“Life,” replied the Theomach simply. “Growth. Enhancement.” Then he added in a tone like an apology. “You will understand, my lord Berek, that neither I nor anyone may grasp the mind of this world’s Creator. The needs and desires of that which is eternal surpass finite comprehension. Yet I deem that the Earth, and within it the Land, were formed as a habitation where living beings may gaze upon wonderment and terror, and seek to emulate or refuse them. The Earth and the Land are a dwelling-place where life may discover the highest in itself, or the lowest, according to its desires and choices.”
Berek frowned, not in disapproval or chagrin, but in intense consideration. For a long moment, he regarded the Theomach as though he strove to penetrate the stranger’s secrets with his burgeoning health-sense. Then he asked over his shoulder, “My lady Linden, do you conceive that the Theomach speaks sooth?”
His question startled Linden, and she answered without thinking, “I don’t care.” If she had paused for thought, the sheer weight of his query would have sealed her voice in her throat. “I want it to be true. So do you. Isn’t that what matters?” Who was she to articulate the meaning of life? “Isn’t it the only thing that matters?”
Berek growled in the back of his throat, a wordless sound fraught with both recognition and uncertainty. Still studying the Insequent, he announced formally, “Then I will say to my lord Theomach that I accept your companionship. Both aid and guidance will I greet with welcome. A man who speaks as you have done must be heeded, whatever his intent may be.”
The Theomach responded with a bow and a salute, tapping his fist to his chest in homage. Interfering with Covenant’s designs, he had gained what he wanted for himself. Inadvertently Linden had helped him win a measure of Berek’s trust.
Having made his decision, however, Berek did not hesitate to move on. “Now you will leave us,” he informed his new counselor. “I must speak with my lady Linden alone.”
Oh, God. Linden flinched. Abruptly the entire space of the tent seemed to become a pitfall: she felt beset by snares which she did not know how to avoid. In this circumstance, her mind cannot be distinguished from the Arch of Time. One wrong word—
At once, the Theomach demurred. “My lord, this is needless. That which the lady desires of you is simple, and I do not doubt that her requests will be easily met. Nor will she and her companions endanger you in any fashion. You have accepted my aid and guidance. Do not unwisely set them aside.”
Berek drew back his shoulders, lifted his chin. His tone was mild, but its mildness veiled iron. “My lord Theomach, I have said that my gratitude is certain, as is my welcome. Yet my wisdom is my own. If I prove unwise, as I have often done, it will be through no fault of yours.”
Linden wished that she could see the Theomach’s eyes. She had the impression that his gaze shifted rapidly between Berek and her, searching for an argument that would sway the Halfhand—or for a way to warn her of perils which he could not state aloud. But then he repeated his bow and salute. Instead of stepping between moments to address Linden where Berek could not hear him, he turned to the flaps and left the tent.
A crisis was upon her, and she was not prepared for it. The Seven Words still echoed around her, baffling her with hints of hope and calamity.
But she had spoken and acted by instinct for long hours now. She was too weary to do otherwise. Trust yourself. If she had truly heard Covenant’s voice in her dreams, not that of some malign misleading chimera—
As Berek stepped closer with gentleness on his face and resolve in his eyes, Linden shrugged off her cloak as if to rid herself of an obstruction. The braziers had warmed the air: soon she would be too warm, alarmed or shamed by her conflicted doubts. Clinging to the Staff with both hands, she braced herself to meet his probing gaze.
He approached until he was little more than an arm’s length away. There he stopped. Deliberately he folded his arms across his chest: a gesture of determination. He seemed to tower over her as he said, “My lady, you are troubled. Surely there is no need? My gratitude is boundless, and my respect with it. The aid that you have both given and brought is beyond estimation. Why, then, do you fear me?”
Linden could not answer him: any explanation would reveal too much. Instead she fell back on matters that she understood; subjects which she could broach safely. “Lord Berek, listen,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “There are things that you have to do. Essential things. If you don’t do them, you could win this war and still lose, even with the Theomach’s help.”
