The Fatal Revenant Part 32

"There's more, of course, but I won't bother you with it. Here's the point. Frankly, Dr. Avery, ever since we got you away from your present, there haven't been any possible outcomes that don't give us exactly what we want. Plus, of course, we get to watch you cower. We get to watch you suffer for your poor kid. That alone makes all this trouble worthwhile."

Linden should have quailed. His certainty was as bitter as the touch of a Raver: it should have defeated her. But it did not. How often had she heard Lord Foul or his servants prophesy destruction, attempting to impose despair? And how often had Thomas Covenant shown her that it was possible to stand upright under the weight of utter hopelessness?

Still kneeling, feigning weakness, she protested. "You aren't making sense."

Deliberately she let the pain in her hand leak into her voice. "You want to rouse the Worm. You want to break the Arch. But then you'll be destroyed. Lord Foul can escape. You can't. Why are you so eager to die?"

"Well, it's true," Roger drawled happily. "Kastenessen hasn't thought it through. All he cares about is wreaking havoc on the Elohim. If he's killed in the carnage, at least he won't hurt anymore.

"The croyel and I have other plans. Foul has promised to take us with him. And he'll keep that promise. He needs your kid. h.e.l.l, he owns him. How else do you suppose the croyel got access to everything your kid knows, everything he can do? He's belonged to Foul for years.

"But even if Foul tries to cheat us, we'll still get what we want. The croyel can use your kid's talent. You've seen that. He'll make us a door. A portal to eternity." He glanced around at the tunnel. "All the materials he needs are right here. While the Worm tears this world apart, we'll open our door and go through it.

"Face it, Dr. Avery." Pa.s.sion and brimstone condemned Roger's gaze. "You've done everything conceivable to help us become G.o.ds."

Inadvertently Roger aided her. He hurt her more severely than any mere physical wound. The thought that the Despiser had claimed her son long ago-that Jeremiah may have partic.i.p.ated in his own subservience to the croyel-was worse than any threat of absolute ruin, any image of apocalypse. Roger may have been lying in an attempt to break her. Instead he transfigured her.

They have done this to my son.

While Roger talked, she anch.o.r.ed herself on the muddy void of Jeremiah's gaze, the slackness of Jeremiah's cheeks and jaw, the useless dexterity of his dangling hands. Her pain and blood and repudiation she focused on the cruel parasite feeding from his neck.

"I'm sure that's fascinating," she said through her teeth. "You'll enjoy it. But there are a few things you don't understand."

His eyes widened in amus.e.m.e.nt; false surprise. "Like what'?"

Linden bowed her head as though she intended to prostrate herself. Past the concealment of her hair, she muttered. "Like who I am."

Then she drew lightning as pure as charged sunlight from the upraised iron heel of the Staff and hurled it simultaneously at both Roger and the croyel.

While her blast flared and echoed in the constriction of the tunnel, she surged to her feet. Unable still to uncramp her pierced hand from the Staff, she used her left to shift the shaft so that she could brace its length under her left arm, hold it like a lance.

Her attack was abrupt and brief; yet it should have damaged her foes. But it did not. It failed to reach them. Reeling backward, Roger flung out an eruption of magma to intercept the Staffs blaze.

Swift as prescience, the croyel emitted a vehement wall which blocked and dispersed Linden's blow.

Roger caught himself; roared with fury. Aiming his fist at her, he unleashed a scend of fire and lava. At the same time, the creature sent waves of force toward her like crashing breakers in a storm. Together he and the croyel strove to drive her back against the lode-face of the EarthBlood.

If she fell there, the Blood itself would incinerate her.

She responded with untarnished Earthpower and Law; threw pure flame against the corrupted theurgy of Kastenessen's hand and the savage unnatural coercion of the croyel. Shouting her son's name as though it were a war cry, she met the ferocity of her enemies with power that filled the depths of the mountain like daylight.

Yet Roger and his companion were not damaged or daunted: they hardly seemed to feel her a.s.sault. Grinning as if he could taste triumph and delight, Roger poured out magic to cast down her fire; tried to melt her flesh. And the creature raised Jeremiah's arms to invoke invisible forces. Pressures grated in the air like grinding teeth as they mounted against her; against the lash of flame which was her only defense.

The Staff bucked in Linden's grasp. It seemed to burn. Its limitations were hers: it could not channel more force than her human blood and bone could summon or contain. She stumbled half a step toward the trough. Her flame no longer flooded the cave. The croyets barricade held it back. Crimson and sulfur tainted her sunfire as Roger's eagerness probed into it; reached through it.

Abruptly the deadwood piercing her hand caught fire and burned away, searing the inside of her wound; sealing it. She was scourged backward again.

