Against All Things Ending Part 24

She understood now why her parents had preferred death. Any other end would be better than a fall into this unfathomable abysm; this corrupt distortion of love and l.u.s.t.

Somewhere the Ardent screamed for haste. From the fan of obsidian-the cavern's only egress-Giants shouted encouragement. Struggling for courage, Linden tried to tally the members of her company who had reached momentary safety; tried and could not. The yowling of the ur-viles and Waynhim sounded like despair.

At the crest of the Hazard, some signal pa.s.sed between Coldspray and Grueburn. They were not Haruchai Haruchai: they could not hear each other's thoughts. Nevertheless they had trained together for centuries. They moved as if they shared one mind.

Suddenly Coldspray spun. At the same instant, Grueburn jerked to a halt, jumped backward a step.

Keeping her hold on Jeremiah, gripping the krill krill less than finger's width from the less than finger's width from the croyel croyel's throat, the Ironhand flung a kick at Esmer.

Apparently he also could not read minds, despite his many powers. Coldspray's kick caught him squarely. And she was a Giant, twice his size, far heavier. In the Verge of Wandering, he had endured Stave's blows with visible ease; but he could not withstand the Ironhand of the Swordmainnir.

She knocked him off the span, sent him tumbling headlong toward the voracity of Dia.s.somer Mininderain and Emereau Vrai and uncounted numbers of other betrayed women.

In a different reality, one of them could have been Linden's mother. Or Joan.

Coldspray did not pause, not for the flicker of an instant. Finishing her spin, she sprang into a run. Behind her, Grueburn started forward again, pounding for speed.

Linden heard shrill alarm in the baying of the Demondim-sp.a.w.n. Involuntarily she watched Esmer's plummet. She saw jaws stretch to bite him out of the air- -saw him vanish before the teeth could close.

The Ironhand could not have believed that he would perish. He was descended from Elohim Elohim: she must have known that he would evade the bane. She was simply trying to create an absence that might allow Covenant or the Ardent to recover themselves.

But before she and Grueburn or Stave had taken two strides, a hand of theurgy flashed upward to grasp the Hazard. Irrefusable might closed around the slim stone and pulled pulled.

For an instant, less than an instant, no time at all, Linden felt the span quiver and shriek. Then the whole crest of the bridge exploded into splinters.

Substantial reality seemed to disappear as though it had ceased to exist. The recoil of the bane's power pitched Coldspray, Grueburn, and Stave upward. When they came down, there was nothing under them.

Nothing except a rain of shattered granite-and She Who Must Not Be Named.

Coldspray, Jeremiah, and the croyel croyel, Grueburn and Linden, Stave: together they fell like rubble.

Esmer had already reappeared at the foot of the bridge between Covenant and the Ardent.

Someone wailed. The croyel croyel? Linden herself? The chasm was full of voices. She had looked into the heart of the bane: she knew that she was not going to die. Stave and Jeremiah would be slain instantly. The croyel croyel would be torn apart. Linden's end would be worse. would be torn apart. Linden's end would be worse.

In those screaming faces, all of them, she saw her fate, the outcome of her failed choices. The bane's victims had fallen to evil, not because they sought evil-some had not-but because they had made mistakes. Now their legacy was endless agony for every woman who could love as they had once loved.

They would eat eat Linden and Coldspray and Grueburn, and relish the taste. Linden and Coldspray and Grueburn, and relish the taste.

Linden's soul was already carrion. She Who Must Not Be Named would savor her more than any Giant.

But faster than she plunged, a torrent of vitriol shot past her. Somehow the ur-viles had formed a wedge to concentrate their lore. Their ebon fluid struck downward.

When the acid hit, the bane released a roar that shook the cavern. The seethe of faces flinched. The hand of theurgy burst into ineffective mist.

At the same time, a frenetic skein of ribbands s.n.a.t.c.hed at Linden and Grueburn; wrenched them back. The jolt cracked through Linden like the snap of a whip: she nearly dropped the Staff. More cloth caught Coldspray, Jeremiah, and the croyel croyel: a score of brightly colored strips. Other bands yanked Stave away.

Taut as cables, the Ardent's raiment reeled his fallen charges upward.

