Against All Things Ending Part 52

As the sun sank past the rim of Landsdrop, casting the abused terrain of the Lower Land into shadow, caesures caesures began to appear. At first, they were sporadic and transient; frequent only in comparison to their occurrence on the Upper Land. They danced at intervals across ground that had been laid waste by ancient battles and rapine, storms of theurgy, bitter despoilage: danced and flickered and went out, posing no threat. But as night gathered over the extended litter of mounds, the Falls came more often, and lasted longer. They hit with the force of a concussion, stirred time and stone and air into turmoil. When they vanished, the sudden vacuum of their absence tugged at the breath in Linden's lungs. began to appear. At first, they were sporadic and transient; frequent only in comparison to their occurrence on the Upper Land. They danced at intervals across ground that had been laid waste by ancient battles and rapine, storms of theurgy, bitter despoilage: danced and flickered and went out, posing no threat. But as night gathered over the extended litter of mounds, the Falls came more often, and lasted longer. They hit with the force of a concussion, stirred time and stone and air into turmoil. When they vanished, the sudden vacuum of their absence tugged at the breath in Linden's lungs.

Somewhere Joan's hysteria appeared to be approaching a crisis. Watching the horizons anxiously, Linden could only surmise that Covenant was headed in the right direction-and that Joan knew he was coming.

Joan, or turiya turiya Herem: there was no useful distinction, apart from the fact that Joan was weaker than the Raver. Herem: there was no useful distinction, apart from the fact that Joan was weaker than the Raver.

As far as Linden could see, Joan's weakness was Covenant's sole hope. The krill krill and the Humbled could not protect him from gyres of chaos more destructive than tornadoes. Even the Ranyhyn could not-and he was mounted only on the Harrow's destrier. and the Humbled could not protect him from gyres of chaos more destructive than tornadoes. Even the Ranyhyn could not-and he was mounted only on the Harrow's destrier.

Despite the erratic stutter and squall of caesures caesures, however, Narunal, Hynyn, Hyn, and Khelen retained their ability to find forage and water. Somehow they discovered small rills in cracks among the rocks, stubborn clumps of gra.s.s in hollows that looked too dry to sustain vegetation. Without turning aside from Covenant's trail, they located occasional cl.u.s.ters of aliantha aliantha.

In the aftermath of the Despiser's wars and workings, treasure-berries grew too spa.r.s.ely to meet the needs of the Giants. Still, a little of the viridian fruit, and a sparing use of the Ardent's supplies, and a few opportunities to refill the waterskins kept the Swordmainnir on their feet.

Lit only by the stars, by the first faint suggestion of moonlight, and by the wild glare of caesures caesures as uncounted centuries of day and night were flung together, the company kept moving. Apparently the Ranyhyn had decided that they could not afford rest. as uncounted centuries of day and night were flung together, the company kept moving. Apparently the Ranyhyn had decided that they could not afford rest.

Disturbed by the unpredictable eruption of Falls, Linden became less and less sure of her surroundings. Details of stone and terrain blurred into vagueness. In addition, she felt a storm coming. The nerves of her skin tasted confusion in the air, abraded winds rising, ambient pressures shifting in response to the violence of the caesures caesures. But she made no attempt to estimate the severity of the storm. The effects of Joan's madness demanded her attention. If a Fall came too close, she had to be ready.

Concentrating on dangers, she was taken by surprise when the horses stopped. They had entered a low vale between outcroppings of basalt so smooth and slick that they hinted at the distant abandonment of the stars. A tentative trickle of water ran down the vale-bottom, tending eastward; and tough gra.s.ses clung to life there, interspersed with more aliantha aliantha than the company had found elsewhere. than the company had found elsewhere.

There the Manethrall and then Stave dismounted. As Narunal and Hynyn trotted away, Mahrtiir announced quietly, "Some rest we must have. The Ranyhyn will watch over us."

In a chorus of soft groans and sighs, the Giants gathered around Linden and Hyn, Jeremiah and Khelen. Some of them loosened their cataphracts, dropped the shaped stones to the gra.s.s. While Stormpast Galesend lifted Jeremiah from his mount, Cabledarm and Onyx Stonemage began to unpack a meal. All of the Swordmainnir were uneasy, troubled by the possible burgeoning of caesures caesures, the approach of bad weather. But they could not refuse a chance for food and sleep.