Speaking brusquely because she was frightened and tired, she told him. “You’re killing your own wounded. Do you know that? Those blankets and pallets—the bandages—the tents—They breed death. Your healers don’t see it yet, but you will.” The restoration of the Seven Words would evoke his latent powers. “You can’t prevent your people from being cut down,” hacked at, pierced, trampled, “but you can save some of their lives.”
Perplexed and frowning, Berek began. “With hurtloam—”
“No,” Linden countered. “I don’t know when you’ll be able to find more of it, or how much of it you’ll find. And it starts to lose its effectiveness as soon as it’s scooped out of the soil. You can’t carry it very far.”
In haste because she could not bear to be interrupted, she said harshly, “You need to take a day off from this war. A day or two. Let your enemies retreat. If you think that they might counterattack, use Inbull to scare them out of it. Instead of fighting, soak every blanket and scrap of bandage in boiling water. If you can replace the pallets, burn them. Otherwise pour boiling water over them. And tell your healers—tell all of your people—to wash every wound. Those injuries have to be kept clean.
“I don’t care how long it takes. Make the time. Your people are dying in droves, and I can’t stay. If you want to save any of them after I’m gone, you have to keep them clean.”
The grief in his gaze wrenched her heart. “And if we cannot, my lady?” he asked softly. “If the blankets fall to tatters when they are boiled, and the bandages likewise, and we glean no resupply from the encampments which our foes abandon? What must we do then?”
“Oh, God.” The extremity of his plight was unmistakable: it exceeded her courage. In his place, she would have been paralyzed by dismay long ago. “If the Theomach can’t tell you what to do, you’ll have to find more hurtloam. And if you can’t find enough hurtloam”—she swallowed a lump of empathy and anguish—“you’ll have to pour boiling water on those infections.” The burns would be terrible, but they would slow some of the poisons. “Anything to keep them clean.”
As she faltered, however, he grew stronger. His bravery was founded on the needs of the people around him. He had come so far and accomplished so much, not because the Fire-Lions had responded to his desperation, but simply because he could not turn away from the plight of his people and his Queen. He was full of grief and understood despair: therefore he rejected both fear and defeat.
“My lady,” he said with rough kindness, “we will attempt your counsel. I cannot avow success, yet the gift of your lore will be treasured among us. As occasion permits, we will garner its benefits. You teach the worth of healing. It will not be forgotten. Songs will be sung of you to lift the heart, and tales will be told that surpass generations. Wherever those who serve my Queen and the Land are gathered together—”
“No!” Linden protested frantically. The thought of ripples appalled her. They would expand—“No, it’s better, believe me, it’s better if you don’t talk about this. I mean anything that’s happened tonight. Don’t discuss it, don’t refer to it. Don’t keep the story alive. I’m begging you, my lord. I’ll get down on my knees if you want.” Vertorn had offered to prostrate himself: she would follow his example. “And the Theomach will insist—I can’t stay. And I don’t deserve—”
A legend of Linden the Healer would alter the Land’s known history. It might do enough harm to topple the Arch.
Berek raised his hands: a ge
sture of placation. “My lady,” he murmured to soothe her. “My lady. Quiet your distress. There is no need. I will honor your wish.
“All in this camp will deem it strange that I do not speak of you. But if you seek the boon of my silence, it will be granted. And in this I may command my Hands, Damelon and the others. My Hafts also may heed me. My word will not still every voice. Yet I will do all that can be done, since you desire it so.”
Linden stared at him until she was sure that she could believe him. Then she sagged. Thank God—she thought wanly. Thank God for men who kept their promises. If she had been equally confident of Covenant’s word, she would not have felt fretted with dread.
“I might inquire, my lady,” Berek continued after a moment. “what harm resides in the tale of your deeds. But I will not. My silence on that score is implicit in the boon you seek.
