The Fatal Revenant Part 25

It doesn't help.

Cold seemed to creep up her back even though the furnace of stones retained its fierce radiance.

We still have to get there.

And she did not trust Covenant.

I want to repay some of this pain.

The peril of your chosen path I deemed too great.

And I won't even mention how stone ignorant Berek is.

This version of Thomas Covenant had lied to her about Jeremiah's circ.u.mstances as well as her own: a revealing mistake.

Deeply shaken, Linden strove to master her tears. She could not meet Covenant's scrutiny, and did not try. Instead she clung to her Staff with her head bowed until the first torrents of her dismay had pa.s.sed.

She meant to ask him how he intended to reach Melenkurion Skyweir against The kind of opposition that might damage the Arch. But when she had swallowed her grief and scrubbed away her tears, she did not raise that subject immediately. Instead she asked in a raw voice. "What about Roger?"

Glowering suddenly, Covenant turned away.

With a visible effort, Jeremiah met her gaze. The muscles at the corner of his left eye clenched and released erratically. "What about him, Mom?"

"I don't know where he is, or what he wants, or what he's doing." Linden was pitifully grateful to have this much of her son's attention. "I'm pretty sure that Lytton's deputies killed him. But Anele told us that he's here. In the Land." Seeking such havoc that the bones of mountains tremble to contemplate it. "Shouldn't we be worried about him?"

Someone must have healed him during his translation, as she had healed herself with wild magic. Lord Foul? Or Kastenessen? Was the enraged Elohim sane enough for such a task? Joan certainly was not- Reluctance seemed to erode Jeremiah's eyes until they slipped away from hers. "I don't see why," he murmured uncomfortably. "When Covenant stops Foul, there won't be anything left for Roger to do. He's just a man. He doesn't have any power."

He will if he can get his hands on Joan's ring, Linden thought. But she kept that fear to herself. Joan's white gold did not belong to Roger: he was not its rightful wielder. If Covenant had told her the truth about anything, Roger's ability to unleash wild magic would be limited.

But even limited wild magic- Grimly Linden strove to appear calm. She did not want what she was thinking to show on her face.

-might be enough to release Lord Foul after Covenant snared him.

And if Roger failed or died, some other dark being might make the attempt.

Covenant's design for the salvation of the Land did not take Joan's ring into account. Another revealing mistake; one which might prove fatal.

Abruptly Covenant surged to his feet. Keeping his back toward Linden, he moved to stand over the small cairn as if he felt a need for heat; more heat than ordinary flesh should have been able to endure. Then he gestured along the barranca. For no apparent reason, he announced, "This place is called Bargas Slit. Or it will be, when somebody gets around to discovering it." He sounded strangely cheerful, despite his glower earlier. "It has a name because it's unique. It goes all the way through. In fact, it's the only place north of the Black River where you can walk into Garroting Deep without having to climb the Last Hills."

He may have sensed the direction of Linden's thoughts. Once again, his manner conveyed an impression of disharmony: it seemed poorly tempered, slightly off pitch.

"We can leave the horses here. We won't need them anymore. If we get an early start, we can be at the edge of the Deep by mid-morning."

Linden stared at his back, but he ignored her. When she looked at Jeremiah, she found him playing with his racecar, concentrating intently as the toy tumbled back and forth among his fingers.

She cleared her throat, hoping that Covenant would face her. When he did not, however, she said carefully, "I don't understand. Didn't you say that we can't go into Garroting Deep?"

"That's right." His tone was amiable. The heat of the rocks seemed to give him an obscure pleasure. "And we can't go over it either. Its Caerroil Wildwood's domain. On his own turf, his power is absolute. Every bird and breeze in the whole forest needs his permission just to move from one branch to another. If we try to get past him, well all three of us be dead before your heart can beat twice.

And I don't mean banished," he said with an odd timbre of satisfaction. "sent back where we came from. I mean stone cold absolutely by h.e.l.l dead. The only good part is, it'll happen so fast we won't have time to feel bad about it."

Baffled, Linden asked. "Then why do you want to go there? What's the point?"

"Because," he told her without hesitation, "there are times when it's useful to be stuck between a rock and a hard place."

He sounded unaccountably proud of himself.

Before Linden could think of a response, he added. "You should get some sleep. I'm serious about an early start."

Still without looking at her, he picked up one of the blankets, returned to the place where he had been sitting, and wrapped the blanket around his head and shoulders as if to conceal himself from her questions. Hidden by the dirty fabric, he seemed to blend into the wall of the ravine. The dull laval glow of the mound barely revealed his shape against the inaudible rock.

Jeremiah promptly followed his example. In moments, her son, too, was little more than an extrusion of the stone.