As Khelen cantered away after Narunal and Hynyn, Linden slipped down from Hyn's back; let the mare go. Stave had already set out the bedroll for her, but she ignored it. Of Mahrtiir, she asked, "Did Covenant stop here?"

Like the Manethrall and the Giants, she spoke softly. She did not know the Lower Land; did not know what waited in the night. Loud sounds might attract notice- "I gauge that he did," Mahrtiir replied, almost whispering. "Hooves have preceded us. Treasure-berries have been plucked. But his pause was brief. Had he lingered here, more sign of his mount would be evident."

"How far ahead is he?"

"Perhaps five leagues." Now the Manethrall sounded less a.s.sured. "Certainly no more than ten. At greater speed, the marks of his pa.s.sing would be more distinct, the strides longer."

Linden tried to consider the implications of Covenant's progress. But she could not imagine them: her scant experience of the Lower Land did not extend this far south.

Keeping her voice low, she asked Stave where she was.

Around her, the Giants gave no obvious sign that they were listening. Instead they prepared a meal, or gathered aliantha aliantha, or shed their armor and ma.s.saged each other's sorest muscles. Yet Linden felt the weight of their oblique attention.

Only Jeremiah appeared to hear and understand nothing.

The shared memories of Stave's people were precise. "At present," he said without hesitation, "we travel the arid marge which separates the foothills of Landsdrop from the wetlands of Sarangrave Flat. This terrain is not wide. Its constriction may account for the fact that our path follows the Unbeliever's.

"Where we now rest, Landsdrop continues to the southeast. If the Ranyhyn do not quicken their pace, we will remain much as we are for perhaps another day. Then, however, we will attain both the easternmost cliffs of Landsdrop and the southern reaches of the Sarangrave. In that place, the broken plinth of the Colossus will stand high above us, while beyond it the River Landrider plunges from the Plains of Ra to become the Ruinwash."

"Aye," Mahrtiir put in: a m.u.f.fled growl. "And along the leagues of Landsdrop which demark the Plains of Ra are many ascents. There the armies of Fangthane breached the Upper Land in an age long past, bringing their savagery first to the Ranyhyn and their Ramen."

Stave nodded. "Beyond the Sarangrave, the Spoiled Plains fill the Lower Land both eastward to the Sunbirth Sea and southward beyond the ken of the Haruchai Haruchai. There the purpose of the Ranyhyn may diverge from the ur-Lord's, if they do not first turn to essay Landsdrop. Our path and his will no longer be constrained by the perils of the Flat, and of the lurker.

"From the Colossus," he continued, "the shattered site of Foul's Creche lies somewhat south of east, torn from a promontory of cliffs which front the Sunbirth Sea. Between the Colossus and that rent habitation are arrayed the Spoiled Plains, still rife with the effects of Corruption's malice, then the Shattered Hills, a maze and snare for the unwary, and last the long-cooled floes of lava which were once Hotash Slay. In the time of the Unbeliever's first triumph over Corruption, Hotash Slay formed the final defense of Foul's Creche, ancient Ridjeck Thome. After the destruction wrought by the ur-Lord's victory, however, the lava spilled into the Sea until its sources were drained.

"The Masters seldom journey there, seeing no purpose in the visitation of sites where memories of Corruption's cruelest evils linger. But upon occasion they have confirmed the lifelessness of his former abode."

For a moment, Linden no longer heard what Stave was saying. He had triggered a memory that stopped her ears; that almost stopped her heart.

Joan.

A wasteland of shattered stone, the rubble of a riven cliff.

The unmistakable tumble and flow of surf crashing forever on rocks.

And turiya turiya Herem. Herem.

Oh, Covenant! He was going-He was going there there.

Then the abrupt glare and seethe of a caesure caesure s.n.a.t.c.hed at her. Instinctively her heart clenched: she scrambled for Earthpower. s.n.a.t.c.hed at her. Instinctively her heart clenched: she scrambled for Earthpower.

An instant later, however, her senses snapped into focus, and she realized that the Fall was too far away to harm the company. If it came closer- It did not. For a few heartbeats, it writhed eastward, increasing the distance. Then it vanished with the suddenness of a thunderclap.