“Yet,” he said more sternly. “there are queries which demand utterance. My oaths of service, to my Queen as to the Land, require this of me. Understand that I intend neither affront nor disregard. However, I must be answered.”
Wincing inwardly, Linden started to say, Don’t, please. You don’t understand the danger. But Berek’s deep gaze held her. His will seemed greater than hers. She did not know how to refuse anyone who had suffered so much loss.
Berek’s mien tightened. “My lady Linden, it is plain that you bear powers—or instruments of power—greater than yourself. I know naught of such matters. Nonetheless I am able to discern contradiction. Though your powers exceed you, you have it within you to transcend them.”
Her mouth and throat suddenly felt too dry for speech. She should not have been surprised that he was able to perceive Covenant’s ring under her shirt. Still she was not prepared. And neither the Theomach nor Covenant was here to advise her.
“My lord,” she said weakly, trying to fend him off. “I can’t talk about this. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. It won’t affect your war, or your Queen—or your oath,” not without destroying Time. Bitter with memories, she added, “And you haven’t earned the knowledge. You aren’t ready for it. It can only hurt you.”
She could not gauge what anything that she might say—or refuse to say—would cost Berek. Similar knowledge had damaged her immeasurably. But it had also redeemed her.
He did not relent. “Yet I wish to hear them named.”
His eyes and his tone and his vital aura compelled her. Guided only by intuition, she held the Staff in one hand. “My Staff is about Law and Earthpower. It exerts the same force as the Seven Words, but in a different form.” With the other, she indicated Covenant’s hidden ring. “This is white gold.” She felt that she was accepting responsibility for all of the Earth’s millennia as she said. “It wields the wild magic that destroys peace. But it isn’t natural here.
“If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask the Theomach.”
She saw that she had baffled him; and she braced herself, fearing that he would demand more. Yet he did not. Instead he rubbed at his bald scalp as though he sought to massage coherence into his scattering thoughts.
“This is bootless, my lady,” he grumbled. “It conveys naught.” Then he dropped his hand, and his uncertainty with it. “However, I will not press you, for your discomfiture is evident. Instead I will pose a query of another kind.
“It has been averred that your powers and your purpose do not pertain to me. How may I be assured of this? My force is greatly outnumbered. And as I drive my foes before me, I strengthen them, for they draw ever closer to Doriendor Corishev and reinforcement. I can not ignore the prospect of a threat from another quarter.”
“The Theomach—” Linden tried to offer.
“My lady,” Berek interrupted more harshly, “I do not ask for aid. That the Theomach may well provide, as he has avowed. Rather I ask how I may fear nothing from the needs which compel you. There is no wish for harm in your heart, of that I am certain. Your companions, however, are closed to me. I know naught of them but that they wield strange theurgies, and that their manner is ungentle.
“Answer this, my lady, and I will not disturb you further.”
Linden sighed. “My Lord, there are only two things that I can tell you.” To describe Covenant’s intentions in this time would be ruinous. “First, we’re going northwest—and we have a long way to go. Something like two hundred leagues. Everything that Covenant and Jeremiah and I are trying to do, everything that brought us here in the first place—It’ll all be wasted if we don’t cover those two hundred leagues as quickly as possible.
“Second,” she continued so that Berek would not interrupt her, “the last thing that the Theomach wants is trouble from us. And I do mean the last. You have no idea how powerful he is. I don’t understand it myself. But you can be sure of this. If we try anything that might threaten you, he’ll stop us. We can’t fight him. Not here. No matter how strong you think we are.”
The Insequent had demonstrated his ability to override Covenant’s intentions. She was sure that he meant her no harm; but she did not doubt that he would banish Covenant, Jeremiah, and her in an instant if they endangered his relationship with Berek—or the security of the Arch of Time.
Berek regarded her somberly. In his gaze, she could almost trace the contention between his visceral impulse to trust her and his necessary concerns for his people, his Queen, his oath. Then she saw his expression soften, felt the tension in his shoulders relax; and she knew before he spoke that she had gained what she needed most from him.
