The Runes of the Earth

  Mahrtiir had told her, He wields a storm among the mountains.

  Hami’s eyes widened. “And you conceive that the malice is his? That he raised ill against you in the storm?”

  The idea visibly disturbed the Cords. Mahrtiir muttered a denial through his teeth.

  Too fearful to say more, Linden clutched her frangible balance and waited for Hami’s response.

  “Ringthane,” the Manethrall sighed, “you judge him harshly. That you have cause to do so is beyond question. In this, however, your mistrust misleads you.

  “Throughout his absence from us, we kept watch over him. Ramen witnessed closely the nature of his distress—and of his power. It was not directed against you. Of this we are certain.”

  Hami’s gaze urged Linden to give Esmer the benefit of the doubt. His acceptance by the Ranyhyn compelled the loyalty of the Ramen.

  Abruptly Stave spoke. “Yet that which he invoked is evil.” His tone left no room for contradiction. “I have felt it. Even now it stalks the Verge of Wandering.

  “The Ramen also have felt it,” he told Hami. “Why otherwise do you prepare to depart?”

  Depart—? For the first time, Linden met the Master’s gaze. The Ramen were leaving?

  She and Stave had returned from the horserite through a scourge of malevolence. Who had inspired the ferocity of those winds, if not Esmer?

  “Chosen,” Stave informed her, “Esmer has summoned a darkness more dire than any storm. The Ramen must flee before it.”

  With a snarl of anger, Hami rounded on him. “Have you no heart, Bloodguard? You know the severity of that which lies before her. Why then do you seek to hasten her away from rest?”

  Involuntarily Linden sagged against Liand. Summoned—? Esmer, what have you done?

  At once, Hami turned back to her. “It is for your sake.” The woman’s tone pleaded on Esmer’s behalf. “He seeks to aid you.”

  “He has done well,” Mahrtiir put in harshly. “She has named her purpose. He serves her as the Ramen cannot. Nor could the sleepless ones perform what he has accomplished.”

  Stave’s voice cut through the responses of the Manethralls. “Assuredly rest would speed the Chosen’s healing.” He sounded unexpectedly vehement. “Where may she do so? Here? In the path of ruin? She cannot. To think otherwise is folly. If she will not flee, as the Ramen must, then she can only confront her peril. There is no rest for her.”

  Hami replied with a growl of exasperation. “Have care, Bloodguard. You demean us, and we will not suffer it.

  “We intend that the Ringthane should rest until we have determined the course of this evil. Then we will bear her to safety. Already we have readied a litter so that she may continue to rest among us as we withdraw.”

  Linden did not look at Hami or Stave. The hostility between them pained her. It seemed to imply that she could not trust either of them. And the Land needed all of its friends. Jeremiah needed them.

  Turning away from them, she studied the Stonedownor’s troubled mien. “Liand,” she murmured, “what did Esmer do?”

  He gave her a stricken glance, then ducked his head. “I know not. I have not left your side. No one has spoken to me. I did not know that the Ramen mean to depart.”

  For a moment, everyone around her remained silent, reluctant to answer her aloud; to put her peril into words. On either side of her, Bhapa and Pahni stood motionless, stopped in the act of offering her amanibhavam and treasure-berries.

  Then Mahrtiir said like a hawk, “Chosen, it is your intent to enter a Fall. Esmer has enabled you to do so. He has called Fangthane’s malign creation to the Verge of Wandering.”

  When Linden understood what he was saying, her heart lifted as if she had heard trumpets.

  Esmer had summoned a caesure.

  The news did nothing to ease her complex dread, relieve her emotional fever. If anything, it made her fears more immediate, brought her chosen crisis nearer. Chills and urgency shook her until she felt almost dismembered. Nevertheless Mahrtiir’s announcement seemed to tap a wellspring of purpose deep within her. Days of cruel frustration fell away as if she had cut the bindings of a millstone. At last she would be able to take action; to stop following other people’s decisions from emergency to emergency.

  And she would not have to spend days or weeks on horseback, wandering the Land in search of a caesure, while Lord Foul multiplied obstacles against her. She could dare her doom now.

