Against All Things Ending Part 27

Below the precarious ledge, boiling currents and chaos were lashed with conflagration as though they had been transmogrified into oil. Waters crashing against stalagmites and walls flung spouts of fire at the wracked ceiling.

Voices cried for Linden, but they conveyed nothing. Weary and tormented beyond bearing, she surrendered at last to the paralysis from which she had fled throughout her life: the helplessness which had permitted Covenant's murder ten years ago, and had left her at the mercy of turiya turiya Raver: the ineluctable doom of her parents. Raver: the ineluctable doom of her parents.

Carrion.

As the bane arose from the waters halfway between the company and the end of the cavern, Linden fell to her knees. Deep inside her, something fundamental succ.u.mbed.

She Who Must Not

Like a ghost, Thomas Covenant occupied discrete realities simultaneously, and had no effect on any of them.

In one, he saw everything that happened around him. He recognized every event from the moment when Esmer touched his forehead until he stood near Linden's collapse above a rabid lake of fire, gazing at She Who Must Not Be Named. He felt everything, feared everything. But he had no volition, no power to act. He could do nothing to help his companions. He could only care and grieve and groan and dread. In that dimension, the part of him that made choices was out of reach.

It wandered elsewhere, among his memories, where nothing was required of him because everything had already happened. Perhaps he needed to recall those people and places and deeds: perhaps he did not. But they did not need him. He was merely a spectator, as oneiric as a figment, amid the fragments and rubble of things past; shattered stretches of time. And because his memories were broken, he did not know how to find his way through them. They were out of sequence; could not lead him back to himself.

Esmer had cast him into a realm of contradictory knowledge and bewilderment where every impulse of his heart was thwarted. Instead of responding to the company's plight, or to the killing deluge which Linden had unleashed in the cavern, or to her final failure in the face of the bane's emergence, Covenant remembered.

Earlier, while the company fled from the Lost Deep, he had observed ur-viles reconsidering their Weird millennia ago. The Demondim had not been fools: they had not made the ur-viles to be fools. Even the Waynhim-the accidents or miscalculations of breeding-had been discerning and lorewise, capable of recondite insights. Their black cousins had been far too intelligent for the contemptuous use which Lord Foul had made of them.

Their Weird as they had first understood it expressed their self-loathing: better to die promoting the end of all things than to live flawed and hateful in a world meant for beauty. Perishing by the thousands in the Despiser's wars, however, the ur-viles had recognized that the logic of their servitude could reach only one conclusion. And in battle at the gates of Lord's Keep, the Waynhim had demonstrated by valor and commitment that other choices were possible. Thus the Waynhim had prodded the ur-viles to question themselves.

When the Despiser had been defeated, therefore, the black Demondim-sp.a.w.n had withdrawn to the Lost Deep to search their lore and their oldest legacies for a reply to the challenge posed by the Waynhim. Among the ineffable achievements of the Viles, the ur-viles had probed the history of their makers, and of their makers' makers, until they reached an era before the Viles had ventured across the Hazard and been swayed by the Ravers.

In the Lost Deep, miracles of old lore had reminded the ur-viles that they had sprung from creatures not ruled by disgust for their own natures. There the ur-viles found that their first progenitors had conceived truths which spanned Time: truths which in turn enabled the ur-viles to estimate distant outcomes. They saw clearly where their service to the Despiser would lead them in the end-and what would be required to counter the syllogisms of Lord Foul's scorn.

They hesitated. For centuries, they contemplated what they had come from, and what they were, and what they might wish to be. And eventually they reached new conclusions. As a result, they began the a.s.siduous studies and exhaustive labors by which they created Vain.

Vain and manacles.

But while the Swordmainnir carrying Linden and her human companions followed the Waynhim, Covenant fell deeper. Other memories took the place of the ur-viles.

In a different fissure, he regarded an image which did not exist: an image which had never existed, except as a symbol or metaphor for a more profound and inarticulate truth. The image of a young woman. A woman fresh with loveliness and self-discovery. A woman br.i.m.m.i.n.g with new pa.s.sion, ready to give and receive the kind of adoration which would define Her days. In his eyes, She was the reason that men and women had discovered love; the cause of every whole and holy desire.

