The Last Dark (53 page)

Her years at Berenford Memorial had taught her more than one way to probe the people who needed her.

“I’m more like you than you think. There were a lot of things that I refused to talk about. I kept them secret. That hurt me, of course, but I could live with it. The part that I didn’t understand”—the part that she had been fatally slow to recognize—“was that I hurt my friends at the same time.

“Now I don’t want any more secrets. I kept mine too long, and I finally learned something about them.”

While he stared at her, she told him the truth as if she were tearing away the scab from an unhealed wound.

“They feel like they protect us—like we don’t have to be ashamed of our secrets, or ashamed of ourselves, as long as no one knows about them. We tell ourselves that we’re doing the right thing by keeping them. But that isn’t true. Mostly we keep them because we don’t trust the people who love us. And
that’s
just another way of saying that we don’t trust ourselves. We really
are
ashamed. We think that we’re at fault and we’re going to be condemned, or that we’re weak when everyone else is strong, or that we actually deserve to be in pain and alone.

“My secrets were different than yours,” she confessed. “Of course they were. They’re probably even more shameful. And they hurt everything and everyone that I love.”

Every death caused by the Worm, every instance of destruction, was her doing: the loss of the sun; the reaving of the heavens. She was only able to live with that fact because Covenant loved her—and because her son’s mind had been restored—and because she had friends. And because she did not know what else she could have done.

In spite of Jeremiah’s defenses, she reached him. She felt his sudden uncertainty—his alarm—as if it were physically solid. In some ways, he was indeed younger than his years. Hearing his mother accuse herself made him feel threatened. For years, she had been his foundation. Now he could not be sure of her.

“Like what?” he asked in a taut voice. “What did you keep secret?”

From his perspective, there were too many possibilities. Most of them had the power to undermine him.

Linden did not hesitate; but she could not keep the harshness out of her voice, the implied savagery.

“Resurrecting Thomas. I knew that I was going to break every Law the Earth absolutely needs to survive, but I kept what I had in mind to myself.” —
compelled by rage, and contemptuous of consequence
. “I made sure that no one had a chance to stop me. Now it isn’t just the world that’s doomed. As soon as the Worm gets to the EarthBlood, Lord Foul will be able to escape.

“
I
did that, Jeremiah.

“But I didn’t keep what I was going to do secret because I wanted those things to happen. I didn’t think about the danger at all. I kept it secret because I was afraid that my friends would interfere. I didn’t trust them enough to believe that they would understand, or that they would still be my friends if they knew the truth. And I felt that way because I was ashamed. I was ashamed of not protecting you from Roger in the first place. I was ashamed of letting him and the
croyel
trick me.

“We’re in this mess right now because I kept secrets.”

Jeremiah nodded, but he seemed unaware of his own response. His eyes were full of dismay. He sounded small and inexpressibly forlorn as he admitted, “I hate what’s happened to me. I hate how
dirty
the
croyel
made me feel. I could hide from the pain. I knew how to do that.” He had concealed himself for most of his life. “But I couldn’t hide from all that sneering.

“And I hated the way it made me hurt you. I couldn’t prevent anything. I hated being too weak to stop it. I wanted to hurt myself, not you.” Under
Melenkurion
Skyweir, he had stabbed her hand—“But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”

Facing his unshielded need, Linden fought down her yearning to put her arms around him. He was both a child and a young man; but it was the young man who most needed her succor. The child understood too well how to bury himself away. The young man was the Jeremiah who would have to face what was coming. And that Jeremiah would not be consoled by hugs.

But he was not done. As if he were cutting himself, he said, “Then Kastenessen took me, and I was helpless again. He reached out and
took
me like I was nothing. Good for nothing. Useless. And I felt how he felt. He burned every nerve in my whole body until I thought I loved it. I thought it made sense.

“I’m ashamed of
that
. I
should
be. I wanted him
dead
—I want Lord Foul
dead
—so I don’t have to be ashamed anymore. And I don’t want to talk about it because talking just makes it more real. It just tells everybody how useless I am.”

For a moment, Linden could not respond. Kastenessen had taken him? She nearly cried out. Covenant had not told her. No one had warned her.

Her son must have inherited more than Earthpower from Anele.

I want Lord Foul
dead
. How else did she expect him to feel? She had once been possessed herself. The force of her own desire to see the Despiser’s end made her tremble.

Nevertheless she had to offer Jeremiah something. She had to try.

Hoarse with empathy and suppressed outrage, she asked, “Don’t you think that maybe we all feel that way? He’s the Despiser. He’s spent eons doing as much harm as he can to the whole world. Don’t you think that maybe everyone you know wishes he could be destroyed?”

Quick as a slash, Jeremiah retorted, “But you aren’t useless! Covenant isn’t. The Giants are strong. Stave and Branl are strong. Covenant has his ring. You have a ring and the Staff of Law. I’ve already used up everything I know how to do. Now I’m just nothing.”

It was too much. Without pausing to consider what she said, Linden snapped, “That’s how
I
feel.
I’ve
already used up everything I know how to do.” Before he could protest or withdraw, she explained, “Oh, I understand what you’re saying. And you’re right. Of course you are. There are probably all kinds of things I can do that you can’t. But, Jeremiah,
I don’t know what they are
. I’ve done everything I can think of. It doesn’t matter how much power I have because I have no idea what to do with it.” Her son also had power. “Compared to the Worm—hell, compared to the
Despiser
—I’m as useless as you feel.” Deliberately she made her heart as naked as his. “We have the same problem. What’s happening is too big for us. It’s just too big.”