  She should have been terrified. She was terrified. But she was also sure. The fever which threatened to paralyze her could only be annealed in fire.

  At this moment, just one question remained to undermine her certainty. Her cheeks were flushed like a promise of flames as she confronted Stave past the staring Manethralls and Cords.

  “Yes, it’s dire,” she admitted. “I know that.” Still she could not speak above a hoarse whisper. Nevertheless her voice was full of implied conflagration. “But I’m going to do it. I think it’s worth the risk.

  “Will you come with me?”

  She expected that he would refuse. He had already proclaimed his determination to ride away so that he could warn the Masters. And the horserite may have convinced him to oppose her directly. Why else had he postponed his departure? Yet last night he had gazed at her with an unwonted softness, as though he had been touched in spite of his intransigence—

  He faced her flatly: she could not read him. She had never been able to see into the hearts of his people. If he decided to attack her on the spot, she would receive no warning of any kind.

  Nevertheless she studied him with fever in her eyes, and waited for him to declare himself.

  For a few heartbeats, Stave appeared to consider his options. Then he replied, “The wishes of the Ranyhyn have been made plain to me. If I do not accompany you, Hynyn will withdraw his acceptance.”

  Stiffly the Haruchai shrugged. “And the horserite has given me cause to remain at your side for a time.”

  Stung by relief, Linden’s eyes misted and ran. She could not clear her sight until her hands found Pahni’s bowl of aliantha; until the taste of treasure-berries filled her mouth and throat with healing.

  Already she owed the Ranyhyn a debt too great to be repaid.

  While Linden ate aliantha lightly—very lightly—sprinkled with crushed amanibhavam, most of the Ramen left the shelter to continue their preparations for departure. They did not expect Esmer’s caesure to leave any part of their encampment undamaged.

  Before he went, Mahrtiir explained tersely that he had selected Bhapa and Pahni to accompany him, rather than any of his own Cords, because of their kinship with Sahah. Then he led them away to gather supplies for an extended journey into the unknown hazards of time.

  Char was nowhere to be seen. Apparently he had been dispatched on an errand of some kind. Of her people, only Hami stayed with Linden. At once solicitous and alarmed, the Manethrall fretted over Linden’s condition as Linden stoked her courage with treasure-berries enhanced by the dangerous roborant of amanibhavam.

  Her shivering eased somewhat as she absorbed the sustenance of the Land, but she remained perilously labile; close to terror.

  When the Ramen had dispersed, Stave approached her. In spite of his native stoicism, he walked with a pronounced limp. Hours on horseback had inflamed his injury. Yet he proposed to ride again soon, as long and as far as she required.

  At least “for a time.” Whatever that meant.

  As if Liand were not present, the Master announced, “The Stonedownor must remain here. His mount cannot accompany the Ranyhyn. If he attempts the Fall, he will be lost.”

  Liand might have retorted hotly; but Linden stopped him by touching his chest with her palm. “Anele has the same problem,” she answered, trembling. “But I need him. And I need Liand. We’ll have to figure something out.”

  The young man gave her a look of gratitude; but she kept her attention on Stave. “The Ramen don’t ride. How will they stay with us?”

  Stave did not l
ook away. “Their bond with the Ranyhyn cannot be severed. Where the Ranyhyn lead, they will be able to follow. The Stonedownor has no such bond.”

  Linden sighed. “Then he can ride with you. I’ll take Anele with me.”

  The Haruchai raised an eyebrow. But he did not object.

  When she glanced at Liand, she saw him grinning as though she had given him a gift.

  Before he could speak, she muttered, “Don’t you dare thank me. I’m not doing you any favors.” Her voice shook with fear for him. “If this doesn’t kill us, we could end up in places worse than your worst nightmares. If I didn’t need your help so badly, I wouldn’t risk any of you.”

  Except Anele, who could hardly suffer more than he already did.

  Liand went on grinning; but he took her seriously enough to remain silent.

  Sighing again, she told him, “We’re going to need your supplies. You’d better get them. Bring as much as you can carry.”

