Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant 02 - Fatal Revenant

  Still he beckoned for Liand.

  The others—?

  “Linden—” said Liand awkwardly. The insistence of Anele’s gestures appeared to disturb him. He must have understood them. “I lack words to convey—”

  “Then,” Mahrtiir instructed, “permit the Ringthane to witness his plight, as he desires. When she has beheld it, words will follow.”

  The young man cast a look like an appeal at Linden; but he obeyed the Manethrall. Sighing unhappily, he reached to a sash at his waist, a pale blue strip of cloth which Linden had not seen before, and from which hung a leather pouch the size of his cupped hand. Untying the pouch, he slipped an object into his hand, took a deep breath to steady himself, then pressed the object into Anele’s grasp.

  It was a smooth piece of stone, vaguely translucent—and distinctly familiar. Linden’s health-sense received an impression of compacted possibilities.

  Anele’s fingers clenched immediately around the stone. At once, he flung back his head and wailed as though his heart were being torn from him.

  Instinctively Linden moved toward the old man. But Liand reached out to stop her; and Mahrtiir barked. “Withhold, Ringthane! Anele wishes this.”

  An instant later, a rush of power from Anele’s closed fist washed away every hint of his lunacy.

  Linden jerked to a halt and stared. That was Earthpower, but it was not Anele’s inborn strength. Rather his latent force catalyzed or evoked a different form of magic; a particular eldritch energy which she had known long ago.

  Then the flood of puissance passed, and Anele fell silent. Slowly he lowered his head. When he looked at Linden, his blind gaze focused on her as if he could see.

  “Linden Avery,” he said hoarsely. “Chosen and Sun-Sage. White gold wielder. You are known to me.”

  “Anele,” she breathed. “You’re sane.”

  None of her companions showed any surprise, although their distress was plain. They had recognized the old man’s gestures; must have seen this transformation before—

  “I am,” he acknowledged, “and do not wish it. It torments me, for it is clarity without succor. I cannot heal the harm that I have wrought. But I must speak and be understood. They ask it of me.”

  “‘They’?” urged Linden. Anele had endured Lord Foul’s brutal presence, and Kastenessen’s. He had felt Esmer’s coercion. And Thomas Covenant had spoken through him as well: a more benign possession, but a violation nonetheless. If even sleep had become fear and anguish, how could he retain any vestige of himself?

  “They do not possess me,” he replied with fragile dignity, as though he understood her alarm. “Rather they speak in my dreams, imploring this of me. They are Sunder my father and Hollian my mother, whom my weakness has betrayed. And behind them stands Thomas Covenant, who craves only that I assure you of his love. But the intent of Sunder Graveler and Hollian eh-Brand is more urgent.”

  Sunder? Linden thought dumbly. Hollian? She gaped at the son of her long-dead friends as he continued, “They sojourn among the Dead in Andelain, and they beg of you that you do not seek them out. They know not how the peril of Kastenessen and the skurj and white gold may be answered. They cannot guide or counsel you. They are certain only that doom awaits you in the company of the Dead.”

  His love. “Anele—” Linden’s voice was a croak of chagrin. “Can you talk to them?” They beg of you—“In your dreams? Can you tell them that I know what I’m doing?”

  All of her hopes were founded in Andelain. If she were forbidden to approach the Dead, she was truly lost; and Jeremiah would suffer until the Arch of Time crumbled.

  The old man shook his head. “Sleeping, I am mute.” His moonstone eyes regarded her in supplication. “In my remorse, I would cry out to them, but they cannot hear. No power of dream or comprehension will shrive me until I have discovered and fulfilled my geas.”

  Then he turned away. “Liand,” he panted, faltering, “I beseech you. Relieve me of this burden. I cannot bear the knowledge of myself.”

  Doom awaits you in the company of the Dead.

  When he extended his hand and opened his fingers, he revealed a piece of orcrest, Sunstone. To Linden’s senses, it appeared identical to the smooth, unevenly shaped rock with which Sunder had warded the folk of Mithil Stonedown from the Sunbane. Its potency made it seem transparent, but it was not. Instead it resembled a void in the substance of Anele’s palm; an opening into some other dimension of reality or Earthpower.