Studying Her, he saw Her betrayed.

Hers was the tale which had given rise to that of Dia.s.somer Mininderain, seduced and misled; abandoned to darkness. During the creation of the Earth, She had been cast down. By the sealing of the Arch of Time, She had been imprisoned. She was Mininderain and Emereau Vrai and the Auriference and scores or hundreds of other women. Indirectly She was Lena and Joan. At its core, Hers was the tale of every love which had ever been used or abused and then discarded.

The tale of She Who Must Not Be Named.

Heart-wrung by Her plight, Covenant watched Her arise amid water and flames, a lake of conflagration; and he understood that behind Her appalling malice and hunger lay a quintessential wail of lamentation, forlorn and deathless: the devouring grief of a heart that knew no other response to absolute treachery.

Perhaps deliberately-perhaps cruelly-Esmer had sent Covenant to this place among his riven memories. They might have been precious to him, had he been able to act on them. But they were the past: he could not change them.

Remembering love and loss, he, too, was lost.

Nevertheless he knew everything that happened around him. He saw and heard and felt: he cared so much that the straits of his companions rent him. Above all, uselessly, he understood Linden's protracted ordeal. He regarded the effect of finding her son, and of being unable to free the boy from the croyel croyel. He saw the hopelessness of her decision to flee the Lost Deep. When she had found the strength to treat his hands, his pride in her had been as poignant as yearning. During her fall from the Hazard, the futility of his desire to leap after her had filled him with anguish. With the ineffable discernment of a spectre, he had witnessed the consequences of her plunge toward agony. The despair that had crawled and fed on her failing sanity, he had experienced as though it should have been his.

Still she had continued to struggle and strive. When the thews of her resolve, of her essential self, had parted at last, his most acute reaction had been relief for her. Later, if she lived, she would think the worst of herself. For the moment, however, she had found a small escape from pain.

Yet she was not likely to survive. She and Covenant and everyone with them were about to die.

He saw no great harm in his own demise. Linden esteemed him too highly. But the others-For reasons that he could no longer recall, Linden and Jeremiah were essential to the Land. Dire futures hinged on Liand and Anele. Manethrall Mahrtiir and his Cords were needed desperately. There was no hope without Stave and the Masters and the Giants. And Covenant did not discount the Ardent, who alone knew how to rescue the company. Nor did he dismiss the Demondim-sp.a.w.n, who still yearned to relieve their instinctive self-disgust.

Everyone who had come so far in Linden's name, or in the Land's, had a part to play. Even Esmer might find within himself the will to become his father's son rather than Kastenessen's minion. Even Covenant- He would have given much to believe the same of Roger. But Roger was his mother's son, not his father's; and Joan had chosen the path of her doom long ago. Like Elena, she could no longer escape what she had made of herself, except through extinction.

Covenant had been removed from the Arch of Time. His responsibility for it had been taken from him. But Joan and Roger remained. They were his burdens to bear.

Therefore he, too, needed to live.

She Who Must Not Be Named had no intention of letting any of Her victims survive. Doubtless Esmer would avoid Her hungers. The croyel croyel would certainly try to do so, taking Jeremiah with it. And the ur-viles and Waynhim might be able to evade destruction. But everyone else- would certainly try to do so, taking Jeremiah with it. And the ur-viles and Waynhim might be able to evade destruction. But everyone else- Through Esmer's treachery, they also had become Covenant's burdens. And Covenant loved Linden. In different ways, he loved all of her friends and companions: even the Masters, who had misled themselves to the brink of the Land's annihilation. There was no one else who could save them.

Yet he remained lost.

As he examined his circ.u.mstances, however, he began to imagine that he was not altogether impotent. Almost by definition, betrayals had flaws. Esmer's were no different.

The Humbled had caused Covenant to swallow vitrim vitrim; and that musty liquid was an unnatural approximation of hurtloam. It provided a partial mimicry of hurtloam's sovereign healing.

When he had been offered hurtloam in Andelain, he had refused it. He had insisted on numbness and leprosy. It doesn't just make me who I am It doesn't just make me who I am. It makes me who I It makes me who I can can be be.