  The Ramen might provide everything necessary; but she wanted an excuse to send the Stonedownor away. If she could, she meant to spare him the confrontation that awaited her.

  “Yes, certainly,” Liand said without hesitation. At once, he hurried away as if he were eager to risk not only his life but his sanity in her name.

  Within herself, Linden sagged. Devoutly she prayed that the young man would not have cause to regret his loyalty. However, a more immediate concern demanded her attention. She did not know how near the caesure had come. She might not have much time left.

  To Stave, she said abruptly, “Before we do this, I’ve got to talk to Esmer. Will you go with me?” The senses of the Haruchai were more discerning than hers: no doubt Stave knew exactly where to find Cail’s son. “I understand if you prefer to keep your distance. But I could use your company.”

  This time, Stave raised both eyebrows. “If you wish it.” He may have felt surprise, but his tone held no hint of alarm. “He stands at the edge of the encampment. The way is not far.”

  Gratefully she took his arm. Clinging to the tacit validation of his support, she stepped out into the ceaseless rain.

  The mild, steady drizzle drenched her hair; washed the heat of fire and fever from her cheeks. It was indeed much warmer than it had been the previous day. Nevertheless it was cool enough to leach away the residual warmth of the shelter. Her chills seemed to worsen with every step as Stave took her among the busy Ramen past the open center of the encampment.

  Her fear had soaked into the marrow of her bones. She had not forgotten Covenant’s words in Anele’s mouth. You need the ring. But be careful with it. It feeds the caesures. But he had died long ago; and now she did not intend to regard his warning.

  He had also said, I can’t help you unless you find me. She did not know how to do so, except by daring the Land’s past.

  Esmer had prepared the way, apparently seeking to aid her. Before she went farther, accepted his help, she needed to know how much she could trust him.

  Limping, Stave escorted her northward. In that direction, veiled by the rain and the teeming clouds, the Verge of Wandering narrowed gradually toward the Land. There Cail’s son stood alone with his back to the last shelters, ignoring the swift preparations of the Ramen.

  If he sensed Linden’s approach, or Stave’s, he gave no sign. Instead he concentrated through the grey drizzle as if he sought to draw the caesure toward him by force of will.

  At her first blurred glimpse of him, Linden’s guts knotted, disturbed by the nausea which had troubled her during their previous encounters. He stood like a cynosure against the shrouded background of the rain, bright with the queasy squirming of power. As soon as she saw him, she wondered how she had failed to discern him earlier. His vast capabilities, like his inbred conflicts, seemed as unmistakable as wailing.

  In his presence, something within her turned numb. She was no longer sure how to question him.

  Yet Stave did not hesitate, although he had more cause for apprehension. And when they were within three or four steps, Esmer turned to regard them with eyes the color of storm-wracked seas.

  Danger seethed in him. For reasons of his own, he attempted a diffident, unconvincing smile. “You are well come, Wildwielder.” His tone was full of obscure fears. They gnawed at each other like old bones. “The Fall is a few hundred paces distant, no more. Soon it will become manifest to your senses.”

  He conveyed the impression that he thought she might take offense at his efforts on her behalf.

  Deliberately Linden released Stave’s arm so that he could move freely if Esmer attacked. Then she advanced to stand between Cail’s son and the Master.

  The Ramen were certain that Esmer had not sent malice against her after the horserite.

  Fighting chills, she demanded without preamble, “What’s going on here, Esmer?” The caesure was too near for politeness. “First you practically kill Stave. Then you offer to answer my questions, but you don’t say much. You make it clear that you want to be my friend and my enemy at the same time. And now you’re helping me?

  “Do you expect me to believe that this time you aren’t going to hurt anybody?”

  Through the wet fabric of her shirt, she clutched Covenant’s ring for courage; but the cold metal gave her no comfort. It felt inert, numb; unreachable.

  “For all I know,” she finished, “this is some crazy attempt to help Lord Foul destroy the Land.”

