The Last Dark (31 page)

Before seating herself, Frostheart Grueburn handed a waterskin to Linden, and another to Mahrtiir. Stave she did not neglect in spite of his ability to convey the impression that he had no physical needs. Then she joined her comrades, leaving only Rime Coldspray upright.

Jeremiah was too excited to sit. With his thirst satisfied, he began to pace as if he were already measuring out the dimensions of his construct. And Stave remained on his feet. But Linden sank gratefully to rest against a rough curve of rock. Fumbling, she untied the neck of her waterskin, lifted it to her mouth. For a long moment, she let the simple bliss of untainted water pour down her throat.

As she drank, fresh beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and were cooled by ragged winds. Tears stung her eyes; but on this occasion, she was glad to be a woman who could weep. Briefly she paused to let her flesh absorb the blessing which the Giants had brought. Then she swallowed more water.

Mahrtiir studied her closely. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he seated himself cross-legged near Latebirth: a position that allowed him to face Linden directly.

While she could, Linden unfurled her power and spread it around the company as Mahrtiir had requested, sharing her only resource. But she did not heed the reactions of the Giants. Whatever she did for them would not be enough.

Grateful for any relief, Coldspray removed her own armor, placed it near her feet so that her stone glaive was within easy reach. Rolling her shoulders and neck, she loosened her sore muscles. Then she folded her arms across her chest and waited for Linden’s tale.

Before long, Jeremiah’s impatience overcame him. “Mom,” he prompted. “You said we have a lot to talk about. And I want to get started. The sooner we can build my door, the more
Elohim
we can save.”

Linden sighed; set her half-empty waterskin beside her. “I know. This isn’t easy to talk about. We could discuss it for a long time. But I’m going to keep it short. If you want to argue, you’ll just be wasting effort. I’ve already made up my mind.”

Eventually she would have to call upon the strength of the Staff for herself. But not yet. Later she would need all of the energy that she could impose on herself.

Around the arc, her friends and her son waited, watching her as though they heard omens in her tone; tocsins of dismay.

“Going to the Sarangrave wasn’t our idea,” she began. Wind twisted around her. She smelled dust from the wilderland of craters; dust and old death from the wound that she had torn in the cliff. In the sun’s absence, the air had acquired a chill edge. “The Ranyhyn made that decision.”

In a few words, she described what had happened just before dawn. She recited the message that the Feroce had delivered. Even more tersely, she outlined the memories which the lurker’s worshippers had invoked. While her companions considered her tidings, she drew her conclusions.

“So now I think that the Ranyhyn got what they wanted. Somehow they gave the lurker a reason to form an alliance with Covenant. An alliance with us.”
No harm will come to you
—“What that means, I don’t know—except that Covenant is alive. And he wanted me to remember
forbidding
. He wanted to remind me that it’s necessary.

“I’ve thought about it, and as far as I’m concerned, we can only get what we need from wood. I don’t mean the Staff of Law. I mean the forests. From the One Forest. From a time when the Forestals knew how to
forbid
Ravers.”

She felt Mahrtiir’s reverent awe at the motives which she ascribed to the Ranyhyn. In the eyes of the Giants, she saw speculations and chagrin. Stave’s mien revealed nothing; but Jeremiah stared at her as though he did not know whether to feel amazed or appalled.

The wind was growing stronger. Unexpected gusts brought tears to Linden’s eyes again. She let them fall, careless of the streaks of dust with which they marked her cheeks.

Resisting an impulse to hurry, she drank again. Then she continued.

“We need power.” Her tone was steady. Fatigue had the effect of calm. “You all know that. We aren’t enough. I’m not a rightful white gold wielder, and Kevin’s Dirt limits what I can do with Earthpower. If we have to fight off Roger and Kastenessen and God knows who else—if we want to protect Jeremiah’s door—if we want to save the
Elohim
and the stars—we aren’t enough.” Not without Covenant. “We have to have more power.

“So—” Briefly the consternation mounting in Jeremiah’s gaze undermined her, and she faltered. But she had prepared herself for this. And she had done as much as she could for him. The time had come to confront other concerns.

Everything would have been different if she had known how to help him. But his needs were too deep for her to reach—and she had too little time.