Liquid power plunged into the tortured moil of faces. It erupted like thunder amid the screams.

A few dozen ur-viles could not hope to hurt She Who Must Not Be Named: they must have known that. But they distracted her.

And they were not alone.

A smaller blast of power crashed and volleyed among the stalact.i.tes. The Waynhim-! They were too few to equal the harsh strength of the ur-viles. And they had modified their lore to match their Weird; had taken it along different paths than those followed by their black kin. Still they hit hard-and the stalact.i.tes were fragile, made brittle by weight and age.

In an earsplitting crack and crash, t.i.tanic spires began falling like spikes into the faces of the bane.

Any mistake would have rent the Ardent's ribbands; crushed Linden and Jeremiah. But the Waynhim knew what they were doing. Their projectiles fell from the far side of the cavern.

The Ardent's efforts tested the limits of his strength. Linden rose with fatal slowness. Spots of darkness bloomed in her vision like detonations, echoing the yell of stone as stalact.i.tes broke. Grueburn hugged her tight: she could not breathe. But she did not notice the corded pressure of the Giant's arms. She had lost the light of her Staff; lost her health-sense. The bane was imprinted on her nerves. Through blackness and bits of distortion, she recognized nothing except shrieks. The lip of the precipice where the rest of her companions stood or crouched was still too far away. She would never reach it.

Then the Insequent had help. Bluntfist and Cabledarm released Bhapa and Pahni. Braced by their comrades, the two Swordmainnir grabbed at the Ardent's ribbands and hauled on them as if they were hawsers.

Thrashing in fury, She Who Must Not Be Named surged upward. Bluntfist, Cabledarm, and the Ardent heaved harder.

A moment later, other Giants were able to catch hold of Grueburn and Coldspray. Trusting Mahrtiir to hang on, Latebirth gripped the edges of Grueburn's cataphract and tugged her past the edge of the chasm. Onyx Stonemage held Liand with one arm while she helped the Ironhand. When the weight of the Giants was taken from him, the Ardent pulled Stave to safety.

In spite of his weakness, Liand summoned radiance from his orcrest orcrest. Its pure light pushed against the bane's savagery. With Earthpower, he supported the Swordmainnir and the Ardent.

The Insequent gasped as though he had borne Giants on his shoulders. A dangerous pallor sickened his face: his legs wobbled under him. Reflections of the bane's power made the sweat streaming on his cheeks look like cuts.

For a moment, Linden did not realize that she could breathe again. No doubt her ribs would hurt later: she could not feel them now. Black blossoms expanded across her sight. The roaring of She Who Must Not Be Named filled the world.

Esmer stood among the Giants, regarding them with disdain.

From somewhere nearby, Galt announced, "We need no gift of tongues to comprehend that the Demondim-sp.a.w.n beseech flight. Already the Waynhim run to guide us. We must follow swiftly."

The Ironhand may have panted, "Aye." Linden was not sure. Serpents of nausea and dread writhed in her guts. As Grueburn struggled upright, the blots on Linden's vision grew until they covered everything, and the world was gone.

For minutes or hours, Linden lived in a realm of death. She had seen too many agonized faces. They left her at the mercy of carrion-eaters. For her, the bane had become crawling things, venomous and noisome. They gnawed their way out of her flesh, reveling in rot: centipedes and spiders, long worms. She wanted to claw off her skin to be rid of them. But her nightmares had claimed her. She was dead: she was death. Responsible for slaughter- Then she was roused by the jolting of Grueburn's strides, the stentorian rasp of the Swordmain's breathing. In terror, she returned to herself. Sensations of crawling and poison clung to her like muck sweat. Pincers and fangs bit into her under her clothes. She wanted fire; ached to scour herself with flame. But there were no spiders, no centipedes, no vile insects. She only felt them. Grueburn's stubborn struggle did not redeem what Linden had become.

Past Coldspray's bulk, and Cirrus Kindwind's, white flickers of Liand's Sunstone reached Linden. He and Stonemage were leading the company after the Waynhim. But they no longer ran. The tunnel leading away from the chasm and the Lost Deep had become a narrow split with a floor like strewn wreckage. The Giants still carried all of their human companions except the Haruchai Haruchai; but they had to move with care. At intervals, protrusions of rock constricted the pa.s.sage, forcing them to squeeze through sideways.