  Its touch had restored his mind.

  “No.” As Liand reached for the stone, Linden grabbed Anele; forced him to face her again. She wanted to demand, Why? You’re sane now. Tell me why. She had heard too many prophesies of disaster. Even Liand had warned her, You have it within you to perform horrors. She needed to know what Sunder and Hollian feared from her.

  But when her hands closed on his gaunt frame, her nerves felt his excruciation like a jolt of lightning. He was sane: oh, he was sane. And for that reason, he was defenseless. Even his heritage of Earthpower could not rebuff the self-denunciation and grief which had broken his mind; blinded him; condemned him to decades of starvation and loneliness while he searched for the implications of his fractured past.

  Linden’s heart may have grown as ungiving and dark as obsidian; but she could ask nothing of this frail old man. Even to save her son, she could not. She had already extorted too much pain from Anele. She was done with it.

  And behind them stands Thomas Covenant, who craves only that I assure you of his love.

  Swallowing grief as acute as rage, Linden said softly, “I want you to understand something. While you still can. I used you. When I was trying to convince the Masters to help me.” And she had contemplated causing him more hurt. “But I won’t do that again. I’m finished.”

  She had learned at least this much from her betrayal by Roger and the croyel. They had wanted her to achieve their ends for them. And their manipulations had nearly destroyed her. But what the croyel was doing to Jeremiah was worse.

  “I’ll keep you with me,” she promised. “I’ll protect you as much as I can.” She had no other hope to offer him. “But I won’t ask you to pay the price for what I want. Not again.”

  Anele breathed heavily for a moment. He shuddered in her grasp: his eyes were closed. When he had mastered himself, he replied. “Linden Avery, you are the Chosen, and will determine much.” His low growl echoed Mahrtiir’s severity. “But that choice is not vouchsafed to you. All who live share the Land’s plight. Its cost will be borne by all who live. This you cannot alter. In the attempt, you may achieve only ruin.”

  Then he pulled away from her easily, as if her strength had failed. Leaving her confounded, he handed the orcrest to Liand.

  As soon as the stone left his fingers, he appeared to faint.

  Too late, Linden snatched at his slumping form. But Bhapa was quicker. He caught the old man and lowered him gently to the rug.

  Obviously the Cord had known what to expect. All of Linden’s friends had known.

  “Liand?” she asked in chagrin. “Is he—?”

  Liand continued to cradle the orcrest in his palm as though its touch gave him pleasure. “We have spoken of this,” he answered quietly, gazing at Anele. “We discern no lasting hurt. He will slumber briefly. When he wakes, he will be as he was. In some form, his madness is kindly. It shields him. In its absence, his bereavements would compel despair.” When the young man looked up at Linden, his compassion for Anele filled his eyes. “This we have concluded among ourselves, for we know not how otherwise to comprehend either his pain or his endurance of it.”

  Mahrtiir nodded; and Pahni rested her hand on Liand’s shoulder, sharing his sympathy.

  Linden’s knees felt suddenly weak. “God,” she breathed, “I need to sit down.” Unsteadily she moved to the nearest chair and dropped into it. Then she covered her face with her hands, trying to absorb what had just happened.

  Oh, Anele. How much more of this will you have to suffer?
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  —that doom awaits you—

  Sunder and Hollian feared intentions which Linden had not revealed, even to the Mahdoubt. She had hardly named them to herself.

  And behind them stands Thomas Covenant—

  Now she believed absolutely that it was her Covenant who had spoken in her dreams; who had warned her through Anele in the Verge of Wandering; who had addressed her friends on the rich grass of the plateau. No one else would have spoken as he did.

  —who craves only that I assure you of his love.

  For a while, her friends waited for her in silence. Then Stave said firmly, “Chosen, we must speak. We recognize that you have suffered much. But you propose to combat the Land’s foes. You speak of betrayal. And it appears that both the Unbeliever and your son have been lost, when their proclaimed intent was the Land’s redemption. Such matters require comprehension.”

  “Also we are bewildered by the Mahdoubt,” added Mahrtiir, “who has shown herself able to pass through stone. She is absent from these chambers, though she was not seen to depart. Her role in your return pleads for explanation.”

