Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (72 page)

undone the entire race of the Elohim to sate his hungers.”

Stave nodded. The night made him appear carved in stone.

“Being humiliated, we did not accept the welcome of the Vizard. Nor did we sojourn among the Insequent. Rather we returned in pain to our snow-clad peaks. When at a later time, we again elected to measure our worth, we did so in pain. In pain, we turned our trek

to the east, for that was the direction named by the Vizard. In pain, we challenged High Lord Kevin Landwaster and all of his great Council. And when our challenge was met, not with combat, but with openŹhearted respect and generosity, our pain was multiplied, for we were accorded a worth which we had not won. Therefore we swore the Vow of the Bloodguard, setting aside homes and wives and sleep and death that we might once again merit our own

esteem.”

Now Linden could not remain silent. Impelled by her own ire, she said unsteadily, “It’s also why you abandoned your Vow.” She was learning to understand what the Vizard’s whims had cost Stave’s people. “When Korik, Sill, and Doar failed, you decided that you didn’t deserve to help the Lords fight Lord Foul.”

Again Stave nodded; but she did not stop. Her indignation rose into the night as if it were directed at every Haruchai who had ever lived, although it was not. For Stave’s people, she felt only a sorrow which she could not afford.

“And it’s why you never actually got together to fight the Clave, even though your people were being slaughtered,” shed to feed the Sunbane. “Even after Covenant saved you, only a few of you joined us. You knew that we were

going to search for the One Tree, and you didn’t consider yourselves worthy to face your ak-Haru. You couldn’t commit yourselves to defend the Land until Brinn proved that he could take the Guardian’s place. Until he became the ak-Haru himself.

“That’s when you finally started to believe in yourselves again.”

The Masters had carried their perception of worth too far. Now she

knew why. After millennia of loss, they had regained their self-respect, but they had never learned how to grieve. Liand was right about them. They could only find healing in the attempt to match Brinn’s example. Their humiliation had made them too rigid for any other release.

“So of course,” Linden continued. “the Humbled attacked the Harrow before he did anything to threaten us. They had to. He’s one of the Insequent.

That’s all the provocation they needed.”

“Indeed.” Stave stood in darkness, as unrevealing as the stars. “Aspiring to Brinn’s triumph, they now desire to prove themselves against any of the Insequent. For that reason, among others, I did not wish to speak of the Mandoubt, or of the stranger, until we were certain of their nature.”

“But you didn’t tell anyone about all this?” That, too, might have healed

them. If nothing else, it might have eased their loneliness. “Anyone at all? Didn’t you think that someone might need to know your story’?”

Her protest was addressed to the Mandoubt as well.

The Humbled had moved closer, following the light as it shrank and faltered. They stood around Linden, Stave, and the Mandoubt like sentinels or accusers, stiff with wariness or

reproach.

“Until this moment,” Stave

acknowledged, “no Haruchai has spoken of these matters aloud, saving only Brinn during your approach to the One Tree. In the time of the Lords, the Bloodguard would have answered if any Lord or Giant had inquired. But none knew of the Insequent. There were no queries. Even in the approach to the One Tree, neither you nor the Unbeliever nor any Giant questioned

Brinn and Cail concerning ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol, though you were informed that our knowledge was older than the time of the Bloodguard.

“As you have confirmed, Berek Halfhand knew of the Theomach, as did Damelon Giantfriend. Yet that tale was transformed at its birth. It was told to suit the Theomach’s purpose. This also you have confirmed. No mention was made of the Insequent in Berek Heartthew’s presence, or in his son’s.

Rather the first Halfhand’s thoughts were guided along other paths.

“Nor have we deemed it needful to reveal our ancient shame. Though it remains fresh from generation to generation among us, the Insequent played no part in the stratagems of Corruption or the perils of the Land. We could not state with certainty that the Vizard’s kind had not ceased to exist. Why then should we speak of our humiliation?”

Little more than embers remained in Stave’s eye as he said to Linden. “Perhaps now you will grasp the import of Brinn’s victory over the Guardian of the One Tree. It inspired the Haruchai to believe themselves equal to the Mastery of the Land, for it redeemed us to ourselves.”