“My lady Linden,” he said with wry regret. “these matters surpass me. I lack the lore to comprehend them. But a trek of two hundred leagues in this winter—That I am able to grasp. It will be cruel to you, bereft as you are of food, or horses, or adequate raiment.
“To the extent that my own impoverishment permits, I will supply all that you require”—he held up his hand to forestall any response—“and count myself humbled because I cannot equal your largesse. The knowledge of hurtloam alone is incomparable bounty, yet you have given more, far more. If you are thus generous in all of your dealings, you will need no songs or tales of mine to honor you, for you will be fabled wherever you are known.”
Linden wanted to protest, No, my lord. You’re the legend here. I’m not like that. But his unanticipated gentleness left her mute. She was too close to tears to find her voice.
If she could have believed in Covenant’s honesty, her gratitude would have been more than she knew how to contain.
9. Along the Last Hills
For three days, Linden, Covenant, and Jeremiah rode into the northwest, hugging the Last Hills as closely as they could without venturing onto terrain that would hamper their gaunt and weary horses. Over her cloak and her old clothes, Linden wore a heavy robe lined with fur which—according to Hand Damelon—had been scavenged from one of Vettalor’s abandoned camps. Her hands she kept swaddled in strips cut from the edge of a blanket: a wider strip she wrapped like a scarf around her mouth and neck. Still the cold was a galling misery, day and night. And during the day, hard sunlight glanced like blades off the crusted snow and ice, forcing her to squint. Her head throbbed mercilessly.
With Covenant and Jeremiah riding nearby, she could not draw on the Staff of Law, even to sustain her abject mount. Instead she carried it quiescent across her lap; clung to the reins and the saddle with her abused hands. Somehow Covenant had endured Berek’s touch. Still she feared that he and Jeremiah would not be able to withstand close proximity to the Staff’s power.
They had their own difficulties. Their mounts were restive, hard to control. The beasts shied at every shadow despite their weariness. At times, they made frail attempts to buck. Linden suspected that the horses sensed something in her companions which she could not. On a purely animal level, they were disturbed by the secretive theurgy of their riders.
But Covenant and her son scorned their mounts’ uneasiness. They stayed near Linden at all times, as though they meant to ensure that she did not use her S
taff. And they appeared oblivious to the cold; preternaturally immune to the ordinary requirements of flesh and blood. They had refused cloaks and robes, did not wear blankets over their shoulders. Yet they revealed no discomfort. Only Covenant’s seething impatience and Jeremiah’s glum unresponsiveness betrayed their underlying discontent.
They ate the stale bread, tough meat, and dried fruit that Berek had provided: they drank the water and the raw wine. Those simple human needs they retained. And at night, they built campfires which generated enough heat to encourage slumber. As far as Linden knew, however, neither of them slept. Whenever she was roused by cold or nightmares, she saw them still seated, wakeful and silent, beside the fading coals. At daybreak, they were on their feet ahead of her.
They hardly spoke to each other: they seldom addressed her. Nor did she question them, although the throng of her doubts and concerns clouded her horizons in every direction. She and her companions were constrained because they were not alone.
At Berek’s command, Yellinin rode with them, leading a string of six more horses laden with supplies: food, drink, blankets, and firewood, as well as provender for the mounts; as much of Berek’s generosity as the horses’ meager strength could carry.
The outrider herself said little. Berek had ordered her to ask no questions; and she obeyed with hard-bitten determination, stifling her curiosity and loneliness. She could not have been sure that she would ever see her lord or her comrades again. Yet even when Linden tried practical queries—How far have we ridden today? Do you think that this weather will hold?—Yellinin answered so curtly that Linden’s more personal questions seemed to freeze in her mouth.
At all times, Covenant kept his right hand hidden in his pocket. Linden supposed that he did so in order to conceal his one resemblance to Berek Halfhand. But she felt sure that his caution was wasted. With his awakened senses, Berek must have discerned the truth for himself.