Now the dour taste and energy of vitrim vitrim galvanized his desire to be himself: a leper and pariah who knew better than to heed Despite. Because it was an artificial elixir, it could not bring new life to his nerves. But it made him stronger- galvanized his desire to be himself: a leper and pariah who knew better than to heed Despite. Because it was an artificial elixir, it could not bring new life to his nerves. But it made him stronger- And there was another flaw as well.

Esmer's effect on him bore no resemblance to the stasis which the Elohim Elohim had once used against him. The had once used against him. The Elohim Elohim had severed him from thought and concern; from any kind of reaction. Esmer had merely knocked him off balance, tripping him into the maze of broken time. He could still think and care and strive. In that sense, he was only lost, not helpless. And anything that could be lost could also be found. had severed him from thought and concern; from any kind of reaction. Esmer had merely knocked him off balance, tripping him into the maze of broken time. He could still think and care and strive. In that sense, he was only lost, not helpless. And anything that could be lost could also be found.

If he climbed high enough, or used his memories in the right way, he might conceivably rediscover his physical present by his own efforts.

If Esmer did not cast him down again.

If.

He had to try. The bane was coming closer.

After uncounted ages within the Arch, Covenant did not have enough time.

She Who Must Not Be Named lifted Herself like a pyre from the burning waters. Even at a distance, She appeared to tower over the company. Her fury shook the ledge in spite of Esmer's efforts to steady it. For no clear reason except that they were Giants and courageous, all of the Swordmainnir except Rime Coldspray stood at the edge of falling and flames with their weapons ready. They must have known that no mortal blade would cut their foe; yet they confronted Her simply because they refused to accept defeat.

In that respect, they could have been Saltheart Foamfollower's daughters.

Behind them, the Ironhand still supported Jeremiah with one arm, holding the krill krill against the against the croyel croyel's throat. Despite the bane's ferocity, Jeremiah's muddy eyes gazed at nothing. Spittle slid from one corner of his mouth. But the croyel croyel had lost its feral grin. Squirming its talons deeper into the boy's flesh, the creature seemed to brace itself for one last ploy, some act of power or cunning that might save its life. had lost its feral grin. Squirming its talons deeper into the boy's flesh, the creature seemed to brace itself for one last ploy, some act of power or cunning that might save its life.

Without hesitation, Stave scooped Linden into his arms and carried her to the wall, leaving the Giants room to swing their swords. Glimpsed past lank, untended strands of hair, the slackness of her mouth and the unfocused glaze of her eyes told Covenant that she had become as unreactive as her son. She had endured too much-He could only pray in silence that something within her still lived and loved, and could be reached.

Clyme and Branl had already dragged him back from the edge of the shelf. Galt stood in front of him like Bannor or Brinn: a display of resolve as brave as that of the Giants, and as wasted. At the same time, the Cords had taken Liand and the Staff, their Manethrall, and Anele as far from the rim of the ledge as they could. There Anele squatted against the wall as if he sought to curl his emaciated frame into the stone. Whispering aimlessly, he slapped at his old cheeks.

Nearby the Ardent wrapped every shred of his marred raiment around himself as though he hoped irrationally to ward his plump flesh with cloth. Panic glistened among the reflected fires in his eyes.

Higher up on the ledge, the ur-viles and Waynhim barked feverishly, strident with imprecations or despair. Their baying and yells appeared to be directed at Esmer.

Clad in wounds and tatters, Esmer ignored the Demondim-sp.a.w.n. Apparently his efforts to scorn the people whom he had betrayed had failed. Dismay twisted his visage as he regarded the bane.

Relishing its immanent feast, She Who Must Not Be Named glowered higher and howled like a call for vengeance. Soon She would loom over the company.

Abruptly the croyel croyel croaked in Jeremiah's voice, "Esmer. Get us out of here. croaked in Jeremiah's voice, "Esmer. Get us out of here. Esmer Esmer."

Coldspray tightened her grip threateningly; but the monster was too frightened to heed the pain of the krill krill.

"It wasn't supposed to come to this," the croyel croyel gasped. "She wasn't supposed to be able to stop the gasped. "She wasn't supposed to be able to stop the skurj skurj. You have to save us."