For an instant, she seemed to see herself falter and fail, see her flesh scorched like charcoal, see the Staff turn black as Roger's heat devoured it. Then she rallied.

They have done this to my son.

With a wordless shout, she thrust the Staff behind her so that its end plunged into the trough of EarthBlood.

At once, fresh strength galvanized her. A torrent of Earthpower rushed through the Staff and became incandescence. Her conflagration spurned the stain of brimstone: it pounded heavily against the repulsion of the croyel. Light that should have blinded her and could not washed through the cave and along the tunnel as the brilliance of Law scaled higher; expanded until it appeared to transcend Melenkurion S kywei r's constricting rock.

The wall emanating from Jeremiah's enslaver receded. Eldritch dazzling effaced the croyets eyes: she could no longer see them, or they had been liquefied in the creature's skull. Briefly Roger's flail of scoria lost a portion of its virulence. Kastenessen's might and pain contracted around Roger's quivering fist.

But he seemed able to draw on limitless power as though he siphoned it from the magma of the Earth's core. Even as Linden's fire grew and grew, claiming more and more puissance from the mountain's ichor, his ruddy heat swelled again. A furnace spilled from his hand. Heat like liquid granite drove back her bright flame.

Again the creature pressed its strength against hers. Its eyes emerged from the flood of sunfire. The Staff thrummed and twisted in her hands, against her ribs. Concussions ran unsteadily along its shaft: she felt the wood's desperation pulse like a stricken heart. Every iota of force that she could summon spouted and flared from the iron which bound her Staff-and it was not enough.

Yet even then she was not defeated. They have done this to my son! Instead of recognizing that she was lost, she remembered.

I do not desire the destruction of the Earth.

She did not believe that the Theomach had aided her entirely for his own ends. He had given her as many hints has he could without violating the integrity of the Land's history.

In this circ.u.mstance*

And he had risked revealing secrets to Berek Halfhand in her presence; secrets which she would never have known otherwise.

-her mind cannot be distinguished from the Arch of Time.

She accepted the danger. She was Linden Avery, and did not choose to be defeated.

Bracing her Staff in the trough of EarthBlood, she shouted in her son's name. "Melenkurion abatha! Duroc minas mill! Harad khabaalr Instantly her fire was multiplied. It seemed to increase a hundredfold; a thousand-She herself became stronger, as if she had received a transfusion of vitality. The fear-even the possibility-that she might fall and perish dropped from her. The Staff steadied itself in her clasp. The whole mountain sang in her veins.

They have done this to my son!

She shouted and shouted, and did not stop. "Melenkurion abathal' And as she p.r.o.nounced the Seven Words, both Roger's pyrotic fury and the croyels invisible repulsion were driven back. "Duroc minas mill!" Roger gaped in sudden fright. The abominable gaze of the creature wavered, considering retreat. "Harad khabaar Flames like a volcanic convulsion staggered her foes.

And the Skyweir's deepest roots answered her.

From Rivenrock, she had felt the imminence of an earthquake. Roger had confirmed it. It'll be ma.s.sive. I rrefusable pressures were acc.u.mulating in the gutrock; natural forces so cataclysmic that they would split the tremendous peak. But it won't happen for years and years.

He had not expected her to fight so fiercely. Their battle must have triggered a premature tectonic shift; loosed a rupture before its time.

She did not care. The granite's visceral groan meant nothing to her. She fought for her son, and went on shouting; invoking Earthpower on a scale that staggered her foes. When the floor of the cave lurched as though the whole of Melenkurion Skyweir had shrugged, she gave no heed.

But Roger and the croyel cared. Consternation twisted his blunt features: he feared the mountain's violence. And the creature turned away from her, apparently seeking escape. They a.s.sailed her for a moment longer. Then the stone lurched again, and abruptly they fled.

"Melenkurion abatha!"

Pausing only to retrieve Jeremiah's crumpled racecar, Linden followed them; harried them with fire. As she pursued them along the tunnel, she continued to shout with all of her strength. And she trailed the end of her Staff in the rivulet so that she would not lose the Earth Blood's imponderable might.

"Duroc minas mill!"

Roger and the croyel did not strike at her now: they fought to preserve themselves. He sent gouts and gobbets of laval ire to hinder the impact of her sunflame. His companion filled the tunnel with a yammer of force, striving to slow her onslaught.

"Harad khabaalr Her power was constrained by the tunnel; concentrated by it. But theirs was also. Although she strode after them wreathed in fury, unleashing a continuous barrage of magic and Law, she could not break through their brimstone and repulsion swiftly enough to outpace their retreat. In spite of the EarthBlood and the Seven Words and the Staff of Law-in spite of the extravagance of her betrayed heart they reached the subterranean waterfall unscathed.