  Linden did not lower her hands. When her friends had come to her door, she had believed herself ready for them. Now she knew that she was not.

  “Manethrall,” Stave countered, “if you will heed my counsel, we will not consider the Mahdoubt until other concerns have been addressed. I do not desire concealment, either from you or from the Chosen. But I deem that the Mahdoubt’s strangeness is less than urgent. The ur-Lord’s fate, and our own straits, hold greater import.”

  “As you will.” Linden felt Mahrtiir’s nod. The mistrust which he had once displayed toward Stave was entirely gone. “I am content to speak of her when you find it condign to do so.”

  Promptly Stave continued. “Then I will say to you, Linden Avery, Chosen, that you have been absent from Revelstone for half a moon—”

  “Thirteen days, Linden,” put in Liand.

  “—and have slept for two days more,” the Haruchai went on. “In that time, we have feared for your life. And now that you have returned, we fear for the life of Land. Your words give us reason to conceive that the Unbeliever has failed.”

  Still Linden covered her face; hid from her companions. The spectres of Sunder and Hollian distrusted her. How could she tell her friends that she had come within a few heartbeats of giving the Despiser exactly what he desired?

  Gallows Howe demanded a greater champion than Linden Avery.

  “Linden,” said Liand, prodding her gently, “we did not know how to hope. When you had disappeared, Esmer likewise vanished. The ur-viles then dispersed, leaving no sign of themselves—or of the Waynhim. And the Ranyhyn had departed among the mountains, suggesting that you had no more need of them—” His voice tightened momentarily. “That you would not return. Yet the Demondim besieged Revelstone furiously. The loss of you filled our hearts with dread.”

  “It was Thomas Covenant who took you from us,” Pahni added as if she feared that Linden might doubt Liand, “the first Ringthane. Now he is gone. Through Anele, we have been promised travails rather than relief. How then should we hope?”

  Linden sighed. They were right, of course, all of them. She had to tell them what had happened. Still she was reluctant to answer them. She did not want to reveal what she had become.

  Anele’s warning scared her because she already knew that she would ignore it.

  Soon, she commanded herself. Soon she would face the risk of her story. But she would postpone it a little longer.

  Slowly she lowered her hands.

  Her friends stood clustered in front of her. Pahni’s hand remained on Liand’s shoulder, gripping him for support or comfort. Bhapa waited near Anele, ready to help the old man when he woke. The older Cord kept his gaze averted from Linden’s as if to show that he asked nothing of her; that her mere presence was enough for him. But both Mahrtiir and Stave studied her, the Manethrall avidly, the Haruchai without expression.

  Clearing her throat, Linden asked carefully. “How often has Anele been sane?”

  “Once only,” Liand answered at once. “And he retained himself only so that he might command us to grant him the orcrest stone when he beckoned. For ten days and more, he has not touched the stone, or spoken clearly.”

  The Stonedownor’s gaze encouraged her not to worry about Anele—or any of her friends. But his tone held a muffled eagerness, a whetted admixture of relief, uncertainty, and excitement. He appeared to feel elevated by the Sunstone, raised to a stature which surpassed his expectations for himself.

  “And what about the orcrest?” Linden asked him. “The Sunstone? How did you find it?”

  In a general sense, she knew the answer. What you need is in the Aumbrie. You’ll know what you’re looking for when you touch it. But she wanted Liand’s confirmation. She could not imagine why Covenant had urged him to go in search of power.

  And she had never seen the Aumbrie of the Clave. She only knew that Vain had found the iron heels of Berek’s Staff there while she was a prisoner in Revelstone.

  But Stave intervened before Liand could reply. “Chosen, I belittle neither Liand nor orcrest in saying that they do not outweigh our need for your tale. In the name of all that we have dreaded, I ask this of you. Speak to us, that we may know the truth of our peril.”

  Linden did not glance away from Liand. “Just this one, Stave.” To her own ears, she sounded as inflexible as the Haruchai. “Please. I’m still trying to pull myself together. Hearing you talk—all of you—helps me.”

  Their voices, and her concern, reminded her of the woman she had once been.