Only Jeremiah's loose features and silted gaze confirmed that the boy was not pleading for himself.

"You won't regret it. Kastenessen will forgive you. He'll heal you. If he doesn't, we'll make make him. But you have to him. But you have to get us out of here get us out of here."

There it was: the path out of himself that Covenant needed. If Linden had been able to hear the croyel croyel, its use of Jeremiah would have clawed her soul. In her present state, she was spared that immediate hurt. But Covenant felt it on her behalf. Her pain was his.

It reminded him- Hit me. Hit me again Hit me again.

In Andelain, his first taste of corporeal pain had brought him back to himself, albeit temporarily. It had confirmed the bond between his body and his spirit.

Now the thought of what Linden would suffer when she regained consciousness was enough. Vitrim Vitrim had given him strength. And he was a rightful white gold wielder. He stood in the indirect presence of wild magic that Esmer would not or could not block. had given him strength. And he was a rightful white gold wielder. He stood in the indirect presence of wild magic that Esmer would not or could not block.

Defying Esmer's influence, Thomas Covenant stepped out of the Land's past and became present.

Instant consternation lashed in Esmer's eyes. He shrank back as if he dreaded what the Unbeliever had become.

Ignoring Cail's son, Covenant turned away. His hands and feet were still numb; dead. But they were not useless. Thanks to Linden, he could flex his fingers. When the time came-if he lived that long-he would be able to grasp the krill krill.

But he did not need Loric's dagger now. It would not daunt She Who Must Not Be Named. He required other suasions.

How much time had pa.s.sed? The bane had not reached the ledge yet, but She had the power to strike whenever She wished.

Had She felt the change in him? Did She mean to destroy him first? Did She see in him an image of Her first betrayer?

Perhaps. That was possible. He did not doubt that the stains of what he had done to Lena-and, in a different fashion, to Elena-still clung to him. She Who Must Not Be Named may well have discerned his resemblance to the Despiser.

But if She wanted terror from him, retribution for his crimes, she was going to be disappointed.

The Humbled met Covenant's return with widened eyes, raised eyebrows. They did not resist as he pulled his arms free of Branl and Clyme, stepped past Galt.

In two strides, he reached Stave and Linden.

"Attend, Swordmainnir," called Mahrtiir softly. "The first Ringthane stands among us once more."

His voice should have been too small to pierce the bane's fiery clamor. Yet the Giants heard him. Kindwind, Grueburn, and Latebirth turned sharply to peer at Covenant. Their comrades took a step back from the rim of the ledge.

Linden lay limp in Stave's arms. She saw nothing, heard nothing. In her snagged and punctured shirt, her stigmatized jeans, she looked as forlorn as a waif; too weak to continue breathing. Just for an instant, Covenant remembered that he had seen her like this before. When he had rescued her from the Clave, she had been as unreactive; as beaten. Turiya Turiya Herem had touched her, and she had fled into herself to escape the implications of the Raver's malice. Herem had touched her, and she had fled into herself to escape the implications of the Raver's malice.

But she had recovered. After a while, she had come back to Covenant. He had to believe that she would so do again.

Lord Foul had proclaimed that her fate was written in water. Perhaps the Despiser had spoken more truly than he knew.

Cursing the ease with which he was distracted, Covenant refused other memories, less immediate prayers. He had no time. Grimly he forced himself to look at Stave rather than Linden.

He did not need words. He saw swift comprehension in the gleam of Stave's eye. For the sake of their companions, however, so that he would not be misunderstood, Covenant forced himself to say, "I want my ring. I'll give it back. If any of us live through this."

Solemn as an icon, Stave nodded. Cradling Linden, he opened one of his hands; offered Covenant's wedding band and its chain to the Unbeliever.

Unaccustomed to his recent amputation, Covenant clutched at the chain. Awkwardly he hooked it with two fingers to ensure that he did not drop it. Then he lifted it over his head so that the ring hung against his chest.

Muttering again, "I'll give it back," he turned to confront She Who Must Not Be Named.

She heaved closer. Heat beat against his face, parched his eyes: the fury of the burning lake and the bane's pa.s.sion. If he had not been drenched, his clothes might have caught fire. Her mouths gaped and gnashed, brandishing their teeth. Their shrill roar overcame the thunderous plunge of waters. The bottomless thud of Her heartbeat made his bones tremble.

