In the krill’s radiance, both Branl and Clyme looked hieratic, chthonic, as if they had already taken their places among the Dead. The reflections in their eyes gave them the authority of spirits unconstrained by the boundaries of life and time.
“Ur-Lord,” Clyme announced, “we are the Humbled in all sooth, the Humbled triumphant and maimed. Have you forgotten so much that you do not recognize the men whom we have chosen to become?” His ire sounded more and more like lamentation. It sounded like fear. “Do you not recall that it is our task to embody you among our people? You are the purpose and substance of our lives.
“If you do not return to Linden Avery, and do so swiftly, you will perish. We cannot stem the harm which Kevin’s Dirt wreaks within you. Nor can the lurker of the Sarangrave succor you. Without the balm of the Staff of Law, your end is certain.
“Come good or ill, boon or bane, you must not heed the counsel of the ak-Haru.”
As Clyme spoke, Covenant finally heard what lay behind the frustrated fury of the Humbled. As though the insight had come to him from the lost expanse of the Arch of Time, he understood; and he found himself trying to laugh, although he wanted to weep. Oh, Clyme. Oh, Branl. Have you come to this? After so much fidelity and striving, is this the best you can do?
Their beliefs were too small to vindicate the race of the Haruchai. At the same time, they were too much for Covenant.
That was their tragedy. They had attached an almost metaphysical significance to a lone and lonely man who could not bear the burden. He was unequal to the task of meaning, not because he was sick and weak—although he was—but because he was just one man, nothing more. Even if he transcended his own inadequacies indefinitely, he could not provide transcendence for anybody else. The Haruchai needed to find it within themselves, not in him.
Nothing else would relieve the bereavement which had haunted them for millennia.
But they were not Giants: they would not respond to laughter; even to laughter as strained and loss-ridden as Covenant’s. Their hearts spoke a different language.
As if he were translating alien precepts into pragmatic speech, he replied, “Did I ever tell you that I respect you? I hope I did. I’ve said as many hurtful things as Brinn did, but none of it would have been worth saying if I didn’t respect you absolutely. You’re the standard I use to measure myself—or you would be if I thought that highly of who I am. The idea that men like you care whether I live or die makes me want to prove you’re right about me.
“But what’s at stake here—what we’re talking about—what we have to do—isn’t about whether or not I live through it. It’s about the Land, and the Worm, and Lord Foul. We can’t let the fact that I’m sick choose our commitments for us.
“I’ve made promises. Now I have to take the risk of keeping them. I have to be willing to pay whatever they cost.”
And his agreement with the lurker had been founded on a lie: the mistaken belief that he was the Pure One of jheherrin legend. He needed to redeem that falsehood.
Clyme and Branl watched him without saying anything; without any expression that he could interpret. Clyme braced his fists on his hips. Branl folded his arms like barriers across his chest. If they grasped that import of his affirmation, they gave no sign.
Nevertheless Covenant went on as if he had won their consent to continue. “But that cost—It may not be what you think. Which is my fault,” he added quickly, “not yours.
“I don’t say much about myself. I probably haven’t told you or anybody that my disease—that leprosy—isn’t fatal. Lepers can get worse for a long time without dying. Usually it’s the things that happen to them because they’re lepers that kill them.
“Kastenessen can make me a whole lot sicker without stopping me. Kevin’s Dirt is nasty stuff, but it won’t save him. He only imagines it will because he’s crazy and desperate.
“Meanwhile leprosy is like most of the things we struggle with. It’s a curse, but sometimes it can also be a blessing.”
Cast back by the krill’s brilliance, the surrounding twilight seemed to deepen, drawing the stars ever closer to the world’s doom. At the same time, the Humbled began to look both more substantial and more mundane; less like emblems from the realm of death. Unwillingly, perhaps, but irrefusably, they were being lured out of their moral reality into Covenant’s.
More sure of himself now, the Unbeliever said, “Look at it this way. Have you never wondered why none of the Ravers has ever tried to possess me? They’ve had me helpless often enough. So why am I still here? Sure, Foul told them not to take me. He didn’t want them to get my ring. But why did they obey?