Linden had not seen either of them sleep; not once since they had entered Revelstone ten thousand years in the Land's future. Doubtless they would not slumber now. But they made it plain that they would not answer if she spoke.

Esmer had told her, You must be the first to drink of the EarthBlood, but she did not know what would happen to Covenant and Jeremiah if she did as Cail's son had instructed; if she tried to save her boy before Covenant could act on behalf of the Land.

Jeremiah was lost to her, no matter what she did. Nevertheless she loved him-and the Land. And she had no intention of forgetting about Roger. Or Joan's ring.

Tactics of Confrontation As Covenant had promised, they emerged from Bargas Slit by midmorning; and Linden saw Garroting Deep clearly for the first time. After a long cold trudge through the constricted dusk of the barranca, she and her companions regained open sunlight no more than a stone's throw from the verge of the great forest. Behind them, the Last Hills formed a ragged, crumbling wall against the Center Plains and the rest of the Land. Ahead of them spread the vast expanse of Caerroil Wildwood's demesne, dark and forbidding as far as she could see.

Standing under the sun on the bare hillside beside the ravine's small rivulet, she felt that she was in the presence of something ancient, ineffable, and threatening.

Although she stretched her health-sense, she could discern no sign of theurgy or peril; no hint of anything that resembled the numinous music which she had last heard in Andelain. She saw only trees and more trees: majestic cedars and firs interspersed with pines, occasional lambent Gilden, and other evergreens clinging stubbornly to their leaves and needles; oaks, elms, and sycamores, aspens and birches denuded by winter, their boughs stark and skeletal in the sunshine. A few scrub juniper, desiccated ferns, and aliantha lived between the trunks, but for the most part uncounted centuries of fallen leaves formed a rich carpet of decay and sustenance.

Nonetheless Garroting Deep seemed irreducibly ominous. Its dark foliage and naked branches whispered warnings in the morning breeze. For millennia, the trees of the Land had suffered slaughter; and here, in their potent and baleful heart, they nurtured outrage.

Linden had hoped to catch a glimpse of the Westron Mountains, and perhaps even of Melenkurion Skyweir. But Garroting Deep was too wide, and too many of its trees were giants, towering monoliths as mighty as sequoias: they hid what lay beyond them.

Before dawn that morning, she had left the horses behind, as Covenant had instructed. An unavoidable decision: one of the mounts, the beast that he had ridden last, had perished during the night; and the two remaining animals could not bear three riders. Instead of using one or both of them to carry supplies, she had spilled what was left of the grain and hay to the ground, and had abandoned the horses to fend for themselves. There was nothing more that she could do for them. When she had packed as much food as she could lift comfortably into a bundle which she slung over her shoulder, she had followed Covenant and Jeremiah deeper into the gloom and the sc.r.a.ping wind, rough as a strigil, of Bargas Slit.

Their pa.s.sage along the ravine had seemed interminable and bitter; fundamentally doomed. Covenant had called Garroting Deep the most dangerous of the old forests. He had said that Caerroll Wildwood is an out-and-out butcher. Yet now he sought out that fell place and its fatal guardian. There are times when it's useful to be stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Standing at last in sunlight near the edge of the trees, she understood him no better than she had the previous evening. Garroting Deep was impa.s.sable. And the slopes of the Last Hills here looked even more rugged than those facing the Center Plains. Over the ages, the forest had lapped against them like a sea; had broken them into cliffs and gouges as though they had been raked by claws. Finding a route along them would be far more difficult than she had imagined.

Fortunately the atmosphere here was warmer than the winter of the Center Plains. The trees absorbed and held more of the sun's heat; or Caerroil Wildwood exerted himself to moderate the aftereffects of Lord Foul's long shadow. There was no snow within the Deep itself. And the small scarps and fans of ice clinging to the hills looked porous, vaguely rotten; made frangible by evaporation and old resentment.

The journey ahead may have been impossible. Nonetheless Linden was grateful to escape the worst of the cold.

She dropped her burden so that she could rest her shoulder and arms. "All right," she remarked to Covenant. "this is definitely 'a rock and a hard place.'

How does it help us?"

"Well," he drawled without meeting her gaze, "that's not exactly what I meant." He was studying the line of hills to the northwest. "But it's a step in the right direction. For one thing, the Theomach won't be able to keep an eye on us anymore. The Last Hills have soaked up a lot of rage from the Deep. And of course," he added sardonically. "the stone of the Land has always sympathized with trees. All that rock and indignation will shield us pretty thoroughly.

"Which means," he said with harsh satisfaction. "we can finally start to travel faster."

"But you-" Linden began, alarmed in spite of her determination to maintain a calm facade. Then she caught herself. Taking a deep breath, she asked more casually, "Won't we be noticed? You said something about 'opposition.'