Jeremiah did not look at her. He stood half turned away like a boy who wanted to run and hide; a boy who already knew where he could go to feel safe. But he did not go. She felt his attention cling to her while his fears and his pain urged him to flee.

“Then how?” he asked like a waif too lonely to wail. “How do you go on?”

Linden did not hesitate. “I’ve been here before.” She had come too far to falter now. “That’s the advantage of being older. I’ve been here before. With Thomas. I’ve seen what he can do. Maybe
I’ve
come to the end of what I can do, but
he
hasn’t. And he doesn’t believe Lord Foul can’t be stopped. He doesn’t even believe the world can’t be saved.”

Thinking, Listen to me, Jeremiah.
Hear
me, she finished, “As long as that’s true, I won’t give up. I will not give up.”

After a long moment, she added, “And I certainly won’t give up on you.”

His struggle was terrible to watch. He knew how to protect himself. His craving for the sanctuary of graves was visible in the way he stood, in the clench of his fists and the hunch of his shoulders. Sharing herself, Linden had not reassured him: she had precipitated a crisis which he had been fighting to avoid. But he also had reason to know that safety was a trap; that every sanctuary was also a prison. On some deep level, he had chosen to free himself from his long dissociation. More consciously, he had chosen to do what he could for the
Elohim
. He understood the choice that his mother wanted him to make now.

In the same tone—forlorn and frail and alone—he told her, “I’ll try.”

Then he let Linden hug him.

With that she had to be content. Perhaps it was enough.

hen she and Jeremiah left the temple to rejoin their companions, Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir stood among them.

As before, he wore an aura of isolation, of harmonized and hermetic concentration, as if he were essentially alone. His eyeless visage did not regard the Giants or the horses. He appeared to ignore the
Haruchai
and the Unbeliever. Nevertheless something in his stance or his singing conveyed the impression that he was aware of Linden. Melodies seemed to skirl around her like promises or compulsions.

Under the gemmed leaves and boughs of the willow, his music sounded like wrath.

Covenant came to her at once, kissed her quickly, studied her with anxiety in his eyes. But she only returned his kiss and nodded: she did not answer his unspoken question. What he wanted to know would have to come from Jeremiah—and at that moment, Jeremiah clearly did not mean to say anything. His face wore a sullen glower which masked his heart.

The Giants greeted her and Jeremiah with wry smiles and troubled frowns. Instead of asking questions, however, they busied themselves with necessary tasks. They had refilled most of their waterskins. Now they moved among the shrubs, gathering treasure-berries which they placed in the last two waterskins so that the company would not go hungry for a while.

To Linden, Stave bowed without any visible stiffness. After a moment’s consideration—or consultation—he announced, “Chosen, the storm of the Worm draws nigh. And its course lies directly toward us. We must depart.”

Ah, God. Linden tightened her grip on the Staff until her hands ached. She was not ready—and she had not eaten. Jeremiah had not.

But Hyn gave a soft whinny as if to confirm Stave’s assertion. Facing Jeremiah, Khelen tossed his head and stamped one hoof. Restive and proud, Hynyn waited behind Stave.

In contrast, the Ardent’s spavined horse, with its distinct ribs and slumped back, paid no heed to anything except grass. And Rallyn had already left the bower, presumably to join Branl.

Studying Jeremiah, Covenant’s expression settled into its familiar strictness, as exigent as a prophet’s. “I’m sorry, Linden,” he said, muted and grim. “We have to get out of here.”

Before she could force herself to move, however, the Forestal spoke. He did not change his stance or gaze at anyone; but his song became words, as peremptory as commands. As if he were encouraging haste, he said, “I have no staff.”

He startled Linden; perplexed her. Fortunately Rime Coldspray seemed to understand him instinctively. Without hesitation, she replied, “Great one, your lack is plain. If you will condone it, I will sever a branch to serve you, though I am loath to harm the loveliness and shelter which you have provided.”

Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir hummed to himself. After a brief pause, he answered, “Do so. All of the world’s woods know that boughs must fall like leaves—aye, and the grandest of monarchs also—when there is need.”

The Ironhand bowed. Hurrying, she thrust her way between the hanging branches and lights to retrieve her stone glaive.

Would a staff be enough? Would the ur-Mahrtiir himself suffice? Linden wanted to believe that. Long ago, the forbidding of the Forestals had blocked the Ravers along the whole length of Landsdrop. But the Worm was immeasurably greater than Lord Foul’s most potent servants.

Her hands on the Staff were suddenly damp. Sweat ran like spiders down her spine; like centipedes and maggots. Her flesh had not forgotten She Who Must Not Be Named. Nevertheless the Land’s peril compelled her.

Her voice shook as she asked the Forestal, “Do you need any help?” She had assured Jeremiah that she would not give up. “Is there anything that I can do?”

“There is.” Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir’s music gathered around her. “The approaching puissance is vast. As I am, I cannot withstand it. I require your strength.”

Involuntarily she quailed. Her old friend might need more from her than she knew how to give. But Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir wove the many strands of his music into a soothing counterpoint. He stood directly in front of her now. And as she regarded him, another face seemed to emerge within his, softening his unanswerable visage. Like shadows, blurred and tenuous, the former Manethrall’s features joined those of the Forestal.