“Well, they’ve been his servants so long, you might think they’re incapable of independent thought. That’s one theory. But it can’t be true. If it were, they wouldn’t be much use. He would have to spend all his time telling them what to do. No, he has to be able to give them orders and then leave them alone while they figure out how to accomplish what he wants. They have to be able think for themselves.
“And they’re by God Ravers. It’s their nature to be hungry for power and destruction.” Just like Horrim Carabal. “So why have they never, not once in all these millennia, ever tried to possess me? Why haven’t they tried to take my ring?”
Covenant spread his hands, his foreshortened fingers, showing the Humbled that they were empty—and that such appearances were as deceptive as the stoicism of the Haruchai.
“I think I know why. It’s the same reason we can trust the lurker. And the same reason I have to do what I can to save him. Because they’re afraid. They’re all afraid. Horrim Carabal is afraid of the Worm. And the Ravers—Well, of course they’re afraid of Lord Foul. But I’m guessing they’re also afraid of leprosy. They’re afraid of what it might be like to possess a body and a mind as sick as mine. They’re afraid of all this numbness, and going blind, and feeling crippled not to mention impotent even when they have wild magic to play with.”
He shrugged as if he were susceptible to contradiction; yet with every word he felt stronger. “Maybe being me would be too much like being the Despiser, trapped and helpless and full of despair even though he’s too powerful and too damn eternal to be killed. Possessing other people, or other monsters, they can at least feel and hate and destroy. With me, they might not be able to do any of those things.”
He was vaguely surprised to see Clyme and Branl blink in unison as if they were closing the shutters of their minds against illumination. But the moment was brief; no more than a flicker.
As if he were confessing an article of faith, Covenant concluded, “That’s why I might be able to save the lurker. It’s why I have to be a leper. Turiya won’t even consider possessing me. Leprosy is my best defense. Even Lord Foul can’t stop me if I’m numb enough.”
Then he held his breath. He could not read his companions: he saw only anger and blankness and inflexibility. Argent lit them against the backdrop of the sunless day, but did not reveal their hearts.
They were slow to respond. They may have been sifting through their imponderable storehouse of memories, testing Covenant’s asseveration against their entire history with him.
When Clyme finally answered, Covenant was not prepared for his response. Nothing in his manner, or in Branl’s, hinted that the Humbled were capable of any reply except denial.
“How then,” Clyme asked with the finality of a knell, “shall we pursue the Raver? He is no longer hampered by the limitations of flesh. Even the Ranyhyn cannot equal his fleetness, and your mount is no Ranyhyn. How can the lurker be spared if we cannot overtake turiya Herem?”
Dimly through the dusk, Covenant saw Rallyn and Hooryl returning, bringing Mishio Massima with them. They seemed to know that the time had come to bear their riders again.
He exhaled hard; panted briefly for air. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “I’ll have to think of something.”
At that moment, he believed that he would succeed. Like Brinn, Clyme and Branl had given hi
m what he needed. While the Humbled stood with him, he could imagine that anything was possible.
ut he put off thinking until he and his companions had ridden far enough to find aliantha. He needed time to absorb Clyme’s and Branl’s acquiescence. And he felt thin with hunger. He had eaten nothing since he and his companions had left their covert in the cliff early the previous morning. The streams that the Ranyhyn discovered now eased him somewhat; but water was not nourishment—and it was certainly not treasure-berries. He craved the rich benison of the Land’s health and vitality. Without it, he could not reason clearly enough to untangle the riddle of turiya Herem’s head start.
Fortunately Branl and Clyme knew where they had last seen aliantha. And Covenant did not doubt that the Ranyhyn could have located the holly-like shrubs even without the guidance of the Humbled. The way seemed long to him, but Clyme pointed toward the first bush well before the unbroken twilight became midafternoon.