“So,” she began again, “I’m going to open a
caesure
and force my way into the past. Hyn can take me where I need to go. She won’t get lost. And I have Caerroil Wildwood’s runes. They should be good for something more than bringing Covenant back to life. Maybe they can guide me.

“I’m not just too weak the way I am. I’m too ignorant. I don’t have any lore. All I have is emotion,” despair and love, joy and grief and dread, “and it isn’t enough. I want to find the Forestals and get them to teach me
forbidding
. There’s no one else I can ask—except the
Elohim
, and they won’t tell me.” They considered Jeremiah’s purpose abominable. “If I want an answer, I have to get it from the Forestals. Then maybe I can use that kind of magic to stop our enemies. Maybe I can even use it to keep the Worm away from Jeremiah’s door.”

“Mom!” Jeremiah protested hotly. “You
can’t
.
Caesures
are
dangerous
.” In a smaller voice, he said, “And I need you. I need help.”

Linden avoided looking at him. The sight might break her. Leaving him felt like committing a crime; but she could not make any other choice.

“You’ll have help. You’ve always had help. But you can do what you have to do. I’m not worried about that.”

She wanted to be able to say the same of herself.

She had expected vehement objections from the Giants and even Mahrtiir; indignation and arguments; angry pleading. What she received was harder to bear. Her friends were shocked: that was obvious. But they did not react like people who believed that she had proposed a Desecration. Their emotions were vivid to her health-sense.

What they felt after the initial jolt was hope.

For a long moment, none of the Giants looked at her. Stave appeared to regard some private vista which was visible to no one else. Only Mahrtiir and Jeremiah kept their attention fixed on Linden. The Manethrall watched her as if he were probing her defenses, looking for an opening. Jeremiah stared with dismay gathering like stormclouds in his darkened gaze.

Frostheart Grueburn was the first to speak. As if to herself, she mused, “Extreme straits require extreme responses. It cannot be otherwise.”

“No!” Jeremiah snapped immediately. “Mom, you can’t
do
this!” He seemed to keep himself from howling by an effort of will that made Linden’s heart quake. “Maybe you can go away. Maybe you can make a
caesure
do what you want.” When he clenched his fists, flames dripped between his fingers like blood. “But you won’t be able to
get back
!”

At that moment, he sounded unutterably forlorn.

Dust bit at Linden’s eyes. She blinked furiously to clear them. Don’t say that, she wanted to plead. Don’t make this harder than it already is. But she demanded a sterner reply from herself. The Land required more from her. Jeremiah himself required more.

God, she was tired—

Meeting her son’s gaze with wind and dust and tears in her sight, she said, “I made a promise to Caerroil Wildwood. I don’t know how else to keep it. I don’t know how else to save any of us. I’ll find a way to get back.”

Stave had turned his unyielding gaze toward Jeremiah. Manethrall Mahrtiir appeared to be suppressing a desire to speak. Tension mounted among the Giants, as restless as the wind. But the Ironhand still stood with her head bowed, studying the ground at her feet, saying nothing.

“And I’m talking about moving through time,” Linden added before Jeremiah could respond. “Remember that. How long it takes for me won’t have any effect on you. If I can do anything that even remotely resembles what I have in mind, there’s no reason to think that I won’t get back before the Worm comes.”

“But you won’t
get
back,” Jeremiah insisted. His voice shook. Nevertheless he made a palpable effort to reason cogently. “You can make a
caesure
now because the Law is already weak. I mean Time and Life and Death. It’s all been damaged. But back
then
, when there are still Forestals, everything is intact. How can you make another
caesure
that long ago? Just trying, you’ll change the Land’s history. Even if that doesn’t break the Arch, you’ll hurt it.”

Desperately he finished, “We’ll never see you again.”

His wounds were so close to the surface that Linden could almost name them.

And she understood his objection. It was apt in more ways than he appeared to recognize. If she reached the Forestals, her arrival would inevitably afflict them with knowledge—or at least questions—which they should not possess. That alone might do irreparable harm to the Arch.

Yet she had an answer. “Then I won’t go back to the oldest Forestals. I’ll try to reach Caer-Caveral.” Hile Troy. “He was the last. Meeting me won’t affect any of the others. And in his time, the Law of Death was already broken. He’s about to break the Law of Life himself. I won’t change his history.”