"It's a risk," he admitted. "We'll try to minimize it. Stay below the radar." Abruptly he glanced at Jeremiah. "What do you think? That ridge?' He pointed. "The one with the crescent of obsidian? Looks like about three leagues to me."

Jeremiah considered the distance for a moment. Then he suggested, "What about the next one? It looks like somebody took a bite out of it. I think it's a bit more than four leagues."

"Fine." Covenant nodded decisively. "Your eyes are better than mine. As long as you can see it-"

At last, he turned to Linden. "We want to do this with as little fanfare as possible." His eyes seemed empty, devoid of embers; almost lifeless. "The more effort we put into it, the more attention we'll attract. So we're going to move in short hops. Strictly line-ofsight. And we'll stay as close to the Deep as we can. The way the Forestal and his trees talk to each other emits a lot of background noise. Ordinary people can't hear it, but it's there. It'll make us harder to spot."

"What are they saying?" Linden asked impulsively.

Covenant shrugged. "How should know? I'm not a piece of wood."p> know? I'm not a piece of wood."p> He had claimed that he was The keystone of the Arch of Time*I know everything. Or I can, if I make the effort.

Jeremiah looked at her, but she could not read his expression. His soiled gaze may have held reproach or commiseration. "Actually, Mom," he said uneasily. "they're talking about us." The muscle at the corner of his left eye twitched. "They hope we'll go into the forest. They like the taste of human blood."

Before she could respond, he asked Covenant with his familiar diffidence, "You're ready, aren't you'?"

"h.e.l.l, yes," muttered Covenant. "I've been ready for days."

Like the taste-And if they liked it so much that Caerroil Wildwood reached out past the borders of his demesne? What then?

"Just tell me one more thing," Linden said, hurrying. "The Theomach can't see us anymore. Having me with you is supposed to placate the Elohim. Whose 'opposition' are you worried about'?"

Covenant seemed too impatient to answer. Instead Jeremiah said, "It's better if we don't tell you, Mom." His tone reminded her of his anger when she had insisted on seeing whether he had been shot. "They're more likely to notice us if we say their names."

Ah, h.e.l.l, Linden sighed. In this circ.u.mstance, her mind cannot be distinguished from the Arch of Time. Perhaps that made sense. In the wrong time and place, unearned knowledge could be more dangerous than ignorance. She was acutely aware of the manner in which her companions manipulated her. Nevertheless she had come too far, and had accepted too much, to infuriate Covenant and threaten her son with protests.

All right," she said warily. "Just tell me what to do."

"It's simple, really." Jeremiah recovered his equanimity quickly. "All you have to do is stand still. And make sure you don't touch either of us. We'll do the rest.

"We'll be using as little magic as possible, so we don't need much preparation. And we won't have to worry about wearing ourselves out. I know four leagues doesn't sound like much. But if nothing goes wrong, you'll be amazed how much progress we can make."

Covenant kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot, lifted his palms to the morning breeze, turned his head from side to side as if he were studying the conditions for travel. Then he said brusquely. "Let's do it. I'm not getting any younger."

Obeying gestures from her son, Linden retrieved her bundle, braced the severe comfort of the Staff against her chest. Reflexively she used her free hand to confirm that she still bore the unyielding circle of Covenant's ring. Then she pulled her robe more tightly around her cloak and moved to stand near Covenant.

Jeremiah positioned himself at her back: Covenant faced her. Now she seemed to see sparks or glowing coals in the deep background of the Covenant's gaze. But he did not appear angry. Instead his mien suggested antic.i.p.ation or fear. His strict features were distorted by a grin like a snarl.

Slowly he raised his arms until they pointed into the air above Linden's head. As he did so, he began to radiate heat as if he had eased open the door of a furnace: the conflagration of his true nature. Glancing behind her, she saw that Jeremiah had lifted his arms also. From him, she felt a mounting pressure, warm and solid; a force which would drive her to her knees if it became too strong.

In some fashion, Covenant and Jeremiah were creating a portal- To her right, the Last Hills rose bluff and uncaring, too enwrapped in their slow contemplations to heed beings as brief as Linden and her companions. But on her left, Garroting Deep seemed to glower avidly, hungry for the taste of flesh. The cold sky and the comfortless sun covered her with their disregard.

Softly she breathed. "I'm trusting you, Jeremiah, honey."

She meant, Don't betray me. Don't let Covenant betray me. Please.

Then the divergent forces arching over her head combined and gathered to form a concussion as lurid as lightning, as bleak and disruptive as thunder. In that instant, everything around her ceased to exist- -and was instantly recreated as though nothing had occurred. Covenant's arms, and Jeremiah's, held no power. The sky and the hills and the trees seemed unaltered; untouchable. The sun had not moved.