There Covenant dismounted. At once, Mishio Massima lowered its head to the grass as if nothing mattered except food. Carrying the krill again, Branl remained with Covenant while Clyme rode ahead to gather more berries so that Covenant would not be required to waste time searching for a sufficient meal.
At the first tang of the fruit in his mouth, Covenant seemed to feel Brinn’s hand reaching out to him across the leagues and hours; touching his sore forehead and damaged ribs and battered arms with renewal. In its own way, aliantha was as much a gift as the ak-Haru’s aid, and as precious. It answered questions which the Humbled had not asked.
It was for this that Covenant had to find and stop turiya, and then go on to the next battle, and the next. Not for the lurker. Not for the Elohim, in spite of their slow, inexorable decimation. Not even for Linden, although his ache for her resembled weeping. No, it was for aliantha that he had to fight: for treasure-berries, and for Wraiths; for hurtloam and Glimmermere and Salva Gildenbourne, Andelain and EarthBlood; for the Ranyhyn and their Ramen; for ur-viles and Waynhim; and for every mortal heart as valiant and treasurable as Liand’s, or as Anele’s. For their sake, he had to catch up with the Raver. He had to find a way.
When he had eaten enough to take the edge off his hunger, he began to pace slowly, chewing fruit, scattering seeds, and talking. The numbness of his feet made him feel that he walked a friable surface tipping him toward vertigo. Nevertheless he persevered. He needed to hear his thoughts aloud in order to believe in them. And he needed movement to loosen the knots that bound him to his limitations.
The Worm was coming. Lord Foul’s triumph drew closer with every hesitation, every delay. The Land could not be saved by anything less than extravagant efforts and hope.
Hope did not come easily to lepers. But Covenant had learned that there were better answers than grim survival and despair. He had been taught by more friends and loves than he could count.
Unsteadily he ate, and marked out a circle on the giving ground with his steps, and talked.
“I keep thinking about Linden,” he muttered as if he were speaking to Branl. With a wave of one hand, he dismissed a protest which his companion did not utter. “I was watching her. I remember her life almost as well as mine.
“She should have died when she first arrived on Kevin’s Watch. A caesure broke the Watch right after she met Anele. All those tons of shattered granite collapsed like they fell from the sky. She should have been crushed. They both should have been reduced to pulp. But she kept them alive.
“I’m asking myself, how did she do that?”
Concentrating on other things, he lost his balance as if he had tripped. He almost fell. The deadening of his nerves was becoming extreme. Still he was familiar with such dilemmas. The loss of sensation was like Unbelief. It could be managed. Sometimes it could be set aside. And under the right circumstances, it could become a form of strength.
How else had he twice defeated the Despiser?
“I was watching,” he repeated as he resumed his tread. “I saw what happened. I mean, what literally happened. She slipped outside time. And she took Anele with her. Somehow she bypassed cause and effect and even ordinary gravity so that she and Anele came down on top of the rubble instead of under it. Hell, she didn’t even break bones.
“But how? That was a neat trick. How did she manage it?”
Peripherally Covenant noticed Clyme’s return. But the Unbeliever did not interrupt the awkward whirl, the vertigo in slow motion, of his paced circle.
“It’s obvious, really. She did it with wild magic. She used my ring, even though she had no idea what she was doing, and she certainly never did anything like that before. It must have been pure reflex. Raw instinct. But that part doesn’t matter. What matters is, she did it. She proved it’s possible.
“If wild magic is the keystone of the Arch of Time, it participates somehow.” Those words raised echoes for him. They implied memories which eluded recognition. “You could say Linden did the opposite of what Joan was doing. Instead of shattering pieces of time, she found her way around them.”
The Humbled studied him in silence. Their faces remained as blank as age-worn carvings.
“Well.” Unaware of what he did, Covenant spread gestures in all directions as if he were flinging out his arms for balance; as if he sought to encompass the world. “If she could do it, why can’t we? After all, my poor son and that damned croyel did it. They slipped through time to take her into the past. Which the Mahdoubt also knew how to do. And they slipped past distance to reach Melenkurion Skyweir. Which both the Harrow and the Ardent knew how to do. So why don’t we do the same thing?”