  Esmer frowned. Abruptly his manner became acerbic, self-punishing. “Yet you must trust me. I have served you well. And I have brought ruin upon this encampment. When the Ramen return to the Verge of Wandering, they will find wreckage rather than sanctuary. Thus is my nature satisfied. I have harmed those who have given me naught but friendship. If you do not trust me, you will render their losses valueless.”

  Linden stared at him. His rapid changes disconcerted her. And she did not know what to make of his assertion. Had he consciously hurt the Ramen to aid her?

  At last, she referred her doubt to the Haruchai. “Stave?”

  “The Fall approaches,” he stated. “I will not trust this Esmer. I do not lightly accept his aid. Yet he has summoned a Fall like any other. It will meet your purpose, if you are able to master its evil. In this he speaks sooth.”

  Harshly Linden asked Esmer, “Is that true? Did you summon a Fall? Or did you create it?”

  Did his power resemble wild magic?

  “I have no lore to cause such rifts.” His eyes were full of advancing squalls. “When we spoke, I discerned your purpose. Therefore I withdrew among the mountains, that my labors would occasion no other harm. In your name, Wildwielder, I have unleashed fierce theurgies, seeking first to discover the location and course of an apt caesure, and then to compel it hither. Thus I hope to counter the loss which the Ramen will suffer.”

  Through her nausea and chills, Linden heard violence and remorse, but no falsehood. Cail’s son might commit atrocities without number, but he would not lie.

  For an instant or two, his struggles filled her with empathy. “You’re tearing yourself apart,” she told him more gently. “Do you know that? You should pick a side.”

  “I do so constantly.” Now his voice sounded as damp as the rain, drenched in sorrow. “That is my doom.”

  His desire to serve her was so poignant that she could feel its ache in him. Apparently Cail’s legacy outweighed the fatal hunger of the merewives, at least for the moment. And he had already called a caesure for her. Perhaps in his present phase he would do more—

  “All right.” Linden made a conscious attempt to catch him before his mood shifted again. “Since you seem to be on my side at the moment, tell me about your connection to Kastenessen.”

  Why had he sought to prevent Anele from speaking of the Appointed?

  At once, Esmer resumed his diffidence. “He is my grandsire. I serve him utterly. As I also serve you.”

  In bafflement, she protested, “Damn it, Esmer. You aren’t making sense. Do you mean that Kastenessen and I are on the
same side?”

  It was possible. Kastenessen had defied the Elohim and his own nature for the love of a mortal woman. He and Linden might have more in common than she had imagined. If he had indeed broken free of his prison, he might be willing to take risks as extravagant as hers for the sake of his lover.

  But he was Elohim; and the Elohim whom she had known had not seemed capable of any emotion that she would have recognized as love.

  Esmer sighed. Quietly, humbly, he said like the water on his face, “The Elohim speak of Würd as the ur-viles do of Weird. There is also the Worm of the World’s End. It is my doom. I have no other answer.”

  The damp soaked into Linden’s bones, aggravating her fever. Chills tugged at her concentration. “All right,” she said again. “All right. I don’t understand, but right now that doesn’t matter.

  “Come with me.” Guide me. “Do some good with all that power. If you really want to help me, help me now.”

  The sheer intensity of his uneasy puissance made her stomach clench whenever she studied him directly.

  In response, Esmer turned his head away. “I must not. In my presence, you will surely fail.”

  She should have known what he meant. Perhaps if she had been less ill, she would have been able to think more clearly. But her fever continued to pull her away from herself. She could no longer look at Esmer. Instead she searched the grey vista of the rain in the direction of the Land as if her fate were written there, spelled out in falling droplets and cold.

  “Chosen,” Stave said at her back, “this gains nothing. He conceals his enmity in confusion, yet it remains enmity nonetheless. It is folly to heed him.”

  “Then call the Ranyhyn,” she told the Master faintly. “Let’s do this.”

  He complied at once, raising a shrill whistle that sounded strangely forlorn in the drizzle; devoid of resonance or echoes. Unregarded by either Linden or Esmer, he whistled again, and yet again.

  When the rain had washed his call from the air, she sensed movement behind her. Ramen approached from the encampment, a throng of them. They had come to say good-bye—