Surely Hyn could find her way through a
caesure
to Caer-Caveral?

“In any case,” she said, “what else do you want me to do? I’m useless here. I’m useless to you. I don’t understand your talent, and I can’t carry boulders. My only alternative is to supply the Giants with strength until they work themselves to death—and
that
I can’t bear.

“I know it’s dangerous,” she concluded. She was running out of words. “But I’ll get back somehow. Hyn will bring me.”

Neither her manner nor her appeal comforted her son: she saw that. He felt threatened, rejected. Forsaken when he finally had a chance to prove himself. He no longer looked at his mother. One finger at a time, he unclosed his fists. Then he spread his hands to reveal small gusts of fire cupped in his palms.

“You can say what you want.” In the gloom, the stains on his pajama bottoms seemed to devour his legs. “Talking won’t help. I have more important things to do.”

Lit by Earthpower, he turned away.

The sight twisted a knife in Linden’s heart. She needed the kind of courage that Thomas Covenant had tried to teach her. But she did not have it, and he was not here.

Grueburn and the other Swordmainnir squirmed. Rime Coldspray scowled thunderous disapproval at the dirt. The Manethrall’s bandaged attention did not leave Linden’s face.

Leaning against her boulder, she waited for their reactions. She had chosen this crisis for herself. Come good or ill—

How often had she heard those words?

They were better than despair.

Finally the Ironhand raised her head. Gloaming veiled her mien, but it did not conceal the set of her jaw or the lines of her shoulders. Without preamble, she asked, “Swordmainnir, will you gainsay me?”

Her tone was like the edge of her glaive.

As if they knew her mind, Latebirth, Onyx Stonemage, and Halewhole Bluntfist muttered, “Nay.” The others shook their heads. With both fists, Frostheart Grueburn punched lightly at the earth to emphasize her answer.

“Then,” Coldspray announced harshly, “I say to you, Linden Avery, Giantfriend, that you are a wonderment. I speak with respect—aye, and with admiration as well, though my manner belies the fullness of my heart. That your intent is foolhardy beyond all reckoning cannot be doubted. Indeed, it appears to be as extreme as a leap into the abyss of She Who Must Not Be Named. Nonetheless you raise my spirits. In such times, all deeds must be extreme. The Earth’s need requires it.

“Therefore my word to you is this. My comrades will give of their utmost to aid young Jeremiah, for his purpose is likewise admirable. Stave of the
Haruchai
and I will accompany you, doing what we may in your service.”

The other Giants nodded their approbation. Some of them started to applaud. But Stave cut them off. Peremptory as a challenge, he stated, “I will not. My place is with the Chosen-son. And he will have need of your aid, Rime Coldspray, your labor and stonelore. You cannot be spared.”

Quick protests gathered in the Swordmainnir. Before any of them could speak, Stave declared, “Yet some companion she must have. Should she attempt this quest alone, she will not return. In the absence of High Lord Loric’s
krill
, she cannot wield white gold while she holds the Staff of Law. The conflict of such theurgies must prove fatal.”

At once, Manethrall Mahrtiir surged like a shout to his feet. “Then this task is mine. It was foretold for me by the Timewarden himself while his spirit remained within the Arch.”

Linden had not forgotten.
You’ll have to go a long way to find your heart’s desire. Just be sure you come back.

“In Andelain,” the Manethrall continued, gathering force as he spoke, “Covenant Timewarden avowed, ‘There is no doom so black or deep that courage and clear sight may not find another truth beyond it.’ For that reason, and in the name of prophecy, and because I must, I will accompany Linden Avery, Chosen and Ringthane, Wildwielder.

“In the endeavor which young Jeremiah contemplates, I have no part. Yet I am Ramen, attuned to the Ranyhyn, and also acquainted with the perils of passages within Falls. Where I am weak,
amanibhavam
will sustain me. I will not fail the Ringthane.”

Jaw jutting, he averred, “I speak for my people. We must become more than we have been, lest we prove unworthy of the Ranyhyn. The tale of the Ramen is too small to justify the service which defines us.”