, helpless—
and with the one word of truth or treachery,
he will save or damn the Earth
because he is mad and sane,
cold and passionate,
lost and found.”

Beyond question, he felt
mad and sane
. Increasingly bewildered. He had surrendered his ring, and did not mean to take it back. In one form or another, his leprosy defined him.

He was slipping—

But Branl had gripped him by the shoulders. Irresistibly the Humbled drew him to his knees beside Coldspray’s cataphract.

Thirst and water anchored Covenant. Plunging his whole face into the basin, he drank as long as he could hold his breath.

When he pulled himself back, with water streaming down his cheeks onto his shirt and cooling in the breeze, he felt that he had been baptized; made new in some ineffable fashion. His mouth and throat had been washed clean. None of his griefs or regrets or responsibilities had passed from him. But he could bear them.

And he was not alone. As he mustered the strength to stand, he found that all of the Giants were stirring. They drank sparingly: the company’s supply of water was small for women of their size. Yet they drank enough to ease their weakness. Those who still carried any
diamondraught
swallowed it, little though it was. The others allowed Frostheart Grueburn to encourage them by rubbing their arms and shoulders.

Awakened, Liand followed Covenant’s example until the blur of prostration faded from his eyes. Then he labored awkwardly to his feet and peered at Linden, scrutinizing her to convince himself that she was physically unharmed. Briefly he watched Coldspray tilt water from Latebirth’s flask down Linden’s throat. His open nature concealed none of his apprehension.

A moment later, however, he shook himself and turned away. Summoning a fraught smile, he waved reassurance at Pahni. When she waved back, he paused to confirm that his Sunstone had been returned to the pouch at his waist. Then he began to look for a manageable ascent so that he could join the young Cord.

As Stormpast Galesend nudged Anele, Covenant warned her, “Keep him on that armor. I don’t know enough about him.” He had forgotten too much. “This sand—It used to be stone. Maybe it’s safe. Or maybe it’ll show Kastenessen where we are.”

In any case, Kastenessen was not the only dire being who might notice or enter the old man if he stood on sand baked dry.

“Indeed, Timewarden,” Galesend agreed. “Having borne him so far, and at such cost, I have grown fond of our Anele. There is valor concealed within his derangement. I pray that the day will come when the same may be said of Longwrath.”

Holding Anele in place, she tugged her armor across the gully-bottom toward the nearest water. Fortunately he did not try to jerk free, in spite of his eagerness to drink. Weakened as she was, she might not have been able to control him. But he seemed content to sit in his cradle and let her pull him along.

The Ardent had been the first to thrust his face into a basin; but he was among the last to struggle upright. For a while, he simply stood, unfurling his ribbands tentatively; studying his damaged raiment. The flesh of his face sagged, and depletions more profound than thirst dulled his gaze.

Eventually, however, he mustered a semblance of resolve. Tottering on his wrapped legs, he came effortfully toward Covenant and Linden, Coldspray and Stave and Branl.

He may have meant to bow, but he managed only a dip of his head. Some of his ribbands trailed like exhaustion across the sand as he braced himself to speak.

“A pitiful end to my former pride,” he began. “Doubtless I should name myself gratified. While the Earth endures, no other Insequent will assert that their deeds have equaled mine, or that they have witnessed the wonders which I have beheld. In all sooth, however, I am mortified. Aye, mortified, and also grieved. My many fears and insufficiencies have proven costly. As I near my end, my life comes to naught but this, that you and your companions endure to meet further trials without my aid. In itself, it is a fine accomplishment. Oh, assuredly both fine and fitting. I must crave your pardon that I am not gladdened by it.”

Covenant stared. He was about to say, You saved our lives. What more do your people want from you? But the Ardent continued without pausing.

“Here our paths part, Timewarden, though there remains one service which I hope to perform for you, should the Insequent consent to prolong my life. When I have gathered myself, I will depart, praying that I will return, albeit briefly.”

In sudden alarm, Covenant protested, “Wait a minute. Don’t go anywhere. We have too much to talk about.” Inwardly he winced whenever someone called him Timewarden. He had too many titles. They were prophecies which he could not fulfill.

But the Ardent had just said, As I near my end—What the hell was going on? What had Covenant missed?

Temporizing as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts, he asked, “Are you going to abandon us? Now?” While Linden remained unconscious; irreducibly vulnerable? “When we haven’t even started looking for a way to resist the Worm?” She had swallowed some of the water that Coldspray had given her. The rest had spilled from the corners of her mouth. Beneath their lids, her eyes continued their nightmare dance. “Have you actually completed your
geas
? Is that all your people care about? Imposing scruples on the Harrow and making sure he kept his promises? Is that all
you
care about?”

The Ardent fluttered his hands uncomfortably. “Timewarden, no. But as you are not Insequent, you cannot be aware that the various oracular visions of my people have been rendered meaningless. On one matter, those who possess the knowledge to scry have been in accord. As one, they have foreseen that the lady’s fate is writ in water. Thus it transpired that when she and the ur-viles released floods within Gravin Threndor, all auguries were washed away.”

While Covenant and Coldspray studied him, the Ardent explained, “Electing to unite their strengths, the Insequent foresaw many eventualities, but the Harrow’s death was not among them. Nor was the lady’s deed. For his death, there is a cost which need not concern you. Her valor is another matter. Unleashing torrents, she has altered the course of every heuristic effort. The outcome of both—of the lady’s extremity as of the Harrow’s passing—is that I have no further purpose at your side, or at hers.

“By my weakness on behalf of the Insequent, the most necessary stricture of our lives has been violated. Now the fate of all things has become undecipherable. The Insequent will not intrude themselves when every road has been made fluid and they have no knowledge to guide them.”

“How?” Covenant scowled in bafflement. The sun seemed to have become suddenly hotter. Sweat stood on his forehead as if he were straining every muscle. “I don’t understand. You’re saying the last thing Linden did before she collapsed changed everything? How is that possible?”

The Ardent lifted begrimed bands of fabric in a shrug. “I know not. The Insequent know not. We know only that some uncertainty too profound for our interpretation has been wrought. You sail uncharted seas, Timewarden. In this, the last crisis of the Earth, I can no longer stand at your side.”