Linden grasped too much: she could not absorb it all. The acquiescence of the Humbled when the Mandoubt had contradicted their wishes made sense

to her now. But she did not know why the Mandoubt had insisted on Stave’s tale. How was it needful, except as a farewell?

When Stave was done, the Insequent seemed to call up old reserves of fortitude or determination. Straightening her shoulders arduously, she raised her chin to the advancing night.

“Accept the Mandoubt’s thanks,” she

said to Stave, quavering. “She desires to end her days with kindness. On her behalf, you have granted my lady a precious boon.”

In an instant, the woman’s utter frailty snatched away Linden’s other concerns. “My friend,” she murmured, bending close to the Mandoubt. “Please. Isn’t there anything I can do? I’ve been trained to heal people. And I have the Staff of Law, for God’s sake. Surely I can-?”

“My lady, no.” The old woman sounded sure in spite of her weakness. “The Mandoubt’s knowledge does not partake of Law. It has preserved her far beyond her mortality. Assuredly. Now her end cannot be undone.

“Her last boon,” she went on before Linden could protest, “is meant as solace. It is her wish to lessen your fears and sorrows. She desires you to be assured that you may trust this spurned Master. He has named his

pain. By it he may be invoked.”

Stave lifted his eyebrow, but did not respond.

Damn it! Linden tried to protest. I know I can trust him. You don’t have to do this. But her grief remained trapped in her chest. She did not have the heart to plead, Please don’t leave me.

Instead she said, “Thank you.” She was able to summon that much grace.

“You’ve been my friend in more ways than I can count. I can’t honestly say that I understand you, but I know your kindness. And you’ve saved me-” For a moment, her throat closed. “If I ever manage to do something good,” by evil means or otherwise. “it will be because you believed in me.”

The Mandoubt lowered her head. “Then Quern Ehstrel is content.”

There Linden nearly lost the clenched

wrath that defended her. Trembling with imminent bereavement, she whispered, “Now please. Let me at least try to stop what’s happening to you. There are a lot of things that I can do, if you’ll let me.” Stave and Anele had refused her healing. They had that right. “I might find something-“

“Forbear, my lady.” The Insequent’s voice held a desperate severity. “Permit to the Mandoubt the dignity of departure.”

“I know your true name,” countered Linden hoarsely. “Can’t I compel you?’

The woman nodded. “Assuredly. The Mandoubt begs that you do not.”

With a tremulous effort, she detached one arm from Stave’s support. Tears blurred the discrepancy of her eyes, urging Linden to release her.

When Linden let go at last, the Mandoubt turned slowly from the dying

embers of the campfire and began to walk away, tottering into the night. The Humbled bowed as they watched her pass. And Stave also bowed, according her the stern respect of the Haruchai.

Linden could not match their example. Instead she hugged her Staff and bore witness.

As the Mandoubt reached the failing edge of the light, she tried to chant. “A simple charm will master time.” But her

voice broke after a few words; shattered into giggling. And with every step, she lost substance, macerated by darkness. Dissolving from sight, she left a mad mirth behind her, laughter pinched with hysteria.

But Linden closed her heart to the sound. As if in defiance, she concentrated instead on the salvific unction of the verses which had retrieved her from the Land’s past.

The silent mind does not protest The ending of its days, or go To grief in loss and futile pain,

But rather knows the healing gain

Of time’s eternity at rest.

The cause of sequence makes it so.

No, she thought. I do not forgive. I will not.

She knew no other way to say goodbye.

5.

Departure from Revelstone

The walk back to Lord’s Keep seemed unnaturally long to Linden. She had gone farther from herself than she realized. Neither Stave nor the escorting Humbled spoke: she did not speak herself. The night was mute except for the sound of her boots on the hard ground. Yet the Mandoubt’s broken giggling seemed to follow every step. In retrospect, Linden felt that she

had wasted her friend’s life.

Behind her, the Harrow’s campfire died at last. And the lamps and torches in Revelstone had been extinguished. The Masters may have been reluctant to proclaim the fact that the Keep’s gates remained open. Only the cold stars and the moon remained to light her way; but now she found no comfort in them.