At the end of the cavern, the flames began to die as the flood extinguished the last of the skurj skurj. But the bane fed the conflagration around Her huge bulk. Fire lapped at the jutting tips of stalagmites, the fanged ends of stalact.i.tes, the stubborn travertine and granite and limestone of the walls. Covenant's jeans and T-shirt steamed until he seemed wreathed in mortality; but the heat hurt only the exposed skin of his face and arms.

While She Who Must Not Be Named readied Herself to attack, he raised his voice against Her.

"Listen to me!" he shouted with all the authority at his command. "You can kill us whenever you want! But first you should listen to me!

"You've forgotten what you are!"

Looming high, the bane paused as though he had taken Her by surprise.

In indignation or yearning, Esmer hissed, "You are demented demented. I know not how you have won free. I care not. But do you dream that you are able to reason reason with She Who Must Not Be Named?" with She Who Must Not Be Named?"

Covenant kept his back to Esmer. He had no attention to spare. No attention-and no time.

"You've forgotten who who you are!" he called up at the eternal being. "But that's not all. You've forgotten who trapped you here! It wasn't the Creator. He loved you then. He loves you now. And it sure as h.e.l.l wasn't you are!" he called up at the eternal being. "But that's not all. You've forgotten who trapped you here! It wasn't the Creator. He loved you then. He loves you now. And it sure as h.e.l.l wasn't us us. Or any of your other victims. It was the Despiser. A-Jeroth of the Seven h.e.l.ls.

"You've forgotten that he he made you like this. You've forgotten that he tricked you. He's your worst enemy, but you serve him because you've made you like this. You've forgotten that he tricked you. He's your worst enemy, but you serve him because you've forgotten forgotten!"

Faced with Covenant's audacity, the bane writhed as though his words were blows. Tortured visages in wild succession bared their teeth and shrieked and vanished, rolled under or absorbed.

In a voice so immense that the cavern itself seemed to shout, She answered, "You speak to me! You speak to me! You speak to me! I will devour you- I will devour you-I will devour you all-and gain no ease for my hunger! If I fed upon worlds worlds, I would not be sated!"

Gritting his teeth, Covenant refused to admit that he was appalled. "You aren't listening!" he countered as if he were fearless. "You should. You should at least notice notice that the Despiser has made you his lackey." that the Despiser has made you his lackey."

Fires danced and gibbered. "Do you think to resist me?" With every countenance, the bane sneered. "Then do so. I revel in the struggles of my viands."

Covenant shook his head. His voice echoed her vehemence. "I said, listen to me listen to me. I'm not going to fight you. Of course course I'm not going to fight you." Even he might not be able to overcome Esmer's ability to suppress wild magic. And if he succeeded, the consequences might be disastrous. A battle on that scale would wreak vast havoc. It might breach the Arch of Time. But he had other hopes for his ring. "I just want to show you something." I'm not going to fight you." Even he might not be able to overcome Esmer's ability to suppress wild magic. And if he succeeded, the consequences might be disastrous. A battle on that scale would wreak vast havoc. It might breach the Arch of Time. But he had other hopes for his ring. "I just want to show you something."

"Show?" retorted his antagonist. "You wish to show show? If I have forgotten what or who I am, I have forgotten the import of any mere object or display."

"Not this, you haven't." With the back of his halfhand, Covenant lifted his ring. "You'll recognize it as soon as you look look." His pa.s.sion for Linden and the Land and life skirled among the flames: it seemed to resound from the p.r.o.nged vault of the cavern. "I'm not talking about white gold or wild magic. I'm talking about what it is is. A wedding wedding band. It's a symbol of everything you've ever wanted. Everything you've ever lost. band. It's a symbol of everything you've ever wanted. Everything you've ever lost.

"Look!" he urged her. "Look at it. You know what it is. It's every love and every promise that were never broken. It's fidelity and pa.s.sion that at it. You know what it is. It's every love and every promise that were never broken. It's fidelity and pa.s.sion that endure endure. It's what you thought you were getting when the Despiser whispered in your ear."