The falls erupted in steam as Roger pa.s.sed through it; but the croyets barrier warded off the scalding detonation. For a moment, no more than a heartbeat or two, Linden lost sight of them as they rushed down the piled rocks. Then the stone shuddered again, harder this time. She lost her footing, fell against the wall of the tunnel. At once, she sprang up again, borne by fire. With Earthpower, she parted the crushing waters and began to hasten perilously over the slick stones. But her foes were already halfway down the length of the cavern, limned in rocklight.

The mountain's tremors repeated themselves more frequently. Their ferocity mounted. Soon they became an almost constant seizure. As Linden skidded to the cavern floor and tried to race after Roger and her helpless son, slabs of granite and schist the size of houses sheared off from the ceiling and collapsed on all sides.

Thunder filled the air with catastrophe. It seemed as loud as the ruin of worlds.

Now she had to fight for Jeremiah's life as well as her own. She knew what Roger and the croyel would do. Given any respite from her a.s.sault, any relief at all, they would combine their lore to transport themselves out of the mountain. They might fail in the presence of so much Earthpower, but they would certainly make the attempt. She had to do more than compel them to defend themselves. She had to drive them apart, fill the s.p.a.ce between them with a ravage of flame. Otherwise her son would be s.n.a.t.c.hed away. She was ten millennia from her proper time, and would never find him again.

But the ceiling was falling. Even the sides of the cavern were falling.

Ma.s.sive stone columns and monoliths toppled as the roots of Melenkurion Skyweir shook. The river danced in its course; overran its rims amid the hail of shattered menhirs and rubble. Orogenic thunder detonated through the cavern.

The croyel repelled the rock. Despite the magnitude of the quake, the creature protected Jeremiah and Roger. But Linden had no defense except Earthpower; no lore except the Seven Words.

The rocklight grew pale and faltered as the damage to the cavern increased.

Screaming, "Melenkurion abatha f' she tuned her fire to the pitch of granite and made powder of every crashing stone that came near her. "Duroc minas milli' Hardly conscious of what she did, she shaped the mountain's collapse to her needs; formed pillars to support the Skyweir's inconceivable ma.s.s; dashed debris from her path so that she could strike at Roger and the croyel. "Harad khabaalr Striding through havoc, she pursued her son's doom amid the earthquake.

But the t.i.tanic convulsion took too much of her strength. More and more, she was forced to ward off her own ruin. And she had lost the direct use of the EarthBlood. She could not reach Roger and Jeremiah; could not strike hard enough, swiftly enough, to penetrate her betrayers' defenses.

In the Staffs flame and the last of the rocklight, she saw lightning arch between Roger's arms and Jeremiah's. She saw them vanish.

Then the earthquake took her; the river took her; and she was swept from the cavern.

Part Two

"victims and enactors of Despite"

From the Depths.

When Linden Avery emerged from the base of Rivenrock into Garroting Deep, the sun was setting behind Melenkurion Skyweir and the Westron Mountains. The trees here had fallen into shadow, and with the loss of the sun, the air had grown cold enough to bite into her bereaved throat and lungs. Winter held sway over the Deep in spite of Caerroil Wildwood's [.

stewardship. And she had been soaked by frigid springs as well as by diluted EarthBlood during her long struggle through the guts of the mountain. She was chilled to the marrow of her bones, weak with hunger, exhausted beyond bearing.

But she did not care.

Her son was dead, as doomed as she was, shot down when she and Roger had been slain. He belonged to Lord Foul and the croyel: they would never let him go. And she had no hope of reaching him. Too much time separated her arms and his; her love and his torment.

She had become a stillatory of pain, and her heart was stone.

She did not know how she was still alive, or why. After Roger and Jeremiah's escape, she had somehow preserved herself with Earthpower and instinct, shaping the stone to her will: knocking aside thunderous slabs of granite; plunging in and out of the lashed river; following water and fire as the earthquake shook Melenkurion Skyweir. The upheaval had split the plateau as well as the vast mountain, buried the edges of the forest under a torrent of rubble, sent a vehement fume of dust skyward, but she was aware of none of it. Nor did she notice how much time pa.s.sed before the roots of the Skyweir no longer trembled. The watercourse was nearly empty now. Deep springs slowly filled the s.p.a.ces which she had formed under the peak. But she could not tell how long she scrambled and stumbled through the wreckage until she found her way out of the world of ruin.

When she clambered at last over the new detritus along the south bank of the Black River, and saw the fading sky above her, she knew only that she had lost her son-and that some essential part of her had been extinguished, burned away by battles which surpa.s.sed her strength. She was no longer the woman who had endured Roger's cruelties for Jeremiah's sake.