Linden had no health-sense and no power. Stave still carried Covenant's ring. She was being eaten alive: everyone she cared about was going to die. Devoured faces and centipedes were promises that would not be broken. And Esmer stayed close to her, ensuring her futility. His many wounds looked as septic as plague-spots.

She expected to sight the Ardent ahead, with Liand. But the Insequent was not there. Only the Humbled escorted Liand and Stonemage, Covenant and Kindwind, Jeremiah and the croyel croyel and Coldspray. and Coldspray.

Without percipience, Linden could not gauge Covenant's condition. She could not cleanse herself of corruption. But she had no reason to think that he had escaped the chaos of his memories: not while Esmer remained nearby.

Grueburn's broad chest and thick shoulders blocked Linden's view to the rear. But when the Swordmain turned to push past an obstruction, Linden scanned the figures behind her.

She saw them limned in fire and apprehension, dark shapes lurching ahead of the bane's rage. Apparently the constraints and twisting of the split did not hinder She Who Must Not Be Named. Despite Her terrible size and Her throng of ident.i.ties, She seemed able to alter Her form as She wished. She was like spiders, roaches, beetles: there was no crack too small for Her to enter, no cave too immense for Her to fill. No mere physical barrier could restrict Her. The things that fed on carrion were venomous in every crevice and cranny. The width of the pa.s.sage might compel Her to pick off Linden's companions one at a time; but it would not hamper the bane's seething energies.

In silhouette, Linden saw Stormpast Galesend carrying Anele, Cabledarm with Pahni, other Giants-presumably Bluntfist and Latebirth bearing Bhapa and Mahrtiir. As far as she could tell, none of the Swordmainnir had fallen. But her impressions were too indistinct for certainty. The jagged path of the crevice cast too many shadows. The Giants fleeing behind her resembled stilted menhirs, distorted and ungainly.

Of the Ardent-or the ur-viles-she saw no sign.

Then Grueburn turned ahead to move more quickly, picking her path over the refuse of ages, and Linden could not look back.

"The Ardent?" Hysteria sc.r.a.ped her voice raw. Uselessly she slapped at the crawling inside her shirt, her jeans. "Where is he? Have we lost him?"

Esmer would know, if Grueburn and Stave did not.

Without the Ardent's powers- Cail's son did not answer. "The Insequent," panted Grueburn, "vowed to aid the ur-viles. How he thought to do so, I cannot conceive." He could not resist She Who Must Not Be Named with ribbands. "Nevertheless he remains behind us."

"Can you tell what he's doing?" Linden asked.

"I cannot. The bane fills my senses."

"He exceeds all expectation," stated Stave. Orcrest Orcrest or his inborn wards against Kevin's Dirt preserved the former Master's percipience. "His fright is plain. Nonetheless he joins his knowledge to the efforts of the ur-viles. His apparel does not harm the bane. The ur-viles do not. Yet when it extends its force, their lore and his garment turn the theurgy aside. Together they slow the bane's advance." or his inborn wards against Kevin's Dirt preserved the former Master's percipience. "His fright is plain. Nonetheless he joins his knowledge to the efforts of the ur-viles. His apparel does not harm the bane. The ur-viles do not. Yet when it extends its force, their lore and his garment turn the theurgy aside. Together they slow the bane's advance."

Linden understood fright. She could not have done what the Ardent was doing. She was covered with gnawing and toxins; hungry ruin. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw horror below her; watched hideous strength destroy the Hazard; felt her fall- She had killed her own mother. She deserved whatever happened to her.

Staring wildly, she tried to focus her attention on the rough walls of the crevice. She wanted to believe that it would hold. That the world would hold. But she could not. Soon a monster that relished anguish and despair would consume the roots of the mountain. She slapped at her chewed skin and achieved nothing.