Linden took a deep breath, loosened her grip on the Staff; tried to calm her hammering pulse.

G.o.d in Heaven! Covenant- The storm brewed by so many temporal disruptions was growing stronger. But that threat was easier to ignore.

She had to force words between the mallet-strokes of her heart. "That's where Covenant is going."

Stave seemed to understand her. "Mayhap," he said with a shrug. "Or mayhap his goal lies more to the south. Or-"

Linden cut him off. "He's going to Foul's Creche."

"Are you certain, Ringthane?" Mahrtiir asked tensely. And Rime Coldspray added, "How have you derived this knowledge?"

"She's Joan Joan," Linden replied as if that were answer enough. "Where else would she be?" But then she compelled herself to explain. A promontory jutting into the sea. Torn apart when Covenant destroyed the Illearth Stone. "I saw her. I was there.

"You weren't," she told Mahrtiir. He had said so when they had spoken of this in Revelstone. "I'm talking about that first caesure caesure. The one that took us to the Staff. The Ranyhyn and the ur-viles protected you." She turned to Stave. "And you didn't let yourself get sucked in. You recognized the Raver. You were strong enough to stay away.

"But I couldn't do that. I was caught in Joan's mind. I saw what she saw, heard what she heard. That was part of what made the whole thing so terrible." In the s.p.a.ces between her heartbeats, the memory was more vivid to her than any of her companions, more immediate than the coming storm, or the night's unfathomable implications. "I saw the remains of a broken cliff. I heard waves.

"Covenant is going to Foul's Creche."

The Giants studied her closely. But they said nothing: they had not shared her experiences within Falls.

Stave considered Linden's a.s.sertion, then nodded. "I cannot gainsay you. If the Unbeliever must confront his doom at Ridjeck Thome, it is fitting that he should do so. Yet this insight does not elucidate our own path.

"Chosen"-abruptly his manner intensified, although he did not raise his voice-"the Ardent spoke of a need for death. Recalling his words, I must observe that no region of the Land has endured more carnage than the Spoiled Plains. The ravages inflicted upon the Upper Land pale beside the multiplicity of blights and bloodshed which the Spoiled Plains have endured. Their condition is the unredeemed outcome of Corruption's malice.

"Is it not therefore plausible that the answer to your purported need lies there?"

Linden ignored him. Another caesure caesure glared and crackled in the west. A league away? Less? It extinguished itself quickly; but it made her flinch nonetheless. G.o.d, Joan was driving herself crazy- glared and crackled in the west. A league away? Less? It extinguished itself quickly; but it made her flinch nonetheless. G.o.d, Joan was driving herself crazy- She knew Covenant was coming.

A storm of her own gathered in Linden. "d.a.m.n it!" she cried. "We have to stop him." Letting him go, she had made another hideous mistake. "We have to catch up with him and stop him!" it!" she cried. "We have to stop him." Letting him go, she had made another hideous mistake. "We have to catch up with him and stop him!"

The Ironhand stared at her. "With our strength as it is, and the Ranyhyn content walking? How shall we accomplish such a feat? And did the Timewarden not forbid our presence?"

"He said it was too dangerous," Linden retorted. An excuse for leaving her. "But he got it backward. It's too dangerous for him for him. He's gambling that Joan's need to hurt him is going to break her before she can destroy him." What else could he do? Loric's krill krill could not ward him from wild magic. "But he isn't just gambling with his own life. He's gambling with could not ward him from wild magic. "But he isn't just gambling with his own life. He's gambling with everything everything." She hardly noticed that she was shouting. "And he's doing it without me! doing it without me! I'm the only one who can protect him, and he couldn't wait to get away!" I'm the only one who can protect him, and he couldn't wait to get away!"

"Madness," a.s.sented Coldspray equably. If Linden's vehemence troubled her, she did not show it. "Utter and undoubted folly." She may have been chuckling. "Indeed, were I not myself deranged, made so by the sad truth that I am a Giant withal, I might venture to suggest that his conduct is very nearly as demented as our own. He merely knows with whom he wagers, and how, and why. The same cannot be said of us. We have gone further, for we can name neither our foe nor our intent."