She had suffered enough; had earned the right to simply lie down and die. Yet she did not surrender. Instead she trudged on into Garroting Deep. Here the Forestal would surely end her travails, if sorrow and privation did not. Nevertheless she continued to plod among the darkening trees. Her right hand remained cramped to the Staff, unhealed and unheeded. In her left, she held Jeremiah's crumpled racecar. At the core, she had been annealed like granite. The dross of restraint and inadequacy and acceptance had been consumed in flame. Like granite, she did not yield.

The Staff no longer lit her way. She had lost its fire when she left the mountain. In the evening gloom and the first glimmer of stars, she hardly recognized that the extravagant energies which had enabled her to fight and survive had remade the shaft. Its smooth wood had become a blackness as deep as ebony or fuligin. With the Seven Words and the EarthBlood, she had gone beyond herself; and so she had transformed her Staff as well.

Like her son, the natural cleanliness of the wood was lost.

But she did not concern herself with such things. Nor did she fear the cold night, or the prospect of prostration, or the Forestal's coming. Her own frailty and the likelihood of death had lost their meaning. Her stone heart still beat: the tears were gone from her eyes. Therefore she walked on with her doom wrapped around her.

She traveled beside the Black River because she had no other guide. In the deeper twilight of the riverbed, a slow trickle of water remained. She caught glimpses of it when it rippled over rocks or twisted in hollows and caught the burgeoning starlight. It looked as unilluminable as blood.

The Ranyhyn had tried to caution her. At the horserite which she had shared with Hyn and Hynyn, and with Stave, she had been warned. Hyn and Hynyn had shown her Jeremiah possessed, in torment; made vile. They had revealed what would happen if she tried to rescue him, heal him, as she had once redeemed Thomas Covenant from his imprisonment by the Elohim. And they had compelled her to remember the depth to which she herself had been damaged. They had caused her to relive the maiming heritage of her parents as well as the eager brutality of moksha Raver.

It was possible that she should have known If your son serves me, he will do so in your presence.

But her fears had been fixed on Ravers and the Despiser. She had failed to imagine the true implications of Hyn and Hynyn's warning. Or she had been distracted by Roger's glamour and manipulations; by the croyets intolerable use of Jeremiah. Ever since they had forbidden her to touch them-ever since they had turned her love and woe against her-she had foundered in confusion; and so she had been made to serve Despite.

You've done everything conceivable to help us become G.o.ds.

She did not surrender. She would not. But she could not think beyond doggedly placing one foot in front of the other, walking lightless and una.s.soiled into Garroting Deep.

She did not imagine that she might reach her proper time by creating a caesure. You'll shatter the world. And even if she did not, she would still be lost. Without the Ranyhyn, she could not navigate the chaos of a Fall.

Nor could she save herself with the Staff of Law. No power available to her would transcend the intervening centuries.

The Theomach had recognized Roger and the croyel, and had said nothing.

While they abided by the restrictions which he had placed upon them, he had left her to meet her fate in ignorance.

-her mind cannot be distinguished from the Arch of Time.

In her own way, she chose to keep faith with the Land's past.

Therefore she stumbled on into Caerroil Wildwood's angry demesne, guiding herself by the darkness of the watercourse on her left and the star-limned branches of trees on her right. When she tripped, she caught herself with the Staff, although the jolt caused the scabbing of her wounded hand to break open and bleed. She had nowhere else to go.

Roger had called the Forestal an out-and-out butcher.

On his own ground, with the full force of Garroting Deep behind him, nothing could stand against him.

Why had he not already slain her?

Perhaps he had discerned her weakness and knew that there was no need for haste. If a badger took umbrage at her encroachment, she would be unable to defend herself. A single note of Caerroil Wildwood's multifarious song would overwhelm her.

Some things she knew, however. They did not require thought. She could be sure that Roger and the croye/-and Kastenessen and Joan-had not yet accomplished the Despiser's desires. The Arch of Time endured. Her boots still scuffed and tripped one after the other along the riverbank. Her heart still beat. Her lungs still sucked, wincing, at the edged air. And above her the cold stars became mult.i.tudinous glistening swaths as the last daylight faded behind the western peaks. Even her exhaustion confirmed that the strictures of sequence and causality remained intact.

Therefore the Land's tale was not done.

Her confrontation with Roger had rubbed the truth like salt into a wound: for her, everything came back to Thomas Covenant. He was her hope when she had failed all of her loves.- help us become G.o.ds. In his own way, and for his own reasons, he himself had become a kind of G.o.d. While his spirit endured, she could refuse to believe that the Despiser would achieve victory.