Beyond the fragments of Liand's light, the entombed darkness was absolute. Immeasurable leagues of granite and schist were veined with obsidian and quartz and strange ores like the slow blood of Gravin Threndor. Long ago, she had believed that the Wightwarrens ran deep; that the cave of the EarthBlood was deep. But until now she had failed to grasp the true meaning of depth. Breathing should have been impossible. The air here must have been trapped for eons, too stagnant to sustain life. It was no wonder that Grueburn had to fight for breath.

Presumably Liand was refreshing the atmosphere with Earthpower. But he could not do enough. Moment by moment, suffocation crowded around Linden. The stone itself was reified asphyxia. Her lungs labored in her chest as if they were being crushed by panic and granite.

In Revelstone long days ago, Liand had taught her that she could draw Earthpower and Law from her Staff even when Kevin's Dirt had blinded her completely. At that time, however, Kastenessen's bitter brume had hung high above her; and she had been perhaps two hundred leagues from its source, protected by enduring barricades of gutrock. Now She Who Must Not Be Named was close close-Frayed and terrified, Linden did not believe that she would ever be able to overcome the bane's dire magicks.

And without the benign fire of her Staff, she could not drive the sensations of insects from her nerves and skin. Before long, she would go mad.

She needed help, but no one could help her: not now. The progress of the Giants was too arduous to permit succor. And her fragmented glimpses of the way ahead suggested that the crevice was about to become impa.s.sable. It was beginning to cant to the side, narrowing and twisting as it followed a line of weakness through limestone and brittle shale. Beyond Liand's Sunstone, the split tilted at an angle that became sharper by sudden increments.

Linden trusted the Waynhim. She tried to trust them. But they appeared to be leading the company along a path which only they could follow. Perhaps she, the Haruchai Haruchai, and the Ramen might contrive to creep after the smaller creatures when the crack leaned close to the horizontal. But the Swordmainnir would be trapped. And if Coldspray released the croyel croyel- "Ha!" Liand's call echoed down the split: a shout of relief. "The Waynhim have not misled us! Here is the way!"

As the crevice tilted farther, Rime Coldspray squatted abruptly, set her back against the lower wall. Clutching Jeremiah and the croyel croyel with one arm, and holding the with one arm, and holding the krill krill with the other, she used her legs to thrust herself headfirst along the split. The stone looked too rough to permit skidding in that fashion, but her cataphract served as a sled. She was able to keep moving. with the other, she used her legs to thrust herself headfirst along the split. The stone looked too rough to permit skidding in that fashion, but her cataphract served as a sled. She was able to keep moving.

Ahead of the Ironhand, Kindwind used one shoulder and her maimed arm to shove herself forward, still clasping Covenant. At a word from Grueburn, Linden turned so that she could grip the Swordmain's breastplate with both hands, hook her heels around Grueburn's waist. The Staff she carried pressed between her chest and Grueburn's as the Giant braced her hands on the lower wall and scuttled along on all fours.

Every point at which Linden's body touched Grueburn was a torment of maggots.

Behind them, Galesend followed Grueburn's example. Anele's eyes glared in brief glints from the orcrest orcrest and the and the krill krill, but he appeared to understand Galesend's intent. The constriction of the split did not allow Linden to see past the old man's protector.

Then Liand's light was cut off as though he and Stonemage had fallen out of reach. A rush of failure filled Linden's lungs. Sickening swarms of creatures had burrowed too deeply into her: she feared that she would never breathe again.

Somehow she clung to Frostheart Grueburn.

"Here!" Kindwind shouted. "A clear pa.s.sage! If the Ardent and the ur-viles endure, they will gain a more defensible path."

Through bites and squirming that had no tangible form, Linden seemed to catch a memory from Covenant, as if pieces of their past had leaked out of his chaotic recollections. When they had first come to the Land together-when they had been gaoled in Mithil Stonedown-Sunder had touched Covenant's forehead with the Graveler's Sunstone at Covenant's urging. By that action, Sunder had awakened Covenant's ring, triggering wild magic with orcrest orcrest.

Linden might be able to do something similar-if she could get close to Liand. Any hint of health-sense might rebuff her dismay; her acc.u.mulating collapse. Then she might be able to choose Earthpower and Law instead of carrion. She could use the flame of her Staff to scour her flesh clean.

If only she could breathe- "As soon as you can," she gasped with her last air. "Take me to Liand. I need his orcrest orcrest."