Before Linden could respond, Frostheart Grueburn advised in an amiable grumble, "Do not heed her, Linden Giantfriend. The Ironhand jests lamely, like a Swordmain with one foot cleft. She means to aver only that in straits as extreme as ours, one gamble is much like another.

"Thomas Covenant wagers all things on his own strength and resource, and on the friable extravagance of a possessed white gold wielder. We have chosen to entrust our fate, and the Land's, and the Earth's to the Ranyhyn. Time-if it endures-will reveal who has been wiser."

"And is it not also true," Mahrtiir suggested, "that we are in greater peril from caesures caesures and other evils than the Timewarden? We are many by comparison, and commensurately vulnerable. He and the Humbled are few. Surely their need for protection does not exceed ours." and other evils than the Timewarden? We are many by comparison, and commensurately vulnerable. He and the Humbled are few. Surely their need for protection does not exceed ours."

"It addition," Stave stated flatly, "it is the word of the Unbeliever that you have a separate task to perform. If you strive to preserve him, you may thwart some greater purpose which we do not yet comprehend."

Protests clamored in Linden. You don't understand. She was running out of ways to fend off the darkness that filled her heart. I want to do something that makes sense makes sense. I can't let Joan kill him.

But that was not what he desired of her. I expect you to do what you've always done I expect you to do what you've always done. Something Something unexpected. And she had already missed her chance to help him: she knew that. When she had let him ride away, she had surrendered her right to share his fate-or to ask him to share hers. It was too late to change her mind. None of her mistakes could be undone. If Joan killed Covenant, Linden would have no one to blame except herself. unexpected. And she had already missed her chance to help him: she knew that. When she had let him ride away, she had surrendered her right to share his fate-or to ask him to share hers. It was too late to change her mind. None of her mistakes could be undone. If Joan killed Covenant, Linden would have no one to blame except herself.

Trust was a bitter joke-and she had forgotten how to laugh. was a bitter joke-and she had forgotten how to laugh.

Avoiding the concerned stares of her companions, she tried to pretend that she had recovered her emotional balance. "All right. I understand." She did not want their misdirected rea.s.surances. "I just wish I could be with him.

"Don't worry about me. You should get some rest, all of you. Sleep if you can. I'm going to find someplace where I can see farther. The Ranyhyn can't save us if a Fall gets too close."

Then she turned away, hoping to forestall arguments. Unsure of her ability to climb the basalt in such darkness, she began to walk along the vale after the horses.

She heard the Giants murmuring anxiously to each other, felt Mahrtiir's troubled regard and Stave's blunt gaze. Jeremiah's emptiness made it plain that he did not need her. Tightening her grasp on the Staff, she pushed herself to walk more quickly.

Her parents had taught her how to meet despair; but there were other answers. She had learned a few from her patients in Berenford Memorial.

Soon she found a southward slope beyond the basalt. But when she climbed to the hillcrest, she was not high enough to scan the dark horizons for more than a stone's throw in any direction; so she moved toward the nearest obstruction and plodded upward again.

That rise afforded her a clear line of sight for perhaps a third of a league on all sides. Was it enough? She did not know. But the vantage suited her. Here she could no longer feel the emanations of her companions. And the ground was littered with loose stones, some of them sharp enough for her purpose.

She was as weary in her own way as any of the Swordmainnir, yet she needed to stay awake. Hunger and thirst might suffice to keep her from dozing for a time. Cold might help. But she needed more, and had other plans.

Somewhere in the night, one of the Ranyhyn nickered a query. Surely that was Hyn? But Linden did not know how to respond; and the soft call was not repeated.

She needed to be left alone. When she had seated herself on uncomfortable rocks exposed to the acc.u.mulating turbulence in the air, however, her nerves recognized Stave's approach. He held a waterskin and a handful of treasure-berries. Over one shoulder, he carried the bedroll.

Sighing, she composed herself to endure his company, at least for a little while.

Fortunately he said nothing. Instead he gave her the waterskin, dropped the bedroll nearby. Then he stood motionless beside her, holding aliantha aliantha in his cupped fingers so that she could accept the fruit at her own pace. in his cupped fingers so that she could accept the fruit at her own pace.

He had lost his son so that hers could be saved. He may have understood more of her emotions than she cared to consider.