Nevertheless Linden stumbled, disoriented by the unexpected angle of the ground under her feet. Covenant and Jeremiah jumped away to avoid her as she floundered for balance. A second ago, less than a heartbeat, she had been standing on a hillside that sloped downward toward Garroting Deep. Now she found herself on a surface which tilted in the opposite direction.

She and her companions must have gained the ridge that Jeremiah had suggested: she appeared to be standing on the treeward side of a notch or gouge in one of the granite ribs of the hills. Somehow Covenant and Jeremiah had avoided arriving amid a cl.u.s.ter of shattered rocks nearby. Those jagged shards would surely have caused her to fall.

A sharp veering sensation unsettled her: the visceral effect of movement without transition. For a moment, she had difficulty remaining on her feet. But the hills here were distinctly themselves; beyond question not the slopes and crags which had risen above her when she had emerged from Bargas Slit. As she concentrated on their uncompromised shapes, she slowly regained her stability.

Breathing deeply, almost gasping for calm, she panted. "Just like that."

She felt vaguely appalled, even though she had known what would happen. As far as she could determine, no harm had been done, either to her surroundings or to any aspect of Law. The mundane physical exertion of movement had simply been replaced by an effort of theurgy. Surely she had no cause for chagrin? Yet she felt unaccountably distressed, as if she had been aided by an act of violence.

"Just like that," agreed Covenant. Behind his apparent satisfaction, Linden heard an undercurrent of acid. "It isn't much. But every little bit helps.

And once we reach the mountains"- he gestured toward the northwest-"we won't have to be so careful. That d.a.m.n Forestal won't be able to get at us."

His distaste for Garroting Deep was unmistakable. Yet he had chosen to come near the forest- -between a rock and a hard place.

Linden remembered, aching, that Thomas Covenant had viewed the woodland beauty of Andelain with a boundless love. He had treated CaerCaveral with respect and honor. And she herself was only frightened by the Deep's clenched anger: she understood it too well, and saw too much loveliness hidden in the heart of the forest, to be repulsed by it.

She did not comprehend the man who claimed that he was leading her to the Land's salvation.

I want to repay some of this pain.

Yet his sore ribs-like Jeremiah's battered face-had healed with remarkable celerity. And he must have known that his hurt would be brief. Under the circ.u.mstances, he might have considered it trivial. In his previous incarnation, he would certainly have done so. He had allowed Joan to hurt him repeatedly; had sacrificed himself for her The Thomas Covenant who had twice defeated Lord Foul would not have sought to punish Inbull.

Linden missed her former lover as sorely as she grieved for her son. Nevertheless she was forced to acknowledge that he was gone. There was no portal to that past.

Four "short hops" later, Linden and her companions had covered fifteen more leagues-according to Jeremiah's estimates-and she found that her imbalance, her almost metaphysical sense of dislocation, was growing worse. Each succeeding rupture weakened her. More and more, the energy which Covenant and Jeremiah invoked appeared to resemble Lord Foul's iterated lightning when the Despiser had taken Joan's life. Linden had seen eyes like fangs among the savage blasts of the storm. Now she saw-or seemed to see-the Despiser's carious malice in each detonation of theurgy which bore her along the marge of Garroting Deep.

She may have been hallucinating; imagining nightmares to account for her disorientation and weakness, her loss of perceptual coherence. Nonetheless a sense of crepitation gathered in her nerves like an acc.u.mulation of static, primed for a discharge which would shred her flesh.

She had also seen Lord Foul's eyes in the bonfire which had maimed Jeremiah- Struggling to manage her mounting paresthesia, she begged. Can we take a break? Something's wrong. I need-"

"No!" snapped Covenant. "They're aware of us now. We have to keep going."

The strain in his voice-the strident admixture of exultation and dread-s.n.a.t.c.hed at her attention.

He was sweating profusely, as if the cost of carrying his many burdens had finally begun to break down his unnatural endurance. The whites of his eyes glistened with incipient panic. His hands shook.

Wheeling to face her son, Linden saw that he, too, was sweating as though he had run for leagues. Alarm or concentration darkened the muddy hue of his gaze. And his mouth hung open, as slack as she remembered it: he looked like he might start to drool at any moment, lost in his personal dissociation.

The subliminal mutter of Garroting Deep's many voices had grown louder. A kind of aural brume filled the forest, ominous and inchoate, confusing Linden's percipience.

"What's happening?' she asked her son urgently. "They're aware of us? What does that mean?"

"They're fighting us." His chest heaved. "Putting up barriers. We have to push our way through. If we can't outrun them-"

"Come on," Covenant demanded.

"They're going to catch us."