Grueburn nodded. She was panting too hard to speak.

Kindwind and Covenant were gone. With her arms rigid around Jeremiah and the croyel croyel, Rime Coldspray skidded farther. The monster gazed straight at Linden. Its grin showed its fangs.

Then Coldspray stopped. When she heaved herself and her burdens upright, she did not collide with the upper wall of the split. Instead she and they vanished into a break in the stone.

Half a dozen heartbeats later, Grueburn carried Linden there; and Linden s.n.a.t.c.hed sc.r.a.ps of better air from the Sunstone. As Grueburn turned her back to the lower wall, Linden shifted to face upward. Past the Giants ahead of her, she caught a brief dazzle of purity.

Here a wider fault intersected the split. The new crevice was level at first: then it ascended steeply into the immured dark. Shards of orcrest orcrest-light showed the Waynhim scrambling at the slope. Their hands and feet dislodged clots of ancient dirt like scurrying beetles. Stonemage and Liand had already neared the foot of the climb. But behind them, behind Kindwind and Covenant, Coldspray had paused to rest. There she held her burdens with the croyel croyel's visage turned away from Linden. The Ironhand's grip on the krill krill did not waver. did not waver.

She must have heard Linden's appeal. Linden would have to pa.s.s her in order to catch up with Liand.

He was too far away.

In that position, the dagger's argence shone straight into Linden's face. It shed stark streaks along the stone; found sudden gleams like inspirations on facets of mica and quartz; exposed the sullen sheen of moisture oozing downward.

The sensations of scurrying in Linden's clothes intensified. Scores of biting things sought tender flesh hidden from the light. She could not endure it; could not wait for Grueburn to reach the Stonedownor.

Halfway between Kindwind and Coldspray, Esmer stood watching as if he had no real interest in anything that transpired among Mount Thunder's roots.

"Hurry," Linden pleaded: a raw cough of suffocation.

Groaning for air, Grueburn thrust herself upright, strode toward the Ironhand.

Millennia ago, wild magic had destroyed the original Staff of Law; but Linden was too desperate to care. As soon as she could, she extended her own Staff. Frantically she jabbed one iron-shod heel into the heart of the gem's radiance.

For a terrible instant, she felt nothing. After all, why should she? The krill krill was not was not orcrest orcrest: the Staff was not white gold. And she had no health-sense. She could not focus her needs. She could only try to pray while imminent wails bubbled in the back of her throat.

Then a gentle surge of energy touched her hands, a palpable warmth- Quickly she jerked back the Staff, hugged it to her chest; concentrated every supplication of her life on the runed black wood.

Hindered by proximity to the bane's magicks, flickers of new life leaked into her aggrieved nerves.

She clung to that vitality, stoked it. Demanded. Cajoled.

By small increments, it grew stronger. A flame as evanescent as a will-o'-the-wisp slid along the shaft. Too frail to be sustained, it evaporated. But another took its place, and another-and the third spread. Briefly it traced the runes as if the wood had been etched with oil. Then it lit other fires. A tumble of flames leapt out as if they sprang from Linden's chest.

Light as kindly and sapid as sunshine cascaded into the crevice. Soon she stood in the core of a pillar of fire; of Earthpower and life.

On all sides, Kevin's Dirt restricted her strength. Her power was a pale mockery of the forces which she had summoned on other occasions. Nevertheless it fed her spirit; implied possible transformations. It would suffice.

It had to.

Febrile with haste, she pulled flame tightly around her; clad herself in conflagration. Then she began scrubbing every distressed inch of her body with cleanliness.

The gnawing and pinching, the crawling, the quick slither of hysteria: they fell away one by one, incinerated or quashed. When she had burned them all to ash, however, she found that nothing had changed. The conviction that she had become carrion, that she bred only death-her true despair-lay too deep for any anodyne that she knew how to provide for herself. A sickness of the soul afflicted her; and the devouring faces of She Who Must Not Be Named drew closer by the moment.

Nevertheless she could breathe easily again. She could see. The revulsion of centipedes and spiders had been banished. Her companions sucked fresh air into their lungs. Coldspray offered her a grin of grat.i.tude.