There was something that he needed to remember, but he did not try to force it. Instead he let the past reach him in its own way.
Clyme slid down from Hooryl’s back. Lifting the hem of his tunic, he showed Covenant that he carried a feast of treasure-berries. But Covenant did not pause. He could not stop talking now, even for the Land’s largesse.
“Ignorance, I suppose. We don’t know what Roger and the croyel and at least some of the Insequent knew. If I ever understood how they did it, I sure as hell don’t remember. And we probably haven’t earned the knowledge. But when you can see a thing is possible, ignorance looks less irreducible. You can afford to try out theories or just plain guesswork because you know what you want to accomplish.”
As if by an act of grace, the memory he sought came to him.
Time is the keystone of life, just as wild magic is the keystone of Time. Among the Dead, the Theomach had said that. It is Time which is endangered. His counsel had inspired Covenant to risk a caesure in order to confront Joan. The path to its preservation lies through Time.
That was cryptic at best; hardly comprehensible. Nevertheless it sufficed.
Abruptly Covenant stopped pacing, planted his legs for balance. His head continued its slow spin, but he faced the Humbled as squarely as he could.
“And Loric’s krill isn’t our only instrument of power. We have white gold.” He tapped his sternum where Joan’s wedding band hung under his tattered T-shirt. “If Linden can use my ring, I ought to be able to use Joan’s.”
You are the white gold.
Recall that the krill is capable of much.
Without transition, he told Clyme, “Give me some of that. I’ve got work to do, and I’m still hungry.”
He had no real idea how to carry out his intentions. But he had found a place to start. And he could trust the Ranyhyn to help him.
He had suffered enough. Now he meant to surprise the hell out of turiya Herem.
efore long, he had satisfied his hunger. The bounty of aliantha seemed to supply all of his immediate lacks. Each berry enriched his veins and muscles and even the fate written on his forehead until he was almost strong, almost steady. The threat of dizziness receded. His health-sense remained vague as a wisp, but he felt an unexpected tingle of renewed sensation in his ankles and wrists.
When he was ready, he thanked Clyme. He urged the Master to save as many treasu
re-berries as he could. Then he asked Branl for the krill.
“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” he admitted. “But it’s always helped me to have another source of power.” The Staff of Law in Elena’s hands. The Illearth Stone in Foul’s Creche. Sunder’s orcrest. Covenant had relied upon external catalysts or triggers until the Despiser’s venom had eaten away his instinctive defenses, his visceral reluctance. “And this ring is Joan’s, not mine. Using it won’t be easy.”
In contrast, he had earned the privilege of wielding Loric’s eldritch dagger. He had paid for it with bloodshed.
Branl did not hesitate. Removing the wrapped blade from its place under his tunic, he delivered it to the Unbeliever.
Covenant hefted the dagger, felt its weight and its implied power. “Now what?” he asked, thinking aloud again. In spite of his millennia within the Arch of Time, the prospect of theurgy still disturbed him. Magic suited Linden. Her health-sense guided her: she could control herself. Covenant was only a leper. Nevertheless he had come too far to start shirking hazards that scared him.
How often had he told Linden to trust herself?
“Well, let’s see. I don’t understand how the Harrow and the Ardent did what they did. As far as I know, they just appeared and disappeared whenever they wanted. But Roger and the croyel are another matter.
“They faced each other with Linden between them. They raised their arms to make an arch over her head. An arch like a door.” Instinctively he began to pace again. “A portal. But I can’t do that. I can’t stand in two places at once.”
Could Clyme or Branl assist him? He rejected that idea. Haruchai did not wield magic. Whenever they could, they eschewed weapons of any kind. And Covenant had already required the Humbled to violate too many of their chosen prohibitions.
“Sounds like an impasse,” he muttered. “But it can’t be.” He lifted his burden with a shrug. “So maybe I’m thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe Roger and the croyel weren’t making a door. Maybe it just looked like a door. Maybe it was really something else.