Stave would have directed her, of course, but she did not need that kind

of help. She required an altogether different guidance. First she found her way by the limned silhouette of Revelstone. Then she headed toward the notched black slit where the gates under the watchtower stood partway open.

When she entered the echoing passage beneath the tower-when she heard the massive granite thud as the gates were sealed behind her-and still the Masters offered her no illumination,

she brought up flame from the end of the Staff, a small fire too gentle and dim to dazzle her. Earthpower could not teach her to accept the Mandoubt’s passing, but it allowed her to see.

Growing brighter and more needy with every stride, she paced the tunnel to the courtyard between the tower and the main Keep. Memories of giggling harried her as she approached the gap of the inner gates and the fraught space within them.

There also the lamps and torches had been quenched. And they were not relit as the gates were sealed behind her. The darkness told her as clearly as words that the Masters had reached a decision about her.

Defiantly she drew more strength from her Staff until its yellow warmth reached the ceiling of the forehall. With fire, she seemed to render incarnate the few Masters who awaited her. Then she turned to consider Stave and

the Humbled.

She could not read the passions that moved like the eidolons of their ancient past behind their unyielding eyes; but she saw clearly that their injuries were not severe. Doubtless their bruises and abrasions were painful. In places, blood continued to seep from their battered flesh. Stave’s wrists had been scraped raw by the Harrow’s grasp, and the bones were cracked. But he and the Humbled were Haruchai: their

wounds would soon heal.

After a brief scrutiny, Linden ignored Galt, Clyme, and Branl. Speaking only to Stave, she tried to emulate his unswayed demeanor.

“I know that you’ll mend. I know that you don’t mind the pain.” His tale had taught her that the Haruchai were defined by their hurts. “And I know that you haven’t asked for help. But we’ll be in danger as soon as we leave here.”

She was confident that Kastenessen and Roger-and perhaps Esmer as well-would attempt to prevent her from her goal. “It might be a good idea to let me heal you.” Stiffly she added, “I’ll feel better.”

She had lost the Mandoubt. She wanted to be able to succor at least one of her friends.

Stave glanced from the Humbled to the other Masters. He may have been

listening to their thoughts; their

judgments. Or perhaps he was simply consulting his pride, asking himself whether he was willing to appear less intractable than his kinsmen. Cracked bones broke easily: they might hinder his ability to defend her.

“Chosen,” he remarked. “the days that I have spent as your companion have been an unremitting exercise in humility.” He spoke without inflection; but his expression hinted that he had

made the Haruchai equivalent of a joke.

He extended his hands to her as if he were surrendering them.

His decision-his acceptance—

touched her too deeply to be acknowledged. She could not afford her own emotions, and had no reply except fire.

With Law and Earthpower and

percipience, she worked swiftly. While the men who had spurned Stave watched, rigid in their disdain, she honored his sacrifice; his abandoned pride. Her flame restored his flesh, sealed his bones. His gift to her was also a bereavement: it diminished him in front of his people. Thousands of years of Haruchai history would denounce him. Still she received his affirmation gladly. It helped her bear the loss of the Mandoubt.

When she was done, she turned her senses elsewhere, searching Revelstone’s ambience for some indication of how much of the night remained. She was not ready for dawn-or for whatever decision the Masters had reached. She needed a chance to think; to absorb what she had seen and heard, and to ward away her grief.

After a moment, Stave asked as though nothing profound had occurred,

Will you return to your rooms, Chosen? There is yet time for rest.”

Linden shook her head. The Keep’s vast bulk muffled her discernment, but she felt that sunrise was still a few hours away. She might have enough time to prepare herself-

“If you don’t mind,” she said quietly. “I want to go to the Hall of Gifts.”

She wished to visit Grimmand

Honninscrave’s cairn. Old wounds were safer company: she had learned how to endure them. And remembering them might enable her to forget the Mandoubt’s fading, shattered laughter. She had failed the older woman. Now she sought a reminder that great deeds could sometimes be accomplished by those who lacked Thomas Covenant’s instinct for impossible victories.