For his sake, she made an effort to drink and eat slowly; to convey grat.i.tude by savoring the vitality of the berries. But the strain of his presence was too much for her. Soon she began to gulp from the waterskin. A moment later, she scooped the fruit from his hand so that he would have no excuse to stay with her.

He did not leave. He was Stave: he had declared his allegiance in spite of its extreme price.

After a moment, she begged him to go. "Let me do this by myself. Please." Her voice was little more than a croak. "I'm lost. Too many of us have died, and I've done too much killing. I'm like Jeremiah. I need to find my own way out."

She prayed that he would not speak. At first, he did not. Then he advised sternly, "Heed the Ranyhyn, Chosen. Their gifts are many. It may be that they are able to divine coming disturbances of Time, or to perceive Falls in the instant of their creation. If so, they will forewarn you."

After that, he was gone. With her health-sense, Linden watched him until she was sure that he had returned to the Giants and Mahrtiir. Then she finished her small meal, drank more water, and turned her attention to other things.

She needed a response to despair that did not require her own death; and she could not think of a way to help Jeremiah.

Fumbling, she searched around her for a stone that she could use: one with a raw edge or a jagged point.

The sky overhead was a glittering loveliness of stars, profuse and forsaken. Covenant had gone to face Joan without her. She had no way of knowing what the Ranyhyn wanted from her-or for her. The Worm of the World's End was coming to the Land. If the stars were sentient in any sense, their bereavement was too vast and irreducible for comprehension.

Finally her fingers found a stone that suited her. It seemed sharp enough. It had a good point.

She rolled up her left sleeve, studied the faint pallor of her skin. But her father had killed himself by cutting his wrists. After all these years, she still intended to refuse his legacy. Tugging at the fabric of her jeans, she worked one leg up to her knee.

An answer to darkness. A way to control her despair so that she did not sink deeper.

Hunched over herself, she gripped the stone and began sc.r.a.ping cuts into the sensitive flesh of her shin.

That hurt hurt. Of course it did. But the pain would also help her. As Berenford Memorial's physician, she had worked with a number of cutters, self-mutilators. Cutting was a common symptom because it was so effective. Voluntary physical hurts suppressed helpless emotional anguish. Cutters damaged themselves so that the pain would calm them. It galvanized their few residual strengths. For some, it provided a relief as exquisite as joy.

It might do the same for her.

Using an edge and point as raw as the teeth of a saw, she tried to cut from memory the inadvertent pattern of the gra.s.s stains on her jeans into the human skin of her shin and calf.

Perhaps she would have succeeded. She might have attained the whetted peace that she had witnessed in her patients. Given time, she might even have managed to replicate the mark of fecundity and long gra.s.s the mark of fecundity and long gra.s.s, the sign that she had paid the price of woe paid the price of woe. But while she gasped at each kind, cruel gouge and tear, she realized suddenly that Hyn was standing over her.

The mare was little more than a silhouette against the blighted horizons. The faint gleam of the star on her forehead was barely visible: her eyes were only dim suggestions. Still her presence shamed Linden.

No cutter wanted to be watched. Being watched reversed the craved effects of the pain.

Linden needed those effects. Nevertheless Hyn denied them.

Groaning, Linden cast away her stone. Pulled down the leg of her jeans. Struggled to her feet. She wanted to swear at Hyn, but she had no curses left: none that were as bitter as her life.

Now she could only hope that she had hurt herself enough to stay awake as long as her last companions needed her.

As long as Joan lived and could hurl caesures caesures-

When the sun rose at last, it came in a brief blare of crimson, as if the horizon were occluded with dust or ash; omens. Then storms came tumbling over the region, and the light was gone.

They seemed to arise from all directions at random, colliding with such force that their thunder made the ground tremble. Wind and rain slapped at Linden from one side and then the other, a turmoil of spats and downpours that changed more swiftly than she could gauge them. This was no natural battering boil of rains and gusts. Nor was it deliberate, driven by malice. Instead the conflict of squalls and deluges was the oblique consequence of too many Falls.

Its turmoil felt like a presage.

Now more than ever, she had to rely on the senses of the Ranyhyn. Wild modulations of violence confused her discernment. She would not be able to recognize a caesure caesure until it was almost on top of her, if Hyn or the other horses did not give warning. until it was almost on top of her, if Hyn or the other horses did not give warning.