  Stave glanced at Mahrtiir. When the Manethrall assented, Stave said stiffly, “Be brief, Stonedownor.”

  Pahni continued to hold Liand’s shoulder; but she lowered her eyes as though she sought to mask the fact that where he felt excitement she knew only trepidation.

  Abruptly Liand seated himself near Linden. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he leaned toward her; held his piece of orcrest like an offering or demonstration between them. His concern for her crowded against the surface of his attention. But his desire to speak of the Sunstone temporarily took precedence.

  “In this matter, Linden, I am not formed for brevity. At your side, I have been mazed by marvels which surpassed all conception. But until I placed my hand upon this stone, and felt my spirit answer to its astonishment, I had not imagined that I, too, might find myself exalted.”

  In life, Sunder had wielded his piece of Sunstone skillfully. But he had been educated by the Clave’s Rede. Liand had no such instruction; no lore of any kind. Only the inborn resources of his Stonedownor blood might enable him to make use of orcrest.

  “You must comprehend,” he explained earnestly, “that we were distraught to the depths of our hearts. The Unbeliever and your son had rent you from us, promising salvation. Yet the ur-viles opposed them—and were in turn opposed by Esmer, whose disturbed loyalties appear to shift at every occasion. Also a voice had spoken to us through Anele, foretelling obscure needs and burdens. And the Demondim battered Revelstone heinously. The Masters responded valorously, but their losses were grave, and none knew how long they might deny the horde.

  “It is your word that you have endured events which defy description. Our consternation also exceeded telling.”

  Pahni’s fingers dug into Liand’s shoulder; but she would not meet Linden’s gaze.

  Liand continued to search Linden’s face for an answer to his underlying apprehension. “Galled by helplessness, we endeavored to busy ourselves. Daily we bathed in Glimmermere to banish the bale of Kevin’s Dirt. The Ramen tended the mounts of the Masters. And Stave—as he later informed us—labored to acquire the secret of silencing his thoughts. But Anele and I were without purpose or relief.

  “He remained as he was, compliant and mumbling incoherently. Of him I knew only that he misliked the nearness of the Masters. I, however—” Liand shrugged at the memory. “I had no place in the defens
e of Lord’s Keep. My presence merely hindered the Masters. The Ramen sought a use for my aid, but their skills eluded me, though I have cared for horses since boyhood. I could discover no trace or trail of the Demondim-spawn. And Stave declined to guide me to the Aumbrie, declaring that the Masters would permit no approach to implements of Earthpower.

  “Linden, the thought that I was barred from that which I had been advised to seek became anguish. In your company, I have encountered the greatness and import of the Land. But in your absence, I was no more than a foolish Stonedownor, superfluous and ignorant. Even the benison of Glimmermere gave me no solace. Were it not for Pahni’s attentiveness and generosity”—he smiled quickly at the young Cord—“I might have flung myself against the Demondim merely to relieve my futility.”

  With an aborted snore, Anele raised his head, peered blindly around the room. Then he appeared to catch the scent of food. Muttering, “Anele is hungry,” he braced himself on Bhapa’s prompt support, climbed to his feet, and went at once to sit near the tray so that he could resume his interrupted meal.

  If his temporary lucidity had left any aftereffects, they lay beyond the reach of Linden’s senses.

  “Briefly, Liand,” muttered Mahrtiir in a low voice. “The Ringthane’s heart is sufficiently fraught. Do not dwell upon griefs which have passed.”

  At once, Pahni turned to the Manethrall, apparently intending to defend Liand. But Mahrtiir silenced her with a frown, and she ducked her head again.

  “I crave your pardon,” Liand said to Linden. “The Manethrall speaks sooth. Your sorrows indeed defy utterance, for the fate of the Land rests with you. It is plain that the Unbeliever’s purpose has failed, and your son is lost to you. I speak of my plight only so that you may comprehend my transformation”—again he looked at the Ramen girl—“and Pahni’s dread.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Linden’s tone resembled Stave’s stoicism. “It’s going to be a long night, and there isn’t much that we can do until morning.” She might not be able to leave Revelstone until she found a way to help the Masters defeat the Demondim. “We don’t need to hurry.”